Page 45 of Claimed By a Savage Scot
Ewan rose to his feet. “I’ll issue new orders right away.” He went out, closing the door behind him.
Alone once more, Malcolm rested his fists on the desk, curling and uncurling them, his face thunderous. He did not want any of his people to die, but part of him hoped that Sinclair and his army would show up outside his gates and put an end to this cat and mouse waiting game.
Because when he thought of the danger Catriona was in because of the black-hearted Sinclair, the urge to slit the man open from throat to gizzard and watch him die in front of him grew stronger with every breath he took.
With all the emotional turmoil going on inside her and her lack of sleep the night before, Catriona supposed it was no great surprise that she had a headache.
After leaving the chapel, she had gone up to her chamber, intending to lie down quietly for a while, in hopes of shaking it off. When she started awake an hour or so later, the worst of the ache had gone, but her mind still felt foggy and slow.
A ride would have been the ideal way to blow away the cobwebs, but with things as they were, it was out of the question. Thus, she roused herself and put on her cloak and a pair of sturdy boots, on loan from Malcolm’s Aunt Maggie, whose feet were luckily about the same size as her own.
When well wrapped up, she went outside into the damp, chilly afternoon to take her usual limited perambulation about the castle grounds, heading first for the gardens. Now her ankle was so much better, she did not have to worry about taking her stick with her when she went for a walk.
After doing her tour through the different areas of the garden, admiring the autumnal tints and bursts of color from the late blooming flowers, she wended her way back to the maincourtyard, heading for her last call of the day—a visit to the horses.
She shared a few friendly words with the stable lads outside and petted the horses being led in from grazing, then went into the stable. She had been making a point of visiting the handsome mare Brianna for the last few days, trying to win her trust with regular treats and gentle handling. Today, she was pleased when the mare greeted her with an affectionate nickering and nuzzled her with her nose.
“Aye, I’m pleased tae see ye too,” she whispered in the horse’s ear before giving her a good scratch behind them, which she loved. She was feeding Brianna sugar lumps from the flat of her hand when she heard a familiar deep voice behind her which galvanized her.
Malcolm!
She saw him further down the aisle, wrapped in the cloak she had returned to him recently, clearly waiting for his stallion to be saddled.
Where was he going? She felt rather indignant that he was free to ride alone outside the castle gates whenever and wherever he wished. Without even thinking about what she would say when she got there, her feet propelled her towards him.
CHAPTER TWENTY
His expression was serious, and as she drew nearer, she made out faint lines of worry and weariness about his eyes. Despite the wound he had inflicted on her, she could not help but feel a little sympathy for him. After all, he was doing his best to protect her from Sinclair and from himself.
He was about to mount up when she planted herself in front of him, preventing him from getting into the saddle.
His dark brows rose as he looked down at her. “Hello, Catriona. Would ye mind movin’ aside? I have tae be somewhere, and I dinnae have time tae waste.”
“What a surprise,” she replied with an edge of sarcasm. “Why is it that whenever I see ye, ye’re always rushin’ off to somewhere in a hurry?”
“That’s the life of a laird, I’m afraid. The responsibility never stops. Now, can ye move aside or dae I have tae move ye mesel’?”
Against her will, the thought of having his hands on her again sent shivers racing up her spine. But she only lifted her chin, determined not to show it.
“Just answer me question and maybe I’ll move out of yer way.”
“I dinnae have tae tell ye me movements,” he retorted with a hint of weariness that touched her more than she liked.
“Maybe ye should. If yer urgent business concerns Sinclair, then mayhap ye should remember ’tis me he’s huntin. Yet ye’ve told me naethin’ about what’s happenin’.”
His frown deepened as he leaned down to her and lowered his voice. “I’ve sworn tae protect ye from the man, have I nae? That should be enough fer ye.”
That vexed her. “If ye were in me shoes, would it be enough fer ye?” she demanded.
He glanced around as if worried others might be listening, but the stable was all but deserted apart from the horses in their stalls. When he looked back at her, his face had softened.
“Catriona, please, let me go.” He sounded almost pleading.
“Just tell me where ye’re goin’,” she insisted, hardly knowing why it was so important to know, except that the conversation was keeping him there with her a little longer.
He sighed. “I was goin’ tae ride out tae clear me head.”
Triumph burst in her chest and she smiled. “Grand. Then there’s nay reason ye cannae take me with ye. I’ve been locked up in the keep fer over a week, and I need tae clear me head as well.”
