It was her turn to frown. “But you’re running an estate, not a war.”
Wry humor creased his eyes. “Och, what’s the difference?”
She’d realized last night, when she’d listened to his tales, that in past centuries, this part of the Highlands had been lawless and dangerous. But it was 1817. The kingdom, even its wild northern reaches, was at peace. “These days, there’s nothing to defeat. The battle’s over.”
“You wouldnae say that if you’d lived here in my father’s day.”
“So you have subordinates, but no equals.”
“I’m no raging tyrant, lassie.” Those expressive brows drew together in displeasure. “If you don’t believe me, ask the people who live here.”
She didn’t need to. It was apparent that everyone at Achnasheen was more than satisfied to have Fergus Mackinnon in charge.
The Mackinnon directed her attention to a portrait of his grandfather wearing the familiar red and black plaid, but her mind, for once, couldn’t focus on art. Instead, she kept stewing on the laird and the military terms he’d used to describe himself.
There was no doubting his power within this glen. Or his capacity to fulfill his role as protector and custodian. Yet, despite the adulation he received from his followers, she couldn’t help thinking that the master of this estate sounded as if he was heartbreakingly alone.
Chapter Seven
Fergus stood in the shadowy courtyard, holding two stocky ponies. Macushla and Brecon waited at his side. The sun peeped over the hills, and as he’d predicted, the day was fine.
His intriguing guest breezed through the castle’s doors and paused on the top step to survey her surroundings. Then her gaze fell on him, and she smiled with an openness he’d rarely seen in her. Her long, graceful body bristled with energy, and her pleasure in the forthcoming excursion made her black eyes shine.
With the exception of his friend Hamish’s formidable mother and her interest in politics, he wasn’t used to women dedicated to anything outside home and family. Signorina Lucchetti’s ideas went against everything he believed about the ordained way of things, but he couldn’t deny that he found this unusual lassie appealing.
She wore a rather masculine ensemble in dark green merino, designed for a day in the outdoors. The elegant, unadorned lines revealed the feminine charms of the body beneath. The portfolio she’d saved from the wreck hung from one shoulder, and she carried a wide-brimmed dark green straw hat in her hand.
“Good morning, Mackinnon,” she said, crouching to pat the dogs who trotted up to meet her. “You didn’t have to get up to wish me well.”
“You said ye wanted to leave early to catch the light.”
She descended the steps with that long-legged, loose-hipped prowl that always set his heart racing. No other woman he knew walked like that either, as if she required nobody’s permission to go where she wished.
“I did, but there was no need to crawl out of bed at dawn to see me off.” She glanced around curiously. “You said my guide would be waiting.”
Ah, they reached the point where there might be trouble. “He is.”
Fergus gave her credit for being quick on the uptake. A few feet away from him, she went completely still. “I…see.”
He wasn’t in the habit of explaining himself, but nor did he want her storming back inside. “Nobody knows these hills better than I do. I wouldnae entrust ye to anyone else.”
“I appreciate your kindness—” she began hotly.
“No, you don’t,” he said with a huff of amusement. “You’re wishing me to Hades right now.”
“Yes, I am.” To his relief, laughter brightened her black eyes. “I also recognize an argument I’m not going to win. You’ll soon regret your chivalry, Mackinnon. Be warned. A day with an artist is extremely dull. Papa always brings a book when we go out. So if you find yourself wishing you hadn’t come, remember this moment. I suspect tomorrow you’ll be more than happy to hand me over to Jock or one of his friends.”
As if he’d consign her to another man’s care.
“You shouldn’t challenge me, you know,” he said neutrally, leading the black pony up to her. He released the bridle and took her portfolio, tying it to the pony’s saddle. “It just makes me more determined to prove ye wrong.”
“We really aren’t designed to get along, are we?” she said easily. “We’re too alike. Too accustomed to getting our own way.”
“The weaker will must yield in time.” When he caught her by the waist, he let his hands linger.
Every time he touched her, it was like holding high summer in his grasp. Only a Highlander could appreciate how appealing that was. Winters at Achnasheen were long and dark and cold. When Marina Lucchetti gave herself to him, she’d flood his world with sunlight.
Her sleek dark eyebrows rose and to his pleasure, she didn’t try to break his grip. “Of course, you assume the weaker will must be mine.”