The Heiress Bride - Catherine Coulter [114]
“You will hold your tongue, Ostle,” Sinjun said with such force that her sisters-in-law stared at her. “Now, you will ride to Edinburgh today as soon as we’re gone and make the other inquiries. It’s critical that you don’t let anyone know what you’re about. It’s critical that you return as quickly as possible. And you must contrive to see me alone. Do you understand me, Ostle?”
He was miserably unhappy, but he nodded, the sweet guineas piled thick in his pocket, tipping the scales against telling the laird what was up.
Unfortunately, due to the depletion of the Kinross stables, there was only one other mare suitable for a lady to ride.
“Very well,” Sinjun said after a moment. “I’ll ride Argyll, Sophie will take Fanny, and Alex, I’m sorry, but you will have to ride Carrot.”
Carrot, a very docile swaybacked mare of ten years, looked at Alex, blew loudly, and nodded her long head.
“We’ll do,” Alex said. A horsewoman of some renown, she was delighted.
“Er, m’lady, Argyll bain’t be in a sporting mood t’day, nay, he bain’t. His lordship was going t’ ride him, saw that he was nastiness hisself, and rode Gulliver instead. Nay mere than ten minutes ago his lordship left.”
Gulliver was the bay Colin kept in Edinburgh. Gulliver was the bay he rode back with Philip because he’d been so worried about her. She gulped and said, “Well, nasty or not, it’s Argyll for me. Ten minutes, hmmm. Do hurry, Ostle, and don’t worry, all will be well.”
She’d never before ridden Colin’s stallion—lord, she thought as she swung up on his broad back, he could outrace the rain in a storm. She prayed Colin wouldn’t notice he was missing. But if he did, it wouldn’t matter. He wouldn’t know which direction they’d taken. Ostle wouldn’t be here to question. She drew a deep breath and dug her heels into Argyll’s muscled sides.
Short minutes later they were galloping smoothly down the long tree-lined drive of Kinross Castle, the summer air warm and soft on their faces, slivers of bright sunlight slicing through the dense canopy of green leaves overhead.
“It is so beautiful here,” Sophie said, craning back to see the castle on its rise at the end of the long drive.
“Yes,” said Sinjun, and gulped. “Colin said one of his ancestors—the one who is painted naked—planted all the trees. They’re very lovely. Of course, there aren’t any gardens like yours at Northcliffe, Alex.”
“Perhaps not, but these trees. I shall do it at Northcliffe Hall,” Alex said. “What do you think—pines and birches and oaks?”
Sinjun knew both of them were scared to death of her plan and scared for her. Alex was babbling about trees; Sophie was looking grim as a defeated general, staring straight between her Fanny’s ears. Sinjun said nothing. She was set on her course. She directed them immediately off the narrow road. No tracks for Colin to follow if he happened to be in this exact spot and so inclined.
They rode steadily, not speaking now, staying close to Sinjun’s stallion, Argyll, who seemed pleased as could be to have her on his back. Not a bit of trouble did he cause her, which was fortunate, because Sinjun didn’t want to deplete her store of strength on a damned recalcitrant horse.
Sinjun called for them to halt in another mile. They were near the barren Craignure Moor. “The MacPherson castle—St. Monance—is but seven miles, over this desolate stretch, then into the Aviemore Hills. I know a short way around—I asked Ostle. We’ll be there in an hour. Are both of you ready for this? Are you certain?”
“I don’t like it at all, Sinjun,” Sophie said, “and neither does Alex. There must be another way. It was easier to talk about and agree to than it is now, actually doing it. It’s dangerous. Anything could happen.”
Sinjun shook her head. “I’ve thought and thought. The last thing I want is to have him come across me or Colin by accident, or by design, for that matter. He’s already tried to kill Colin once, and possibly twice; the second time I was hurt by mistake.” Their breaths hitched, for she hadn’t told them about the attempt in Edinburgh, and she continued inexorably, “No,