Regency Proposal: The Laird's Forbidden Lady / Haunted by the Earl's Touch

Kilted and wild-looking, his black hair ruffled by the breeze, Ian Gilvry looked completely at home among the heather-clad hills as he strode towards her. He always had.

To a girl of sixteen, he’d seemed heroic and romantic. Especially since the first time they met he’d carried her home and then kissed her, a shy fumbling thing when he set her down at the gate. Utterly besotted, she’d plotted every which way to meet up with him again. And again.

In her innocence, she’d assumed he liked her.

‘Are you hurt?’ he said when he came close, concern showing on his face, a large suntanned hand reaching out to pull her to her feet.

She ignored it and sank back down into the springy heather, primly covering her feet with her riding habit. ‘I’m fine.’

He drew back, putting his hands on lean hips, his head tilted. ‘You fell off your horse?’

She glanced at Topaz, who was now happily cropping at the grass just out of reach. ‘I dismounted rather more quickly than I expected. The horse was terrified of your dog.’

The smile on his finely drawn lips broadened. ‘What, an excellent horsewoman such as yourself put to grass by a wee dog?’

‘The dog should be leashed. The horse could have been injured and that would have cost you a pretty penny.’ What was she doing? She had no wish to enter into verbal sparring with the man. She should just get up and walk away.

His eyes, as blue as the sky above his head, narrowed. ‘Gill is still in training. I apologise if he upset your animal.’

Her jaw dropped. Gilvrys didn’t apologise to Albrights. It was a point of honour.

‘Apology accepted.’ She stared off into the distance, willing him to leave.

‘Allow me help you back on your horse,’ he said, his voice no more than a murmur.

Kind. Full of pity. Like everyone else. She gritted her teeth in frustration.

A year ago, it would have been easy to leap to her feet and let him toss her up in the saddle. Right now, getting back on that horse and trying to control him with her aching muscles was out of the question. She should not have ridden so far.

She gave him her brightest smile and had the satisfaction of seeing his eyes glaze a little. ‘I think I will stay here and enjoy the scenery for a while. No need to trouble yourself.’

Dark brows drew down. He muttered something under his breath in Gaelic. A curse, no doubt. She felt like cursing, too.

‘Then I bid you good day, Lady Selina. Come, Gilly.’ He gave her a stiff little bow and strode up the hill.

The dog lay down at her side.

‘Go,’ she said and gave it a push.

It stared at her with soft brown, laughing eyes.

Ian whistled without looking back. The dog remained where it was.

With a heavy sigh, Ian turned, walked back, pulling a rope from his jacket pocket. ‘Once more I must apologise for my dog’s bad manners.’ He looped the knotted rope over the animal’s head and gave a sharp tug.

The dog pulled back with a whine. It pushed its nose under her hand where it rested on her thigh.

‘Go,’ she said, desperate for them both to be gone, so she could limp home with a shred of her pride intact.

His blue eyes suddenly sharpened. ‘Can you get up?’

He knew. Of course he did. He’d seen her at the Carricks’ ball. ‘I’m not ready to leave. Why don’t you and your dog just go away?’ She certainly wasn’t going to give him the satisfaction of watching her hobble after her horse.

Ian stared down at the petite dark-eyed beauty sitting at his feet in the heather and didn’t believe a word coming out of her mouth. The tautness around her mouth spoke of pain and more than a dash of humiliation.

‘I’ll go when I’ve seen you safely home.’ He stuck out his hand to help her up.

She gave an impatient sigh, placed her small hand in his and he tugged. The quick indrawn breath of pain as she rose caused a painful twinge low in his gut. Damn stubborn female. He gently lowered her back down and crouched down beside her. ‘I knew you were hurt.’

He glanced down at where her riding habit had rucked up over her ankles, showing a pair of sturdy riding boots. ‘Is it your leg?’

Her cheeks flushed red. ‘Partly, if you must know. But mostly it is because this is the first time I have ridden in a very long time. I stayed out too long. I am sure I will be fine in a little while, but I thank you for your concern, Mr Gilvry.’

Once he’d been plain Ian and she’d been a hoyden who one summer had roamed the hills around Dunross and fought a running battle with his younger brothers, the Gilvrys and the Albrights being mortal enemies.

He’d been away at his Uncle Carrick’s most of that summer. He’d returned home for a few days before he went back to school in Edinburgh and met her by accident late one summer afternoon. He hadn’t known who she was at first, and he’d come to her rescue when she twisted her ankle in a rabbit hole and carried her home.

Along with her pretty face and burgeoning womanhood, he’d found her joie de vivre and her artless chatter captivating. She’d treated him like a man, not a boy, and there had been hero worship in those warm brown eyes—a welcome change from schoolbooks and lessons in stewardship.

They’d met several times after that, until they’d been discovered at Balnaen Cove by his brothers. That had not gone well.

‘So it seems I must carry you home again,’ he said, wondering if she also remembered, then wanted to kick himself as shadows darkened her sherry-brown eyes. Of course she remembered. But no doubt she remembered his harsh words, too.

Like a fool, he’d tried to make up for his cruelty, the next time she asked for help, even though years had passed. Too soft-hearted, his grandfather had always said. Drew had paid the price for that bit of softness. Well, he wasn’t soft-hearted any more. Too many people relied on him now.

But nor could he in all conscience leave her here. He reached for her again.

‘It wouldn’t be seemly,’ she said, batting his hand away. ‘I can manage perfectly well by myself. I just need a moment or two.’

The lass always did have spirit to the backbone. And now she was utterly lovely. She looked like a feast for a starving man laid out in the heather.

He shook his head at himself. He did not have the time or the inclination for romping in the heather. He’d always left that to Drew. And because of Ian’s weakness over this female, Drew was no more.

A good Gilvry would leave her here and let Albright have the worry of a missing child, but a true Highland gentleman would never leave a woman in distress. Not even his worst enemy’s daughter. He glowered. ‘You know I can’t leave you here. And nor can I let you walk home in pain.’

‘I will manage, thank you.’

He put his hands on his hips and grinned at her. ‘Then climb aboard your flea-ridden nag and ride away.’

‘When I’m ready,’ she muttered.

Ian sank cross-legged beside her. The faint scent of roses filled his nostrils. Roses and heather. Never had he inhaled such a heady combination, although he suspected it was more to do with her than the perfume of the surrounding vegetation.

He folded his arms across his chest. ‘And I will sit here until you do. Or until you come to your senses.’

She rolled away from him onto her knees, presenting a view of her curvaceous bottom that sent a jolt of lust to his groin. Thank God for his plaid and his sporran or she’d be thinking him no better than an animal.

Gilly ran around her and licked her chin. She pushed him away, struggling with her skirts and the dog. With a small grunt, she got to her feet and took a couple of halting steps towards her horse.