Page 24

T he day was overcast, with rain threatening from the lingering clouds which hung low over the Glencoe mountains in the south. A typical morning in the Highlands, and Gabby was familiar with enough of them to not allow it to dampen her mood.

Because she was in a very good mood.

Not just because she’d been woken in such a unique and satisfying manner—although that was quite wonderful and she was already musing on how to repeat it—but because she was riding in the fresh air with two people she was rapidly beginning to suspect were among her new favorites.

Giving a loud whoop, Gus kicked his horse into a gallop, shooting across the fields toward the distant bend in the River Lochy. She heard Cassian, riding beside her, suck in a breath—and when she glanced at him, he winced.

“I’m trying no’ to hover,” he admitted quietly. “I hadnae realized what a good horseman he has become. ”

“You have not been riding with him?”

“A few times, when I visited Inverlochy before. Mainly with Sir R—Uncle Dickie, and they were all far more…sedate rides.” He blew out a breath and offered a wry shrug. “Since being back without a foot, I havenae wanted anyone to see what a shite horseman I am now.”

But he’d invited her along today.

He’d allowed Gabby and Gus to see his new level of ability.

That knowledge, and how casually he’d invited her to see his new truth, made her smile fondly. “I do not think shite is the proper word to describe your ability. You are handling the animal quite well.”

“I had to use a block to mount,” he deadpanned. “Like a bairn. Total shite .”

Giggling, she twisted forward in her saddle once more. “We could put you to the test, and catch up with Gus.”

Cassian grunted, lifting himself in the stirrups—did he not realize that was a victory in itself?—to peer at his rapidly distant son. “He’s stopped, looking up in that tree. Likely found a squirrel or a rogue peacock or a marmoset.”

Gabby giggled again, because it was the kind of day for giggling. “The peacocks have their own roosts near the barns.”

“Besides…” He shot her an unreadable glance. “I dinnae ken if galloping is good for ye.”

“Oh, for me ?” She smirked, delighted at his flirting. “You are thinking of me when you say you do not want to gallop?” And not a worry about falling on his arse ?

But his expression was serious. “Are ye sore, Gabby? From…last night?”

Twice last night, and this morning .

Cassian had been a remarkably attentive lover, seemingly content to postpone—or deny—his own pleasure in favor of hers. She’d known he would be a caring partner when it came to bedsport, but had no idea—nor expectation—that she could find such ecstasy with a man…and so many times!

Caught off guard, Gabby found herself flushing, her gaze switching ahead to the copse of trees that Gus was trotting around. “I…a bit, perhaps.”

Cassian’s horse nudged closer to hers. “Gabby, I…I am sorry if I hurt ye.”

She twisted so quickly that she was amazed she didn’t strain her neck. “Hurt me? I was just thinking…” The opposite.

But his expression remained serious. “If I’d kenned before that ye were a virgin, I wouldnae have…” He winced. “Well, I would have done it differently.”

Her hands tightened on the reins to keep from reaching for him. “You were gentle and wonderful and…” She cleared her throat, lifting her chin and sitting forward once more. “You were quite wonderful, thank you very much. Ten out of ten.”

The noise he made might’ve been an amused snort. “Ye really…? There’d been nae other men, Gabby? Ye seemed so certain of what ye wanted… ”

“Well, yes,” she said primly, relieved her cheeks were only slightly pinking.

“I am an educated, intelligent woman who has plenty of experience with anatomy. Of course I have spent some time learning my own body.” She deflated slightly and snuck a peek at Cassian.

“I just have never met a man I wanted to bother…putting in the effort to get to know better.”

He was studying her, and now cleared his throat. “That is…incredibly flattering, Gabby.”

“Yes.” She smirked proudly. “I am glad you realize that.”

His own lips twitched, and he was the one to reach across the space between them and take her hand. Relieved she didn’t have to be the one to make the move, she eagerly twisted her fingers through his and wished she could remove her gloves so she could feel his skin.

“Thank ye, Gabby.”

“Thank you , Cassian, for a thoroughly wonderful first experience. Now, when can we do it again?”

His laughter surprised her—surprised him as well, judging from how quickly he ceased. But he squeezed her fingers and grinned ruefully. “Tonight? I could come to yer room and sneak out again before anyone”—he glanced meaningfully at Gus, who’d begun to ride again—“can discover us together.”

