Page 73 of Return of the Scot
Jaime glanced up when she saw him and smiled. “Good morning.” She held up the book. “I hope ye do no’ mind I borrowed this from your library. I’ve always loved The Iliad.”
“One of my favorites. May I join ye?”
“Aye. Of course.” She set down her book to pour him some tea.
“Ye did no’ need to stop reading on my account.” He pressed a kiss to her lips when she turned to look up at him, and his body stirred with renewed desire. They’d made love several times during the night, and each time was better and better. And he would have liked very much to swipe away the tea things, dismiss Mungo, and make love to her right then and there.
Reluctantly, he pulled away to slide into a chair beside her. “Ye’re up early.”
She grinned over her teacup. “I’ve always been so.”
Lorne was pleasantly surprised to find that they had that in common. “Would ye like to ride with me? I tend to do so first thing, before attending other business.”
“I would love to. It’s been so long since I’ve been atop a horse.”
“Then ye’re in luck. We have one of the best stables in the Highlands.”
Mrs. Blair arrived moments later with their breakfast. Eggs, bacon and freshly baked bread, toasted and smothered in butter. They both ate with gusto, and when they finished, he led her out to the stable.
Lorne’s favorite horse was still in Edinburgh, as he’d not wanted to torment the poor beast with a trip on the high seas, but he had plenty of other stock to choose from.
“Were the horses a part of your deal?” he asked. It didn’t look like there’d been any depletion of the stable.
“Nay, only the furnishings.”
Lorne had been hoping she’d say the opposite. “I suppose it only gives credence to our hypothesis that my brother planned to maintain control of the castle all along. Otherwise, he’d have made certain to take the horses. They’re worth a fortune.”
“I would say so.”
Lorne chose a large, black steed, while Jaime acquainted herself with several mares until she found the right one. A dappled gray who gingerly tasted the apple Jaime held out. They waited for the stable lads to get their mounts saddled, which didn’t take long. Then they were off, riding over the grounds and toward the village so he might greet his people properly, something he’d not been able to do on his previous journey.
Lorne watched the way her arse rose deliberately up and down, her thighs clutching the sides of the horse. She might not have been on a horse lately, but she’d not lost her skill. Hell, he wouldn’t mind if she rode him that way, and his body responded hotly to the idea. Blood pooling in his groin and pressing uncomfortably against his breeches. Again, he was annoyed he’d not taken the time to put on his kilt. He cleared his throat, trying to gain back a measure of control before he stopped their ride and pulled her onto his lap. “Ye’re a verra good rider. Where did ye learn?”
“Thank ye.” Jaime glanced behind at him, her brown eyes sparkling with joy. “In Ireland, actually. I’m afraid my parents never let me ride in London or Edinburgh, where we spent most of our time. But when we went to Ireland, I took great pleasure in the moors.”
“Do ye miss Ireland?”
“I’ve been too busy to miss it. But now that I’m here, I think so, a little bit.”
“Understandable.”
“And ye, did ye miss riding?” She slowed so that they were riding beside each other.
“Verra much. The exercises I do in my gymnasium keep my upper body in shape and hone my balance, but riding, there is something different about how it works the legs. The arse.” He chuckled when she made a pretense of peering behind him at his rear.
“Indeed. My bottom will likely be sore later.”
“I’m more than happy to help ye with that.”
“I bet ye are.” She passed him a wicked grin he couldn’t help returning. “My mother often said that men did no’ like a woman with a round bottom and that riding horses would give me one.”
“Your mother is wrong on both accounts,” Lorne said.
“I agree. She had a lot of…ideas.” Jaime rolled her eyes. “I miss her though and should no’ talk ill of the dead. But she and I…we had a troublesome relationship, to say the least. After Shanna’s great disappointment, Mother was ten times harsher and more critical in my debut and subsequent seasons. Her ideas of what the perfect wife and debutante should be did no’ exactly align with mine.”
“They sound more like criticisms than ideas if ye do no’ mind me saying.”
“They often were, aye.”
