Page 9 of Claiming His Scottish Duchess (Scottish Duchesses #2)

Chapter Eight

“ C ha tèid na tha th’ agad romhad seachad ort.” What is before you will not pass you by.

“Catriona, for pity’s sake. Could ye at least mind yer posture!” her mother hissed, tugging at the sleeve of Catriona’s gown.

It was yet another dig thrown at her meticulously chosen but, in Lady Craigleith’s opinion, insufficiently alluring gown.

“Shoulders back, chin up! We are here to impress potential suitors, nae to gawk at everythin’ like common folk.”

The racecourse was a riot of sensory overload, unlike anything Catriona had seen before.

The ground vibrated with the pounding hooves as the horses practiced on the inner tracks.

There was a low rumble beneath the excited chatter of the throng as patrons made their way to the track.

Some were obtaining refreshment, while others haggled to place bets on the day’s winner.

The smells of sugar and alcohol mingled, not unpleasantly, with sun-warmed wood and straw.

Catriona and her mother made their way to a seating area, where they joined Lady Northley, Eliza, and Lady Marchant.

“I fear the smell of the manure is going to make me ill,” Lady Marchant sniffed as she sat down. “As much as I enjoy the liveliness of this event, it is far too pungent!”

Catriona sat down next to Eliza as the girls looked at the magnificent creatures being led to the starting line. Their powerful muscles bunched and flexed beneath coats that shone elegantly.

“I’ve always loved horses,” Eliza said. “Ever since I was a little girl, I just liked to stare at them.”

“Me too,” Catriona agreed. “While I’ve always liked ridin’ them, I’ve often felt like a wild mare meself.”

Catriona considered how she’d fare in a race. What she lacked in speed, she would make up for in heart.

Something about those horses spoke to her, and she longed to run wild as she knew they must.

Across the bustling track, Richard arrived with Lydia, her small hand clutched tightly in his.

The girl looked visibly overwhelmed, her wide eyes darting nervously at the swirling crowd. It was then he realized she had probably never seen so many people in one place in her entire life.

Her new governess, Ms. Meechum, was a prim woman with an excellent work ethic coupled with a perpetually worried expression. She trailed slightly behind as they made their way to meet Lord Arlington.

“I’m so glad you were able to make it,” Lord Arlington said as he cast a wink in Lydia’s direction, to which she gave a sheepish smile. “It’s going to be quite a race, and I’ve put a little money on it to make it interesting.”

“I’m not much for gambling,” Richard said, realizing that he should give in slightly to the levity of the occasion if he were to have success with Arlington. “But I certainly understand the allure.”

“That’s the spirit,” he replied, clapping Richard again on the back. “This will be great fun!”

Lord Arlington guided them towards a slightly elevated area near the judges’ stand. This vantage point would offer a clearer view without the crushing press of the masses.

Richard saw Lydia taking it all in with a large grin on her face. She watched the other attendees, making bets and taking their seats as the race was about to start.

Then, the sharp, metallic crack of the starting gun ripped through the air.

The sound was brutal. Lydia’s small body stiffened in response as he witnessed the breath catching in her throat. She threw her hands over her ears to mute the joyous roar of the crowd, overstimulated after such an intense sound.

He saw her face transform as she looked ahead, as a scene played out in front of her eyes and only she could see it.

The ambush. The unexplainable violence. The gunshots.

With a strangled cry, she bolted from her seat into the crowd.

“Lydia!” Richard called desperately, but it was no use.

While the roar was primal, it was swallowed by the race, the crowd.

He surged forward like a man possessed. He shoved past startled onlookers in a desperate pursuit.

“Lydia!”

Catriona was enjoying the race, cheering on the horses, when she swore that she saw a flash of frantic movement in her periphery.

A small, pale face, streaked with terror, disappearing into the crowd.

Could it be little Lydia? Surely not. And yet…

Her instincts took over the operation of her body as she got up from her seat.

If that was Lydia and she needed her help, she would not forgive herself for ignoring the feeling.

“Please excuse me,” she said hastily to her mother and Lady Marchant, who were busy watching the race.

They must have assumed she had to relieve herself, as they did not protest. Catriona also expected they may have put a small wager on the race, which also held their interest.

She quickly made her way towards the quieter, less manicured area behind the stands.

The scent of hay and manure made her cover her nose, not in disgust but just at the sensory onslaught. She shook her head as she scanned the area around her.

She made her way a bit further from the beaten path, where she found the duke kneeling beside Lydia.