She gave the matter some thought. “I do not think I care if we are discovered, Cassian. Please understand me, I have no expectations, but I also have no reputation to worry about—I ruined that years ago by choosing to study veterinary science—and even if there is a scandal, I care not. ”

He was shaking his head, likely about to argue with her, when his gaze was caught by his son’s stunt. Ahead of them Gus’s horse was trotting toward the river, and the lad was standing in the stirrups, craning his head to see something on the banks.

Gabby thought it a fine distraction. “Gus is a natural in the saddle. He has an understanding of the way a horse moves which usually takes years to learn.” Between their horses Cassian still held her hand, and now she squeezed it. “You should be very proud of his affinity with animals.”

“Aye,” he sighed. “One more thing I owe to Uncle Dickie. It’s…

” He trailed off, and when she glanced at him, he grimaced.

“I am used to being self-sufficient. No’ relying on anyone, no’ owing anyone, it’s been that way since I was a lad.

And another man has raised my son. How am I supposed to repay him? ”

The answer was immediate. “Exonerate yourself, Cassian.” At his startled breath, she hurried to explain. “Prove to Uncle Dickie and Aunt Zilphia that you will always be here, putting Inverlochy and Gus first, no matter how surprised you were when he made you his heir.”

Cassian sighed and gently extricated his hand from hers to grip his reins once more. “I cannae, lass.” He sounded sad—no, mournful .

“Because you were ordered to say nothing?” she pressed, unwilling to let it sit, unrestrained curiosity bubbling within her.

When he stared straight ahead, not answering, she frowned in thought.

“But who would be able to do that? Who could order you to silence and expect you to follow that order, so far as to keep the truth of your mission a secret from your superiors in the Secret Service?”

She glanced at him, but Cassian’s face might as well be carved from granite, so little hint did it give her.

Perhaps that itself is a hint .

Still watching him, Gabby carefully picked the argument through till the logical conclusion. “You must have orders to remain mute about your mission, from someone you fear or respect more than your handlers. Who? Someone at the top of the Secret Service?”

No, then the Service would still know the truth of the matter. She and Hunter would never have been sent here?—

She gasped as she understood.

“Someone higher up than the top of the Secret Service. Someone who answers directly to the Crown?”

Was it her imagination, or did he grimace slightly at that?

“Someone…” she whispered. “Did the order come directly from the Crown?”

With a muttered curse, Cassian kicked his horse into a trot, leaving her staring after him, mouth open in shock.

Shock, and hope.

F ishing seemed like a fine distraction.

Or talking about fishing, at least.

Or rather, listening to Gus blather on about fishing and occasionally grunting in agreement when he hadn’t made a noise in a while.

Because Cassian couldn’t focus on much besides the fact that Gabby had figured it out .

Well, he’d known she was brilliant, almost from their first conversation.

But now?

Had she guessed by his response that she’d been right? Had she guessed what he’d been hiding?

And what would happen when she decided to push the issue?

Because Gabby Butcombe was far too intelligent to let it slide.

“Perhaps I could pick apart a seam in my trousers,” Gus was musing. “Do you think that would work? I could use the thread to string a line.”

Since he was looking at his father when he asked this, Cassian supposed his son expected an answer. “I think that would put yer trousers at risk of falling apart, lad. And the thread is no’ strong enough to catch a trout.”

“Perhaps if it’s a small trout?” Gus stood on the sand bank of the river, boots absent, hands on his hips as he surveyed the river.

“I cannae believe we left for our excursion without a line for fishing. Does Gabby have one in her pocket?” Before Cassian could answer, his son had turned and bellowed, “Gabby! Did you bring a fishing line?”

Dreading the coming encounter, Cassian turned to see Gabby swinging herself from her saddle, her horse waiting patiently beside the other two. Starting guiltily, Cassian realized he should have gone over to help her down.

And what? Fall on yer arse when ye make it happen ?

It had been difficult enough to climb down the bank and struggle across the sand with only one steady foot; getting back in time to help her would’ve required a miracle. In truth, he was starting to wonder how he would get back up there at all.

Not for the first time—or even the fifty-seventh—Cassian cursed the stroke of misfortune which had resulted in him being so fooking helpless.

Avers, Simonsen, and Rudinsky would happily switch places with ye, were they no’ dead and buried in Ireland under assumed names.

He sighed. One more thing he had to fix.

If ever given the opportunity.