The Heiress Bride - Catherine Coulter [87]
She patted Fanny’s sleek neck. “I’m being a romantic and you’re fat,” she said, sniffing in the clear sweet air, the scent of honeysuckle and heather light and teasing. “Douglas has been letting you eat your head off in the stables, hasn’t he? A good gallop is just what you need, my girl.”
“I occasionally say that to my women.”
Sinjun turned slowly in her saddle. A man was seated on a magnificent bay barb not six feet from her. Why hadn’t Fanny whinnied?
“I wonder why my mare didn’t alert me to your presence,” she said aloud, straightening now and looking at him.
He frowned. A bit of fear would have pleased him. At least a show of surprise at his unexpected appearance. Perhaps her wits were slow and she hadn’t understood his small jest.
“Your mare didn’t alert you because she’s drinking from the loch. The loch water is magical, ’tis said, and a mare will drink until her stomach bloats.”
“Then I should stop her.” Sinjun gently tugged the reins back, forcing Fanny’s muzzle from the water. “Who are you, sir? A neighbor, perhaps?”
“I suppose I’m a neighbor. You are the new countess of Ashburnham.”
She nodded.
“You’re quite lovely. I expected a rabbit-toothed hag, truth be told, since you’re such a full-blooded heiress. Colin must believe he’s the luckiest bastard alive.”
“I’m pleased I’m not a hag, for Colin never would have wed me, regardless of the number and weight of my groats. As for his feelings of luck, I cannot attest to that.”
He frowned at her. “Colin is a fool. He’s not worthy of any woman’s regard.”
She looked at him more closely now as he spoke. He was tall, perhaps taller than Colin, though it was difficult to be certain, since he was sitting atop his stallion, his posture indolent, his expression amused, his clothing of the best quality and fitting him perfectly. And he was very slender, to the point of delicateness, but surely that was an absurd thought to apply to a man. He had a full head of very soft blond hair and his forehead was high and wide. If anything, his features were too refined, too soft, almost feminine. His complexion was fair, his eyes a pale blue, his jawline and his chin as soft and delicate as a woman’s. This quite pretty man was vicious?
“Who are you?” she asked.
“I am Robert MacPherson.”
“I suspected as much.”
“Did you now? Well, that does make it easier, doesn’t it? What has the bastard said about me?”
Sinjun shook her head. “Did you try to kill Colin in London?”
She saw that he hadn’t; the surprise was too sharp in his eyes, his hands tightened too quickly and roughly on his stallion’s reins. So it had evidently been a coincidence after all. He laughed as he flicked a fly from his stallion’s neck. “Perhaps. I try to take advantage of opportunities when they present themselves.”
“Why would you wish to kill Colin?”
“He’s a murdering sod. He killed my sister. Broke her neck and threw her off a cliff. Isn’t that an excellent reason?”
“Do you have proof of your accusation?”
He drew his stallion closer to the mare. The mare flung back her head, nervous, her eyes rolling at the stallion’s scent.
“No closer, if you please.” Sinjun calmed Fanny, crooning to her, ignoring Robert MacPherson.
“I don’t understand why you aren’t frightened of me. I now have you in my power. I can do as I please with you. Perhaps I will ravish you until your womb takes my seed. Perhaps you will bear a child and it will be mine.”
She cocked her head to one side, studying him. “You sound like a very bad actor in an inferior play in Drury Lane. It is curious, I think.”
Robert