Free Scandal's Bride by Stephanie Laurens Page B

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 gaining ground, moving alongside.
    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 eyes met hers. One of his black brows slowly arched. “You ride like a hoyden.”
    His expression remained impassive; she felt sure he intended the remark as a reprimand. Her giddy senses, however, heard it as a compliment—one from a man who rode well; it was an effort to keep a silly grin from her lips. She met his blue gaze with regal assurance. “I ride as I wish.”
    Her emphasis was subtle, but he heard