The poor girl was now a storm of inconsolable sobs. Her small frame was wracked with violent tremors.

Catriona, her own breath coming in ragged gasps from the exertion, approached tentatively.

“Is she all right?” she asked.

The duke’s head snapped up as he took in the words he was hearing. He instinctively moved to shield Lydia with his body.

“Give us some privacy, Miss MacTavish. I can handle this matter,” he growled.

Catriona took another step closer with her hands in the air as if in surrender.

“I just want to help,” she insisted. “Naethin’ more.”.

“I don’t need your help,” Richard snapped back, his eyes flashing with a wounded intensity.

“With all due respect, Yer Grace,” Catriona retorted, her own temper flaring at his inconsiderate tone, “ye dinnae seem to be doin’ a particularly good job of consoling the poor child. Is yer pride more important than her comfort?”

Lydia’s sobs hitched slightly as she also began to realize that Catriona was there. She poked her head out of her hands and gazed up at her. Then, she reached out from behind Richard’s broad arms for Catriona.

Instinct again took over Catriona’s movements as her body acted of its own accord. She knelt gently beside Lydia, dropping her voice to a soothing murmur.

“What is it, sweetheart? What frightened ye so?”

Lydia’s eyes met Catriona’s, and again, she felt the connection between them. The girl fluttered her tiny hands outwards, mimicking a violent burst.

Understanding dawned in Catriona’s eyes.

The gunshot. That must’ve scared her.

“Och, darlin’,” she said soothingly as she considered her response.

She wanted to comfort the child but not belittle what she felt.

“It was just the startin’ gun. It’s loud, I ken, a terrible noise, but it’s only to make the horses run very fast. It’s finished now, and ye dinnae need to worry.

Ye’re perfectly safe here with yer uncle, I promise. ”

She started to hum an old Scottish tune in a low tone, just as her father had when she was afraid. Slowly, the violent tremors subsided, and the sobs softened into sniffles.

Lydia seemed to be calming steadily as Miss MacTavish wiped her tears away, and Richard stood carefully up. His posture had become rigid, and he flexed his muscles to stretch. At this distance, he really took in the sight before him

How could this woman, this sharp-tongued Scot, soothe my niece?

He turned to Miss MacTavish briefly as a flicker of frenetic energy passed between them, even in this circumstance and in this place. He held her eyes in his intense gaze for a moment more before he addressed Lydia.

“Come now, Lydia. We ought to go back to the others.”

Lydia shook her head vehemently, her small hand now clinging tightly to Miss MacTavish’s skirt as she pulled on it.

Richard’s frustration, which had been momentarily subdued in the tenderness of the moment, flared anew. He detested disobedience.

“Lydia, I said come.”

His insistence only made Lydia shake her head more vigorously in protestation. Her grip tightened on the Scot’s skirt, tightening as if she were a life preserver.

There was no letting go. Lydia would not leave without Miss MacTavish.

Catriona had sensed the child’s fear, not of Richard but of disturbing the calming ritual they had just shared.

“Perhaps… she could sit with me for a while, Yer Grace? I’ll make sure she’s all right when they race again. It’s just a noise, naethin’ to be afraid of,” she glanced down, back to Lydia, “We can hold hands, if you’d like that, darlin’.”

Richard’s jaw tightened, his eyes locked with Catriona’s in a silent battle of wills. “Absolutely not.”

“And why nae? Simply because I suggested it?” she pressed, never one to back down from a fight and certainly not one with this man.

Catriona watched Lydia’s eyes meet the duke’s. She could see the fierce protectiveness he felt for her. She watched him continue to hesitate, ever the stubborn mule.

To her surprise, just as she thought a curt refusal was forming on his lips, his lips pursed into a thin line.

“Very well,” he conceded. “But we’ll greet Arlington first. He’s expecting us back. But then… then we will sit with you, Miss MacTavish.”

Lydia’s face radiated with a wide smile as she launched herself at Catriona, who was attempting to rise to her feet.

Her small arms wrapped around her waist in a tight, grateful hug that sent her reeling.

Just then, a flurry of hurried footsteps announced the arrival of a woman about Catriona’s age that she did not recognize. Her face was flushed with what appeared to be panic, her outfit and bonnet were thoroughly disheveled from some sort of exertion.

“Your Grace! Lydia! Oh, thank heavens!” she exclaimed as her voice trembled with relief. “I thought the worst, and when I couldn’t find you…”