Page 48 of The Texan Duke
He must’ve gone a mile, maybe a mile and a half before he saw the herd. Connor stopped the stallion, his gloved hands on his thighs, staring. He would have to write his mother and sisters about this. Elsbeth hadn’t told him everything.
Highland cattle were the funniest looking things he’d ever seen.
They had broad triangular faces, short legs, and stocky bodies. Their bodies, including the tails hanging to the ground, were covered in long tan or brown hair. The hair dripped down over their eyes and almost to the end of their snouts. Their horns stuck out straight from either side of their heads, above their hairy ears. Although not as impressive as a Longhorn’s, the horns ended in a wicked-looking point.
He hadn’t considered that they would be so hairy, but of course they would need to be to winter outside.
There was Elsbeth in the middle of them, her horse tied to a tree branch as she traipsed through the snow.
He didn’t fool himself that he was out exploring Bealadair. He’d come looking for her and now he’d found her, hatless, her bright red cloak a spot of color next to the cattle.
He sat where he was, feeling oddly content, and watched her.
Chapter 16
A few minutes later, Connor dismounted and tied his reins to a tree branch not far from a pretty little roan mare that regarded him with intelligent eyes. After a moment of inspection, she nodded just once, as if finding him acceptable before turning her attention to his horse.
He grinned at the stallion’s toss of his hair and thought that whoever had named him Samson had chosen well.
Instead of the simple pasture he’d expected, the area had been augmented by a long wooden structure. About five feet high, it stretched from the base of a modest hill down to a creek bed. It took him a moment to realize that it was a windbreak serving a dual purpose: it cut off the worst of the Highland winds, plus it was a bedding-down area where the cattle slept. Grass was mounded and contoured to provide cushioning on the cold ground and probably to aid in drainage.
Two troughs about six feet long sat perpendicular to the windbreak. He guessed one held water and the other food.
He leaned back against an oak that looked as if it had been there a couple hundred years and watched Elsbeth. She was walking among the herd, and it looked as if she was talking to the cattle. Occasionally, she would slap her gloved hand against a flank, stop, and look appraisingly at the animal’s condition. From time to time, she would push one of them out of her way, and sometimes the cow would butt her back.
Her laugh traveled over the space between them, the sound of it making him smile.
She surprised him by looking comfortable, even in the middle of the herd. Highland cattle were, no doubt, more docile than Longhorns, but he bet they could still be dangerous, especially with those horns. She was agile in avoiding those, however, and twice used a horn as a kind of handle to move one of the cows.
She turned her head, caught sight of him, and hesitated for a moment before raising her hand in a wave. He waved back, but she didn’t move to join him. Instead, she continued with her inspection.
How had she learned about Highland cattle? Was it something his uncle had taught her? Or had she simply decided one day that someone had to do the job and learned what she needed to know?
He wouldn’t put it past her. He’d known her for one and a half days exactly, yet he already had an idea of her character. He both respected and liked her, the thought catching him off guard. He also wanted to know more about her.
Perhaps he’d felt that way about another woman in his past, but it was so long ago that he couldn’t remember.
When she finally started to head in his direction she did so with her head down, her eyes on the snowy ground.
“Where did you learn about cattle?” he asked when she was close enough to hear him.
She raised her head and met his gaze.
“Some from our previous steward,” she said. “Some from our ghillie, although he would much rather not work with cattle. Some from Gavin. And some from wonderful books on the subject.”
“Don’t you have anyone to help you?” he asked.
“Of course,” she said. “But they don’t deliver the feed and the water until I give them the order.”
“Water?”
She smiled. “You’ll laugh. You’ll think our cattle are coddled too much.”
When he didn’t say anything, she continued. “We heat the water on the coldest days. They can eat snow, but it lowers their body temperature and they can get too chilled. It’s easier to keep their weight on than to replenish it.”
“And that’s why you come here every day?” he asked, his amazement growing.
“Not every day,” she said. “Only on the coldest ones. I need to make sure the cattle are healthy, that none of them is lame, that their hair hasn’t become wet or matted. It doesn’t protect them, you see, if it does.
