The haughty miss froze without turning to him, waiting for what he would say.
“It should have been icy water, aimed a little lower,” he said to her straight spine.
“That can be arranged.” She yanked the door open and left, head held high.
CHAPTER THREE
Draped in a serviceable riding habit, Catriona stood by the stockyard fence in the grey mists of dawn. The attire would already give her more freedom of movements with its wide skirts. But she also ordered these garments not to have the dragging skirts as demanded by London fashion. Too long skirts might be dangerous for the rider and the horse, so she had them made to the exact length of her legs. Like this, she gained freedom of movement and safety.
Her sleep had been heavy and dreamless courtesy of the long trip to the manor. Up, dressed, and gifting Debranua a carrot in the stable did not dispel her fuming temper. She had spent several minutes with her mare, checking if she received her due food and care. It had not been enough to dampen said temper.
The blasted laird and his insinuations were the first thing to come to her mind upon awaking. Granted, she had been rather monosyllabic in her answers to his intrusive questions. She stuck as close as possible to honesty, but saying too much would make a liar of her. And this she did not want. Curt replies had been her solution. His prying made her nervous. If he discovered who she was, not only would he send her home, but it also might deflagrate a clan situation. An unwelcome development in these circumstances. The McTavish were not so well connected as the McKendrick, but her clan still held their weight over the power balance in the Highlands. Catriona travelled here out of her need to see her country again. She could not afford to cause a row among the lairds, and she would not.
Her laconic rejoinders the previous evening had clearly led the blasted laird to misleading conclusions. Which, in turn, had driven her mad. She would not accept that arrogant behaviour even if it incited a raging war. It had been indescribably satisfying to see the rugged giant dribbling with wine from his hairline to his square jaw! Oh yes. Even if he had looked at her with those hypnotic eyes without an ounce of shame. He provoked her, she snapped, full stop. No regrets, no prisoners taken.
“A fairy of the woods gracing us mortals with her presence,” someone said behind her.
Turning, she saw a tall young man walking towards her with a smile. “Good morning.” She returned his smile.
“Lachlan McKendrick at your service,” he said before bowing.
“Emily Paddington.” She curtsied. He must be one of Fingal’s siblings for the obvious similarity.
“The horse-whisperer everyone is talking about?”
“I don’t know if anyone is talking about me, but, yes, I am here in this capacity.”
“They say you reduced Fiadhaich to a purring kitten.”
Catriona breathed a laugh. “He may need a gentle hand, that’s all.”
“Beautiful and modest? I am in love!” He placed his hand over his heart playfully. Another laugh bubbled in her.
“Lachlan,” a hard voice called, “you promised to help, not to while away with chit chat.”
The deep commanding rumble set Catriona’s pulse to a skitter. She pivoted to watch the blasted laird glowering at his younger brother. When his attention found her, a wave of warmth bloomed from the inside and tinted her cheeks.
“I was just making the lass’s acquaintance,” he said with a mischievous glint.
“If you are done, please go to the stables and call Craig.” He seemed none too happy at the sight of Catriona and Lachlan laughing together.
“Yes, my liege lord!” Lachlan mocked and headed there.
Only then did the blasted laird deign to acknowledge her. “Sassenach.”
“Good morning, Mr McKendrick.” She looked directly at him, unmoving face, and both engaged in a silent duel for several seconds.
“Call me Laird Fingal,” he ordained.
The overbearing scoundrel! “Yes, Mr McKendrick,” she insisted with a saccharine smile.
“Stubborn lass!” he said under his breath.
Craig and Lachlan approached, cutting their humourless exchange. In tow, they brought Fiadhaich. They led him inside the fenced space, followed by Catriona and Fingal.
The stockyard had a round shape, stretching in a diameter of at least ten yards with a dusty ground and an adjoining shed to keep gear at hand. The perfect place to train a horse, it boasted high fences for safety reasons.
“It would be best if the lass took him on a trot,” the stable master suggested.