Page 43 of Hard-Hearted Highlander
His face darkened. “You know nothing, Miss Holly. You donna know what happened in these Highlands. What do you think, that I returned from Norway and Seona had simply...what? Walked away?”
“I suppose I assumed she and her family moved away,” Bernadette said uncertainly.
“From their home? To where? For what reason? To do what?” he asked, his arm sweeping long toward the sea.
This had gone well beyond her good and apparently misguided intentions. She’d meant only to apologize, but this was uncomfortable. How could she possibly know what had happened to his fiancée? “Perhaps they’d lost their livelihood,” she said, guessing now. It was as if her tutor was putting questions to her.Which country invaded France and why?“Perhaps to the colonies,” she added as an afterthought. Hadn’t there been a lot of emigration of late? She was certain she’d read that somewhere.
Mackenzie’s gaze raked over her, from the top of her head to her boots. “You’re a weeSassenachwith no understanding of this world. Naive. Artless.”
She bristled at the characterization. He made her sound as foolish as Avaline. “That is not true—”
He suddenly thrust out his hand to her. “Come,” he commanded.
“What?” Bernadette looked at his hand. “Where?”
“You’ll see soon enough.”
She didn’t like this. Something felt wrong to her. And she was still reeling from the terrible wrong she’d committed yesterday—not to mention her botched apology today. She shook her head. “I can’t.”
He took a step closer to her. “You’re a fearless lass, you are. Will you allow fear to stop you now?”
She felt oddly complimented by that. And like a smitten girl, her misgivings were alarmingly brushed aside. Bernadette nodded. She put her hand in his outstretched palm. He closed his fingers around hers and tightened his grip as he pulled her along behind him, up the hill, to where his horse was grazing in a copse of trees.
He grabbed the horse’s bridle and pulled it out of the trees.
“How will we—oh!”she said with alarm, because without warning, he put his hands on her waist and lifted her up, dropping her down on the front of his saddle. “Sir!” she protested, but he’d already swung up behind her and had thrown his arm around her waist.
Bernadette made another small cry of alarm and tried to sit straight, tried not to touch him.
“For God’s sake, donna alarm the mount.”
“I should not beridingwith you!” she protested. “It’s too familiar!”
“What will you do, then, plod along behind me in those boots? Settle back so that I might see.”
She had no intention of doing that, but he spurred the horse to a trot, and she was bounced back against him as he reined the horse about and headed away from the sea and Killeaven.
“Where are we going?” she demanded.
He didn’t respond, naturally, as that would have been the polite thing to do.
He held her steady as the horse began to canter. They rode in silence for what she guessed was a quarter of an hour. Everything she thought to say sounded flippant in her mind, or flew out of her head a moment after it appeared, as she was so acutely aware of his body against her back, of the strength and breadth and firmness of his body relative to hers, that she could scarcely think of anything else. There was not a soft spot on the man—he was all hard planes and sharp bends.
Her head filled with unwanted images of him with a Scottish woman. Had their love been as intensely felt and as passionate as it had been with her and Albert? Had it been a union of souls, as she’d felt with Albert? Or had theirs been a marriage arranged, the woman a mere acquaintance to him?
Eventually, the horse veered onto a path that went into the woods. They seemed to be going a great distance, and Bernadette’s nerves began to ratchet up. “I’ll be missed if I’m gone long,” she warned him.
“We are near,” he said, unconcerned.
Bernadette tried not to think of Avaline waiting for her. She tried not to think about the warmth of him at her back. She tried to focus on the scenery around her, but all she could see was trees and all she could think was how exquisite was the agony of having a man of his vitality so near to her.
They began to move up out of the trees and over a hill, and when they crested it, Bernadette spotted a house in the glen below. They were too far away for her to see many details, but she could see that part of the roof had burned. “Where are we?”
He responded by spurring his horse to a faster pace. She clung to the arm he’d anchored around her waist as the horse careered down the hill and into what once had been a front lawn. The door of the house was standing open. She could see into the interior, could see sunlight streaming in where the roof had given away.
Mackenzie reined the horse to a halt, then swung down, lifted her off the horse and put her on her feet. His jaw was clenched, but his expression was shuttered. “Come,” he said, and walked on, his stride long and determined.
Bernadette took a breath and felt great apprehension. It was as if she was walking into a place she ought not to see, to a memory that didn’t include her. She very reluctantly followed him to the door.
