So she told him, ‘Yes,’ and smoothed her gown with hands that barely trembled. ‘Thank you. Everything is fine.’
He nodded. ‘Then I’ll not detain you, for I see you are, indeed, quite fully occupied this morning.’
He’d gone past her by the time she found her courage. ‘Mr Moray?’
Once again he stopped, and turned. ‘Aye?’
‘I do find my situation changed.’ She’d said it now. She could not lose her nerve. ‘If you still wish to ride, I could come with you. If you like,’ she finished, conscious of his steady gaze.
He stood a moment in consideration. Then he said, ‘Aye, Mistress Paterson, I’d like that very much.’
She didn’t bother changing from her gown into her borrowed habit. Dust and horsehair could not harm the fabric of her skirts more than the years themselves had done. This gown was the not the oldest one she owned, but she had worn it several seasons and had mended it with care because its color, once deep violet, now a paler shade of lavender, did set off her bright hair to some advantage.
At the stables, Rory brought her out the mare, and ran his hands along the broad girth of the sidesaddle to see it was secure. But it was Moray’s hand that helped Sophia to her mount.
She felt again that shooting charge along her arm that she had felt when they’d first touched, and as she drew her hand back he remarked, ‘Ye should be wearing gloves.’
‘I’ll be all right. My hands are not so soft.’
‘To mine, they are,’ he said, and handed her the gauntlets from his own belt before swinging to the saddle of his gelding, where he sat with so much ease he seemed a part of the great animal. To Rory, he said, ‘If her ladyship should ask, we’ll not be riding far, and we’ll be keeping close to shore. The lass is safe with me.’
‘Aye, Colonel Moray.’ Rory stepped well clear and watched them go, and though he made no comment, from the look of interest on his face Sophia guessed that Kirsty would soon hear of her adventure.
But while Kirsty would undoubtedly approve, Sophia did not know what thoughts the countess or her son might have upon the matter. True enough, the countess had been in the room when Moray had first asked her to go riding after breakfast, but Sophia had declined that offer with such haste the countess had not had the time or need to voice her own opinion. Nonetheless, Sophia reasoned, there could scarce be an objection. Mr Moray was an honorable man and of good family—a woman under his protection surely would not come to harm.
She told herself this last bit for a second time to fortify her confidence. They were beyond the castle now and heading to the south. He held the gelding to an easy walk although she sensed, had he been on his own, he would have settled on a pace more suited to his restlessness. It must, she thought, be difficult for someone such as him, a soldier, bred and trained for action, to be confined to Slains these past few days. She’d often seen him taking refuge in the library among the shelves of books, as though by reading he could give his mind at least a taste of liberty. But mostly he’d reminded her of some caged beast who could but pace the grounds and corridors without a worthy purpose.
Even now, he seemed to have no destination in his mind, as though it were enough for this brief time that he should breathe the sea air and be free.
He seemed in no great mood to break the silence, and indeed he did not speak till they had splashed across the burn and passed the huddle of small dwellings just beyond, and turned their mounts to where the soft beach grasses blew atop the dunes of sand. And then he asked, ‘How do ye find those gloves?’
She found them warm, and overlarge, and rough upon her fingers, but the feeling had a certain sinful pleasure to it, as though his own hands were closed round hers, and she would not have wished them gone. ‘They are a help to me,’ she said. ‘Though I confess I feel that I should have a falcon perched upon my wrist, to do them justice.’
She had never seen him smile like that—a quick and sudden gleam of teeth and genuine amusement. Its swift force left her all but breathless.
‘Aye,’ he said, ‘they are not of the latest fashion. They were sent me as a Christmas present by my sister Anna, who greatly loves all tales of knights and chivalry, and no doubt chose those gloves with that in mind.’
She smiled. ‘My sister’s name was also Anna.’
‘“Was”？’
‘She died, last year.’
‘I’m sorry. Did ye have no other family?’
‘No.’