Page 8 of To Bed the Bride
“Call the dogs. Peter and Paul. Call them.”
“I’ll do no such thing,” she said. “Don’t be ridiculous.”
“They’re waiting for your call.”
She glanced at the two dogs. They hadn’t looked away from her this whole time.
“I’m not going to call them. I want them to go away. I wantyouto go away. Please release me.”
“You’re shaking,” he said, stepping back and dropping his hands.
She turned.
“You’re the most obnoxious man,” she said.
“I’ve been called far worse, Miss Craig.”
She ignored that remark. “Your dogs are vicious.”
His laughter was insulting. “Only if you’re after one of their sheep. Then I wouldn’t want to tangle with Peter or Paul.”
“They would be better named Terror and Intimidation.”
“You haven’t been around dogs very much, have you, Miss Craig?”
“Enough to know those that are well mannered and those that are not.”
“Peter and Paul are extraordinarily well mannered, but they’re working dogs. You can’t have them sit on your lap and take treats from your lips.”
“I don’t want to have anything to do with them,” she said.
His smile startled her again. Did he know how attractive he was when he smiled? She suspected he did, just as he was aware of his... Her thoughts ground to a halt. What was there about him? Something almost brutish, but that wasn’t the word. She had the feeling that he was a fighter. A warrior. He reminded her of a Scot of old. She could almost see him in a kilt, his chest bare but for a swath of tartan. Instead of a crook, he might be holding a club or a sword, bloodied from recent battle.
This man, this warrior, might have wolves as companions, not appreciably different from the dogs that accompanied him now. Instead of sheep, clanspeople would be surrounding him, looking to him as their leader.
How ridiculous, to envision a shepherd as a leader of men. Or perhaps not so ridiculous after all, given what she’d learned in her two seasons. Men were sometimes like sheep, adhering to all sorts of societal rules that on the surface looked idiotic. Some men, however, chose to go their own way. Like this man might.
Which was Michael?
That thought had the effect of dousing her in cold water. How could she be wondering about another man when her fiancé should be uppermost in her mind?
Chapter Four
The shepherd startled her by reaching out and rubbing Maud’s nose. The mare seemed to like his attention, behavior that struck Eleanor as peculiar since Maud was aloof with most people.
“She’s a beautiful animal.”
“She’s from my father’s stable,” she said.
“Your father is a great judge of horseflesh.”
“He was,” she said. “Hearthmere horses are known all over the world.”
He glanced at her, caught her gaze, and held it for a moment before she looked away. His eyes were brown, a warm brown that seemed to hold humor in their depths. Did he think the situation was amusing? No doubt he did. And her fear? Something else to ridicule.
“I’ve never been a horseman,” he said, still stroking Maud. “I’ve never made the time.”
She didn’t mention that he hadn’t the money to purchase a horse, being a shepherd. Besides, what would he need one for? His legs carried him well enough.
