Free Scandal's Bride by Stephanie Laurens

perfectly acceptable winter's day to go riding in The
Trossachs. That was Catriona's determined thought as, atop a strong chestnut,
she clattered out of the stable yard and headed into the trees. She'd ridden
often in the few weeks she'd previously spent here as an escape from the
battleground of the house; she remembered the tracks well. The one she took
wound its way through stands of birch girding the rocky mountainside,
eventually meeting another bridle path leading to the summit. Looking forward
to a brisk gallop across the clear top of Keltyhead, she urged her mount
upward.
    The Highlands spread out before her as she emerged from the trees onto
the normally wind-swept mountaintop. The earlier breeze had died to nothing
more than a whisper, threading sibilantly through the bare boughs. Even the
fall of fine snow had ceased Catriona's spirits soared; scanning the wide
views, she drew in a deep breath. Directly before her, an open area thinly
covered with rough mountain grass beckoned—she waited for no more. A smile on
her face, a "Whoop!" on her lips, she set the chestnut to a canter,
then shifted fluidly into a gallop.
    Cold, bitterly fresh, the air rushed to greet her. It whipped her cheeks
and tugged at her braids. She welcomed it joyously—one of The Lady's simple
pleasures. Exhilarated, at one with her mount, she journeyed across the empty
space, immersed in the wide silence about her.
    She was halfway across the treeless expanse when a heavy clop and a
whinny broke the stillness. Glancing back, she saw a familiar tall figure,
mounted, watching her from the skirts of the forest. As still and dark as the
trees behind him, he studied her. Then he moved; the deep chested black beneath
him stepped out powerfully, on a course to intercept her.
    Her breath tangled in her throat; abruptly, Catriona looked forward and
urged her mount on. Damn the man!Why couldn't he leave her alone? The thought
was shrewish, the smile tugging at her lips much less so—
that
was
instinctively feminine, a reflection of the
frisson
of excitement that
had shot down her nerves.
    Had he followed her?
    She plunged on, determined to lose him—he rode much heavier than she.
And she knew she rode well; as the end of the open area neared, she considered
which of the three tracks ahead, each leading in a different direction over
different terrain, would best serve her purpose. That depended on how close he
was. She glanced over her shoulder, expecting to see him in the distance—and
nearly lost her seat. Eyes widening, she gasped and swung forward. He was only
two lengths away!
    Lunging onto the nearest path she raced along it, through twists, around
turns, over rocky ground screened by tall trees. She burst into the next
clearing at a flat gallop, the chestnut eagerly answering the challenge. They
flew across the snowy white ground—but she heard insistent, persistent,
inexorably drawing nearer, the heavy thud of the black's hooves gradually
gaming ground, moving along side.
    A quick glance revealed her nemesis riding effortlessly, managing one of
Seamus's big stallions with ease. He sat the horse like a god—the warrior of
her dreams. The sight stole her breath; abruptly she looked ahead. Why on earth
was she running?
    And how, once he caught up with her, would she explain her reckless
flight? What excuse could she give for fleeing so precipitously?
    Catriona blinked, then, dragging in a breath, slowed the chestnut and
wheeled away from the approaching trees. In a smooth arc she curved back into
the clearing, the black followed on the chestnut's heels. She slowed to a walk
as they neared a section where the trees fell away. Halting, she crossed her
hands on the saddlebow; eyes fixed on the white mountains spread before her she
breathed deeply, then exhaled, forcing her shoulders to relax. "So
exhilarating, a quick gallop in these climes." Her expression one of
infinite calmness, she looked over her shoulder. "Don't you find it
so?"
    Blue, blue