Free Rebellion & In From The Cold by Nora Roberts Page B

Lord Ashburn brought with him from London, lassie, the proper-looking gentleman?”
    “Parkins.” Serena flexed her cramped hands and sneered. She found it odd that her heart rate had leveled almost to normal as soon as Brigham had swept out. “His English valet. Imagine, bringing a valet here to fuss with the cut of his coat and the shine on his boots.”
    “Quality’s used to having things done a certain way,” Mrs. Drummond said wisely. “I hear Mr. Parkins is an unmarried gentleman.”
    Serena moved her shoulders. “Probably too busy starching Lord Ashburn’s lace to have his own life.”
    Or he hasn’t met a woman with life enough for two, Mrs. Drummond mused. “Seems to me, Mr. Parkins could use a bit of fattening up.” She grinned, then set the bowl aside to shout for Molly again.
    * * *
    Quality, Serena thought with a sniff a few hours later. Just because a man had a trace of blue blood in his veins didn’t mean he was quality. It didn’t make him a gentleman, either. All it made him was an aristocrat.
    In any case, she wasn’t going to waste her time thinking about the earl of Ashburn. For nearly two days she had been tied to the house, to the day-to-day chores, which were increased by Coll’s needs. Now she had some time free. Perhaps she was stealing it, but she could make it all up later. The truth was, if she didn’t get out and off by herself for just a little while she might burst.
    Her mother probably wouldn’t approve of her taking a ride in the forest so close to mealtime. Serena shrugged that off as she saddled her mare. Her mother would approve even less of the old work breeches she wore. Hanged if she had the patience to ride sidesaddle, she thought as she led the mare out of the stables. She would take care that her mother wouldn’t see her so that her mother wouldn’t have to be disappointed in her behavior. With luck, no one would see her.
    Swinging astride, she led her mount to the rear of the stables, then over a low hill dotted with spindly briers and lichen. Surefooted, the mare picked her way over the uneven ground until they were almost out of sight of the house. Serena veered south, sending up a brief prayer that no one in her family would be looking out the window. The moment the forest swallowed her, she kicked the mare into a gallop.
    Oh, God, she had needed this more than food, more than drink. One wild ride through the naked trees with the wind on her face and a horse straining for speed beneath her. It might not be the proper thing, but she knew as well as she knew her name that it was the right thing for her. She didn’t have to be a lady here, a daughter here, a sister here. She had only to be Serena. With a laugh, she spurred the horse on.
    She startled small game and sent birds whirring upward. Her breath puffed out white, then vanished. The plaid she had wrapped around her shoulders held off the bite of the wind, and the exercise, the freedom, were enough to warm her. In fact, she welcomed the tingle on her skin from the cold winter air, and the sharp clean taste of it.
    She had a fleeting wish, almost instantly blotted out by guilt, that she might continue to ride and ride and ride with never another cow to be milked, never another shirt to be washed, never another pot to be scrubbed.
    It was probably an evil thought, she decided. There were those in the village who worked from dawn to dusk, who never had an hour they could set aside for dreaming. She, as daughter to the MacGregor, had a fine house to live in, a good table to eat from, a feather bed to sleep on. She was ungrateful, and would no doubt have to confess to the priest—as she had when she had secretly, then not so secretly, hated the convent school in Inverness.
    Six months out of her life, Serena remembered. Six months wasted before her father had seen that her mind was made up and she would have none of it. Six months away from the home she loved to live in with those simpering, giggling girls