with his family. She knew how suffocating and judgmental they could be. But in the years since she had last seen him, he seemed to have settled somewhat. This older man she now had to think of as LordAshby was more subdued, perhaps a bit jaded, and there was a weariness behind his green eyes that hinted at painful experiences. The rough edges were gone, leaving behind a seasoned, hard-faced ex-soldier who was accustomed to getting his way.
She would have to tread carefully with this new Angus. This man looked to have a clear idea of what he wanted and the confidence to do what he must to get it. He wouldn’t take kindly to insubordination. Especially from a wife.
Tossing the last of the scraps into the fire, he rose from the log bench. “If you’ll excuse us, lass, Satterwhite and I must tend the animals.”
Earlier he had introduced his big gelding to her mules, Maisy and Buttercup. After a few snorts and sniffs, they had accepted each other and had been allowed to wander loose as they’d grazed the clearing throughout the afternoon. Now he went to collect Lurch, careful to approach from the front so the deaf animal would see him and not be startled by his sudden appearance. Then following Satterwhite and the mules, he led him to the creek for a last drink before staking him close to the wagon for the night.
Maddie watched him, seeing in his distant form the young man she had once found so captivating.
With his long-legged lankiness and his gentle touch with horses, he was well suited to be a cavalryman, despite the fact that his initial enlistment had been with the Riflemen of the Ninety-Fifth. She hadn’t known him then, as he had already transferred to the Hussars when she’d met him, “hoping to be sent to China for the Second Opium War.”
Instead, the Tenth Hussars had been sent to Ireland, where, as he’d written in his last letter several years ago, he had been promoted to the rank of colonel “for no good reason other than I complement the flashy uniform and sit a horse well.” An odd thing for a man to say about himself and his own success.
Yet despite his obvious disenchantment with the military, he hadn’t sold his commission, or come home to see his wife, or written to her again. And now, after years of silence, he was back in herlife—with a new title and a new name and all the power he needed to bend her to his will.
Disheartened, she rose and began gathering the empty plates and dirty utensils. She wondered how he would react if she told him she wanted a divorce. If they were no longer married, she could continue her work, and he could find some fertile young thing to bear his heirs in exchange for the title of viscountess and a short letter every year or so. Divorce was the only sensible solution.
And yet…
It was almost dark when Ash returned from the creek with Lurch and Tricks. The breeze had died, and stars were winking to life in the cloudless dome overhead. It would turn cold in the night. He could feel it in his side.
His wife sat huddled by the fire, lost in thought. After staking Lurch near the wagon, he untied the bedroll from his saddle and crossed toward her, Tricks at his heels.
“Sit,” he told the dog. This time Tricks obeyed. Dropping the bedroll, Ash stepped over the log then sat, his hands extended to the warmth rising from the coals. “It’s a braw night, is it not? Reminds me of the Highlands.”
“Except for the lack of fog and drizzle and stink of wet sheep.”
So much for friendly conversation. Too weary to wrest pleasantness from an angry woman, he let it go. “Where do you want me, lass?”
She looked at him, then at the bedroll, then back at him. He admired the way her brown eyes caught the flames and her fine cheekbones were tinted goldish pink by the glow of the coals. “Want you?”
“To sleep. In the wagon or out—”
“Not in the wagon!”
He studied her for a moment, then gave what he hoped was a reassuring smile. “You’re not afraid
She would have to tread carefully with this new Angus. This man looked to have a clear idea of what he wanted and the confidence to do what he must to get it. He wouldn’t take kindly to insubordination. Especially from a wife.
Tossing the last of the scraps into the fire, he rose from the log bench. “If you’ll excuse us, lass, Satterwhite and I must tend the animals.”
Earlier he had introduced his big gelding to her mules, Maisy and Buttercup. After a few snorts and sniffs, they had accepted each other and had been allowed to wander loose as they’d grazed the clearing throughout the afternoon. Now he went to collect Lurch, careful to approach from the front so the deaf animal would see him and not be startled by his sudden appearance. Then following Satterwhite and the mules, he led him to the creek for a last drink before staking him close to the wagon for the night.
Maddie watched him, seeing in his distant form the young man she had once found so captivating.
With his long-legged lankiness and his gentle touch with horses, he was well suited to be a cavalryman, despite the fact that his initial enlistment had been with the Riflemen of the Ninety-Fifth. She hadn’t known him then, as he had already transferred to the Hussars when she’d met him, “hoping to be sent to China for the Second Opium War.”
Instead, the Tenth Hussars had been sent to Ireland, where, as he’d written in his last letter several years ago, he had been promoted to the rank of colonel “for no good reason other than I complement the flashy uniform and sit a horse well.” An odd thing for a man to say about himself and his own success.
Yet despite his obvious disenchantment with the military, he hadn’t sold his commission, or come home to see his wife, or written to her again. And now, after years of silence, he was back in herlife—with a new title and a new name and all the power he needed to bend her to his will.
Disheartened, she rose and began gathering the empty plates and dirty utensils. She wondered how he would react if she told him she wanted a divorce. If they were no longer married, she could continue her work, and he could find some fertile young thing to bear his heirs in exchange for the title of viscountess and a short letter every year or so. Divorce was the only sensible solution.
And yet…
It was almost dark when Ash returned from the creek with Lurch and Tricks. The breeze had died, and stars were winking to life in the cloudless dome overhead. It would turn cold in the night. He could feel it in his side.
His wife sat huddled by the fire, lost in thought. After staking Lurch near the wagon, he untied the bedroll from his saddle and crossed toward her, Tricks at his heels.
“Sit,” he told the dog. This time Tricks obeyed. Dropping the bedroll, Ash stepped over the log then sat, his hands extended to the warmth rising from the coals. “It’s a braw night, is it not? Reminds me of the Highlands.”
“Except for the lack of fog and drizzle and stink of wet sheep.”
So much for friendly conversation. Too weary to wrest pleasantness from an angry woman, he let it go. “Where do you want me, lass?”
She looked at him, then at the bedroll, then back at him. He admired the way her brown eyes caught the flames and her fine cheekbones were tinted goldish pink by the glow of the coals. “Want you?”
“To sleep. In the wagon or out—”
“Not in the wagon!”
He studied her for a moment, then gave what he hoped was a reassuring smile. “You’re not afraid
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