Never Kiss a Laird by Tess Byrnes Page B

horsemanship to keep her seat under
control as crack upon crack of thunder frightened the animal, and when Hugh
grasped Beauty’s bridle, her overwhelming feeling was gratitude that her horse
would not be injured.  
    With the wind starting to pull red-gold
tendrils from her tight chignon, and the delight of her ride still lingering,
she turned upon her rescuer a glowing countenance.   Her smile was bursting with joy, a tinge of
appreciation, and she looked so beautiful that she took Hugh’s breath away.
    “Thank you, sir!” she called over
the rising storm.   “Beauty is not used to
these Scottish storms!”   She smiled
widely as the wind grew louder.
    Recalling his wits, Hugh grinned
back.   “It’s going to get worse before it
gets better,” he roared.   “Follow me!”
    He wheeled Rufus around, and urged
him into a gallop, the two horses racing side-by-side back to the rocky
outcropping, and the shallow caves there.   As they reached the edge of the moor, Hugh leapt from the saddle, and
then reached up to help Sally down.   She
put her hands on his shoulders, and he grasped her waist, and lifted her easily
from the high saddle.   Overcoming a
desire to leave his hands where they rested, Hugh released her, took the reigns
of both horses, and pulled them into one of the shallow caves.  
    Sally followed, looking around with
fascination.   She found herself inside a
stone chamber in which both she and her companion could easily stand.     It seemed to go back quite a ways, but it
was too dark to tell for sure.   When they
were ten feet into the cave the sounds of the storm were dampened, and both
horses quieted quickly.
    “We can wait out the eye of the
storm here,” Hugh told her.   His dark
hair was wind-blown, and in the dim light of the cave, the planes of his face
showed in sharp relief.   His brown eyes
met hers intently, and his face had a harsh appearance.   He was tall, and well-built, and Sally knew a
moment’s hesitation that she should not have followed him so blithely into this
remote and hidden spot.   Then he smiled,
and she felt foolish.   The smile
transformed his face, and Sally found herself responding to it.
    “This is fantastic,” Sally
marveled, turning in a slow circle.   She
rubbed her arms briskly in the cold, damp air.   “Thank you for coming to my aid, again, sir,” she acknowledged, with a
mischievous smile.   “My maid informed me
that I was not as polite as I should have been yesterday.”
    She looked over at the tall man to
see his reaction, and was relieved to see an appreciative grin on his
face.   “For my part, ma’am, I acknowledge
my disgraceful actions in, er , manhandling your
person.”   He bowed formally, and Sally
grinned.
      “In that case, I believe we are even,
sir.   And I am truly grateful for your
help just now.   I have never seen Beauty
react to a storm like that before, but in truth it sounded as if the thunder
was breaking directly over our heads.”   She looked at her rescuer as she spoke.
      “It can seem that way when you are out on the
moors,” Hugh agreed.   “May I know your
name, ma’am?   Even though there is no one
here to make correct introductions,” he smiled.
    “Yes, of course,” Sally
replied.   “It’s Sally Den,” she stopped,
appalled that she had been about to give him her real name.   Her first test in her new role and here she
was blurting out her name!
    “Den?”   he repeated,
confused.
    “ Den   - ling   - ton,”   she sputtered out
syllables almost at random.
    “I am pleased to meet you, Miss Denlington,”
Hugh bowed formally.   “And if I may make
myself known to you, I am Hugh McLeod.”
    “That’s an appropriate name for
someone who rides across the Scottish moors in a thunder storm,” Sally opined.  
    “ Och , begorra ,” Hugh obliged in a heavy brogue, making Sally
laugh.   “That explains me, but what
brings you to our moor?” he asked, eyebrows raised .