The Heiress Bride (Sherbrooke Brides 3)

“You’re dreaming,” said Alex.

“More a drunken fantasy,” said Sophie.

The three ladies were lost in gloomy thoughts until they reached the stables. Sinjun spotted Ostle and ordered Fanny and two horses for the other ladies.

“I dinna like this, m’lady,” he said once, and then again and once more. “It bain’t be right.”

“You will hold your tongue, Ostle,” Sinjun said with such force that her sisters-in-law stared at her. “Now, you will ride to Edinburgh today as soon as we’re gone and make the other inquiries. It’s critical that you don’t let anyone know what you’re about. It’s critical that you return as quickly as possible. And you must contrive to see me alone. Do you understand me, Ostle?”

He was miserably unhappy, but he nodded, the sweet guineas piled thick in his pocket, tipping the scales against telling the laird what was up.

Unfortunately, due to the depletion of the Kinross stables, there was only one other mare suitable for a lady to ride.

“Very well,” Sinjun said after a moment. “I’ll ride Argyll, Sophie will take Fanny, and Alex, I’m sorry, but you will have to ride Carrot.”

Carrot, a very docile swaybacked mare of ten years, looked at Alex, blew loudly, and nodded her long head.

“We’ll do,” Alex said. A horsewoman of some renown, she was delighted.

“Er, m’lady, Argyll bain’t be in a sporting mood t’day, nay, he bain’t. His lordship was going t’ ride him, saw that he was nastiness hisself, and rode Gulliver instead. Nay mere than ten minutes ago his lordship left.”

Gulliver was the bay Colin kept in Edinburgh. Gulliver was the bay he rode back with Philip because he’d been so worried about her. She gulped and said, “Well, nasty or not, it’s Argyll for me. Ten minutes, hmmm. Do hurry, Ostle, and don’t worry, all will be well.”

She’d never before ridden Colin’s stallion—lord, she thought as she swung up on his broad back, he could outrace the rain in a storm. She prayed Colin wouldn’t notice he was missing. But if he did, it wouldn’t matter. He wouldn’t know which direction they’d taken. Ostle wouldn’t be here to question. She drew a deep breath and dug her heels into Argyll’s muscled sides.

Short minutes later they were galloping smoothly down the long tree-lined drive of Kinross Castle, the summer air warm and soft on their faces, slivers of bright sunlight slicing through the dense canopy of green leaves overhead.

“It is so beautiful here,” Sophie said, craning back to see the castle on its rise at the end of the long drive.

“Yes,” said Sinjun, and gulped. “Colin said one of his ancestors—the one who is painted naked—planted all the trees. They’re very lovely. Of course, there aren’t any gardens like yours at Northcliffe, Alex.”

“Perhaps not, but these trees. I shall do it at Northcliffe Hall,” Alex said. “What do you think—pines and birches and oaks?”

Sinjun knew both of them were scared to death of her plan and scared for her. Alex was babbling about trees; Sophie was looking grim as a defeated general, staring straight between her Fanny’s ears. Sinjun said nothing. She was set on her course. She directed them immediately off the narrow road. No tracks for Colin to follow if he happened to be in this exact spot and so inclined.

They rode steadily, not speaking now, staying close to Sinjun’s stallion, Argyll, who seemed pleased as could be to have her on his back. Not a bit of trouble did he cause her, which was fortunate, because Sinjun didn’t want to deplete her store of strength on a damned recalcitrant horse.

Sinjun called for them to halt in another mile. They were near the barren Craignure Moor. “The MacPherson castle—St. Monance—is but seven miles, over this desolate stretch, then into the Aviemore Hills. I know a short way around—I asked Ostle. We’ll be there in an hour. Are both of you ready for this? Are you certain?”

“I don’t like it at all, Sinjun,” Sophie said, “and neither does Alex. There must be another way. It was easier to talk about and agree to than it is now, actually doing it. It’s dangerous. Anything could happen.”

Sinjun shook her head. “I’ve thought and thought. The last thing I want is to have him come across me or Colin by accident, or by design, for that matter. He’s already tried to kill Colin once, and possibly twice; the second time I was hurt by mistake.” Their breaths hitched, for she hadn’t told them about the attempt in Edinburgh, and she continued inexorably, “No, I must be the one in control, the one with a plan. We will take him by surprise. I know there are problems with this, unknowns, if you will, but I couldn’t think of anything else. It will work. You must trust me on this. Ostle will find out what we need to know in Edinburgh. It won’t take many more days, probably two at the most. Even if the husbands do arrive, why, then I will simply sneak away and finish things off. Then let Colin yell and pound the furniture with his fists if he discovers what I’ve done. It won’t matter. Indeed, I shall enjoy hearing him carry on because I know he’ll now be safe. Now, my dears, let’s go.”

“Your husband will yell and pound the furniture and then he’ll kill all of us.”

“I will lie to him and he will know it, but how will he ever guess the truth?”

“What lie have you planned to tell him to explain your absence and ours?” Alex asked. She held up her hand. “You see, Sinjun, there’s today and then yet another day to deal with, and perhaps even another and another after that. The scheduling of this is difficult, even without the husbands’ interference. Now, what will you tell Colin?”

“Truth be told, I haven’t the faintest idea now, but with Colin yelling at me, I doubt not that something wonderful will spring to mind. It always does. First things first. Let’s go.” Argyll galloped forward, spewing pebbles in his wake.

They rode hard and saw very few people. The deeper they rode into the hills, the more difficult the going became. Purple heather sprang up thick from between sharp-edged rocks, giving the landscape a savage beauty.

“You’re certain this is a shorter route?” Alex asked.

Sinjun nodded. “Nearly there.”

Actually, St. Monance Castle, home of the MacPherson clan, was set at the very end of the Pilchy Loch, a narrow body of water that had grown thinner during the past century. There were trees aplenty surrounding the loch, sufficient arable land that Sinjun could see. Unlike Vere Castle, St. Monance looked its age. Because it was summer, there were brilliant flowers about, softening the ravages of time, but there were more weeds than blossoms, and everything looked untended and uncared for. Everything looked weathered and poor. It was what Crocker had told her. The weathered gray stone had crumbled or caved in at many places on the castle walls. Once there had been a moat, but now there were only tall weeds and a swampy area that stank nearly as badly as the Cowal Swamp in the warm morning air.