Page 11 of The Scot is Hers
Her shoulders straightened with pride. “I am the soon-t0-be dowager countess. I have no choice, especially with ye staying up here in Aberdeenshire. Someone has to show their face for the family, and that has fallen to me.”
He’d not thought about it that way before. But it didn’t make him any more amenable to the situation or the idea of marriage. His feelings on that notion had not changed in the least. He’d rather hire a hostess to take over the duties for his mother than have to worry about them a second more.
Alec sighed heavily and approached her. “Go and rest, Mother.” He kissed her on her smooth cheek. “If it is leisure ye seek, I will find a way to give it to ye.” Without having to abandon his desires.
He ushered her from his library. Alec watched his mother disappear around the corner, no doubt in search of the stairs and her bedchamber. From the grand foyer, he could hear the giddy and boisterous noise of the guests arriving. Introductions were being made, along with happy reunions among friends. There was a little tug of longing at his heart. For he did want to be part of the reunion with his comrades. That had been a cruel trick of his mother to invite the people hedidwant to see along with the hungry lasses who would attempt to flirt with him, all the while their eyes would be on his scar, their lips twisted in disgust.
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Alec descended the back stairs to avoid all of his guests, nodding to several servants he passed who didn’t think it strange to see him, knowing that in the past, he’d often used this path to elude his mother. His friends were included on the list to evade, only because he knew they’d try to convince him to stay, and right now, he needed some air.
He made his way to the back of the castle through the halls to the kitchen and snuck out to the stable. He was slightly damp from the slow-falling rain by the time he got there, but at least it wasn’t the torrential downpour of earlier in the day. At least not right now.
Glancing about the stable full of horses and lacking in manpower, as his Master of the Horse was too busy dealing with the horses and carriages coming in droves, he finally spotted a groom. “Saddle Cliff,” he said, speaking of his horse whom he’d named after the drop off to the water below.
The groom hesitated, shifting from side to side on his feet, looking as if he was ready to either run or piss himself.
“What is it?” Alec asked.
“The weather, sir. Are ye certain?” The groom looked past Alec toward the courtyard, where gray clouds consumed the sky and rain drizzled.
Alec tried to control the irritation lancing through him but being quizzed by the lad after having been interrogated by his mother was a bit much. “Are ye questioning me, lad? I’m perfectly capable of handling my horse in all sorts of weather and do no’ need schooling from a whelp.”
“Nay, my lord.” The groom hurried to do his bidding. “Apologies, my lord.”
A little rain never hurt anyone, and Cliff was used to hard rides. They could both use the exercise and considering the number of horses invading his favorite mount’s space, if he were anything like his master, he would look forward to a short reprieve and escape from the dissonance.
“Ye’re forgiven. Let’s keep this conversation and the fact that I’ve gone between us, aye?”
The groom vigorously nodded as he grabbed the tack and saddle for Cliff.
Once his mount was readied, Alec vaulted onto Cliff’s back and left the stable, avoiding the crush of guests as he rode through the rear gate and headed north over the slick moors. Despite the rain slapping against his face, he felt he could breathe easier than he had in the castle, especially now that his mother was there and prepared to torment him with one potential bride after another. He could think of no greater way to torture him than thus.
In a kind gesture from Mother Nature, the rain slowed even more until it was nearly a mist. The lush foliage of spring came alive on the moors, spreading out before him in invitation. Green grasses and wildflowers dotted the rolling landscape, only disrupted by the sheep and cattle who grazed and the low thatch-roofed crofts of his tenants.
He dismounted near the craggy cliffs some two miles north of his castle, letting his horse munch on some sweet grass as he stared out at the ocean, rising and falling in wicked crashes of frothy waves. The rain might have slowed, but the sea had yet to receive the message to calm. Any ships out there in this weather were in grave danger from kelpies, the mythical horse creatures that would rise from the depths of the ocean and lure sailors to their death.
Fortunately, he didn’t see any ships—or kelpies—in the distance.
Alec remounted his horse and rode farther north to the ruins of what used to be an abbey. Over half of the roof had caved in. Two sides of the walls had also collapsed. The stained-glass windows had long since been pilfered or broken, and the doors were also gone, leaving the abbey open and exposed to explorers like himself. The ruins had been there since he was a lad. And he’d climbed over the stones, up the walls and traipsed like a lunatic, twenty feet in the air across crumbling stone, dozens of times.
Whenever he thought about the reckless things he’d done as a lad, he couldn’t help but wonder how he’d not fallen and broken his neck. The most damage he’d ever caused to himself while here was a scraped knee. Damned lucky. He’d not be caught climbing up the walls to balance at the top nowadays unless the wager was big enough.
In Alec went, staring up at the walls and seeing his younger self balancing and then pretending to be attacked by pirates. Those imaginings had given him a false sense of security that was proven wrong when he’d been in actual battle. There was nothing that could prepare a man for the death of men he fought beside. Nothing to train a man for the screams of the injured and dying. The acrid smell of cannon fire and the metallic scent of blood. Having no place to go for safety. Not being able to retreat.
Or the hate that came from knowing one had been betrayed. Orders not followed, which led to the death of others. How did one rein in that kind of anger? The need to hurt the person who had caused such disorder, damage and death?
Alec ran his hands over his face and through his hair, shaking off some of the rain that had soaked his locks. The thoughts and memories from battle often came in thunderstorms. For that had been when his failure had shown itself most. Rain pelted the men as they tried to fight. Thunder rumbled with the sounds of cannons.
It was a miracle now that the clamor of a storm didn’t leave him cowering, though there had been a day when that had been the case.
As if to test him, thunder crackled overhead, and lighting speared down from the sky, hitting a nearby tree with a loud clap and sparks that fizzled in the ensuing wet. The slowing rain picked up, and with it the wind, enough so that even Cliff wandered into the ruins for shelter, nuzzling Alec’s palm.
Alec might as well wait it out here. Not a great disappointment, really. Teatime wasn’t for at least another hour, and he could be late if he wanted to. Or not show up at all. Mother was going to be disappointed no matter what he did this week. Her plans to see him wed were dead in the water.
There was no way in hell he would capitulate. Alec didn’t want a bride, and he certainly didn’t want to choose one from the handful that was willing to travel out in this weather to see the beast he’d become.
Ifhe were ever to wed, it would be to a woman who saw beneath the surface. A woman who shared his passions. A woman who liked reading and adventure. A woman who was strong in body and mind. A woman who could appreciate him for who he really was. One who looked at him and didn’t see his scars, his failures, but something else. A hero? Hardly. But a man. That was what he supposed he wanted most, to be looked at and not shied away from. To be seen as the man he was. To be desired for more than mere coin.
