Page 29 of The Story of his Highland Bride (Dancing Through Time #4)

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T ristan resumed his ride down the lonely road to Mey’s main village after the heavy storm that had lasted the entire day finally came to a halt. He could not wait to get to Mey so he could see the lady for himself. In his uncle’s letter, he had talked about his ward a lot.

Tristan already felt as if he knew what the lady would be like, and how she would react once he gave her news of his coming. He however did not have the time for much talk.

Tell her what she needs to do and get her to do it.

Years had passed since he last visited Mey. In fact, he could barely remember his way around the routes. Mey was mountainous land, with large area valleys and very few settlements scattered throughout. This was his eighth day on the road, and he was exhausted.

When Tristan had first heard of his uncle’s death, he had been devastated. Despite not visiting Mey often because of the distance, he kept up a regular correspondence with his uncle. The last they saw each other was at his father’s funeral eight years ago, and even back then, his uncle Jonathan, had been as healthy as a newborn. His health had only deteriorated over the past couple of years, and Tristan hadn’t gotten the chance to see him before he passed.

He took the bend in front of him and continued down the rocky path, his body bouncing up and down on his saddle as he slowed his gallop. The ache in his joints would subside once he could get a hot bath and a meal. He hoped the household he was visiting would provide both.

His uncle had always talked a lot about his manor, and how beautiful the view of the highland mountains was from his first landing. Tristan did not intend to spend much time in Mey enjoying the landscape because he had to get back to his castle.

Tristan continued riding for a long time until he finally saw the manor’s grey and brown stone walls in the distance. He quickened his horse’s pace and rode past the shrub fence and into the large yard. He slowed when he got to the front of the manor, then dismounted.

Tristan looked around his surroundings, scanning to see any workers or members of the household. The place looked deserted, the grounds wet from the recent storm, and he heard the distant chirps of crickets in the fields. With quick strides, he walked to the door and knocked.

“Good day,” Tristan greeted when a man opened almost immediately. “Laird McCulloch here to see the young miss.”

“Please come in,” the man answered and let him into the house. Tristan looked around once he stepped in. The hall was warm and welcoming, just as Tristan remembered. As he followed the man deeper into the home, he noticed the massive fireplace was blazing, giving the stone walls a warm glow and providing heat for the manor.

As he followed the man down a darkened corridor, his steps echoed around him, and Tristan could feel a profound loneliness in the air. In his notes, his uncle always described a lively household. He rarely hosted feasts but said music could always be heard. He mentioned his ward, Charlotte Nelson, in every letter and thought of her as family.

“The lady is in here, sir,” the servant said, then bowed. Tristan nodded at him and watched as he walked away. Tristan then sucked in a deep breath, lifted his right hand, and knocked.

The door swung open, but the woman he had come looking for was not the first person he saw. His uncle’s will manager Odhran McCain bowed immediately after seeing him. Tristan stepped away from the door to let him out.

“Laird McCulloch, ye have arrived,” the man said as he straightened from his bow. “I just informed the lady of yer uncle’s wishes, and I must tell ye, she did nay take it well. She willnae listen to reason. I don’t need to remind ye that she needs to find a husband within three months, or the estate will be lost.”

“Let me speak to her.”

The man bowed again and walked away, leaving Tristan to enter the chamber. The woman standing at the window turned around to face him, and the instant she did, he forgot to breathe for a second.

He halted his strides. She was the most striking woman he had ever laid eyes on. Her skin was the perfect blend of strawberries and cream, and he couldn't help but imagine how soft it would be. His eyes drifted swiftly over the rest of her face taking in the small cluster of freckles that graced her high cheekbones. Her nose was tapered, perched perfectly on her oval face, and her rosy lips were slightly parted as she stared at him. He noticed they were slightly moist and were the perfect shape to tempt a man into kissing them. Her rich, fiery red curls looked like they would become burnished in the sunlight if they were allowed to flow freely, and he itched to run his fingers through the thick strands. The unbidden thoughts nearly rocked him off his feet.

What in heaven’s name… how can ye think such things?

Tristan pulled back his thoughts, cursing in his mind as he returned to reality. The air around him smelled minty; he couldn’t tell if it was coming from her, but there was a hint of earthy florals to it as well.

“Good day. It is a pleasure to finally meet ye, Miss Charlotte,” Tristan said, amazed at how raspy his voice sounded. He cleared his throat and resumed his steps, taking her extended hand. He lowered into a full bow as his lips touched the back of her hand.

The intense scent of lilies that rose from her skin intoxicated him, making every nerve in his body come alive instantly. It was like he was trapped somewhere for a second, his mind unable to process any thoughts. He stared into her eyes and the speedy response of his heartbeat was enough to make him breathless.

It was like she stole away his thoughts and made his pulse beat faster inside him. Tristan had never had such strong reaction to a woman before, and there was no way he could control it either.

“It is a pleasure meetin’ ye,” she replied, then pulled her hand from his, putting distance between them. The woman turned away again and walked over to the table in the corner of the large chamber. Bowls and pots were covering it, many containing plants, and as he looked around the room, he realized the entire space was full of shelves and greenery.

Tristan looked at the woman again. Her dark beige gown hugged her body, and the leaves embroidered on the skirt perfectly matched the mossy shade of her eyes.

“I am Tristan Porter, Laird of clan McCulloch.”

The woman still had her back to him, and he continued explaining the purpose of his visit after a moment of silence, not seeing the need to pause. When she still did not turn to him, he asked, “Have ye heard a word I said?” His voice rose in irritation at her inattention.

His stern tone must have finally penetrated her because she finally turned and looked him directly in the eye. The effect of her full gaze made him gasp, and he felt his pulse skip a beat. Her green eyes were intense, with sparkling gold flecks that made them look almost magical. He was drowning in them, unable to stop the building heat inside him. It made him uncomfortable, and he became aware of everything around them, including how her fingers tapped against the quaich she held.

He watched her intently, his skin blazing as she lifted the quaich to her lips and sipped from its contents. He saw her lips purse for a bit, then she looked at him again, but he noticed her absent-minded look.

“Did ye hear a word I said to ye, miss?” he asked again, crossing his hands behind him, and squeezing them into tiny fists to still the pounding in his veins.

“No,” she replied sweetly. “Who did ye say ye were?”

His jaw dropped at her question, and he blinked back in shock, completely surprised by her response to him. No woman had ever ignored him like that before. And he wasn't about the allow this one to be the first.