Page 69 of A Gypsy in Scotland


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“You can either saddle my horse, Mr. Ross, or I shall ride him bareback, either way, I am leaving atop a horse in two minutes.”

“Very well, if you insist on riding, I shall accompany you.”

“If you do that, Mr. Ross, do so from a distance.”

Honoria did not wait for him to saddle his horse. Within minutes she was flying through the air, leaving behind a disgruntled groom and his string of curses.

She laughed, the weight of all her troubles lifting as she urged Bach faster. With each passing second, her head became clearer.

No man, or brother, would dictate her choice anymore. She would go to Edinburgh. They could come along or they could remain at MacCallan Castle. She was done fighting with them. She was done being denied by them. She was done being cast aside.

She galloped Bach all along the edge of the property, her thoughts straying to the tower and the magic created there. The memory of them united seared in her skull. They had made a thousand promises with their bodies, but none of those promises would see the light of day.

A chasm stretched between them, between the different worlds they came from, that he refused to cross, even if she’d happily leap it in a heartbeat. In the end, he was just a man. He didn’t believe her strong enough to be free. And that was heartbreaking.

Honoria glanced up at the sky. By the estimation of the sun, she had been riding for about an hour, every so often glancing over her shoulder expecting to find Hugh and maybe even Lash in pursuit of her. By now they would have noted her absence. But she hadn’t even spotted Mr. Ross.

Honoria sighed, spurring her horse and yanking on the reins to double back. She didn’t want to return to the castle, she wanted to keep on riding, but neither did she wish to worry Hugh and Isla.

“At least you have never let me down, Bach,” Honoria murmured to her horse, leaning over to pat his neck. “No matter what happens, I have you.”

Bach snorted and began to dance in discomfort.

Honoria’s brows drew together, fingers tightening on the reins. “What’s wrong, Bach? Do you sense something?”

At first, she heard nothing, only the soft breeze rippling over the leaves of the trees and the song of two birds chippering at each other. Then, a deeper sound, almost like distant thunder, echoed through the earth.

Her gaze swept for the source as the sound grew fiercer in its strength. From nowhere, three horses burst from a patch of trees off to her right, straddled by three mean-looking men. These weren’t friendly visitors, not the way they were barreling down on her, and a sweep of her surroundings told Honoria she had strayed too far from the castle.

With a cry of alarm, she spurned Bach around, urging him into a run. Honoria’s only thought to reach the castle before they caught her. But her escape was cut off by three more riders boring down on her front.

Panic rose.

Had she ridden into a trap? Her pulse leaped, heart sinking to her toes. Honoria recognized the man leading the group at once.

“Well, look what we have here,” the sickening voice of Danior spoke. “If it’s not the little girl who’s not a little girl.”

Lash’s brother.

Danior.

Something was wrong. Very wrong.

Lash didn’t know how he knew it, he just did. Right down to his bones. The sensation of dread grew fiercer with each passing minute, refusing to be shaken.

Honoria was in trouble.

“Have you seen Honoria?” he barked, striding into one of the morning rooms where Hugh and Isla were taking a late afternoon tea.

Two sets of eyes turned to him.

“Painting in her chamber, I believe,” Isla offered. Her brows puckered. “Why? Is something amiss?”

“I just came from her room, and she is not there.”

“Why would you be searching for her in her room?” Hugh asked, his face clouding over.

“We were in the tower together, and she—”