Of late, the more she pried for news from her son, the more recalcitrant he became. He was hiding things from her, and that frightened her. When they’d first arrived, he’d spoken freely about the castle and its occupants; now it was rare for him to mention anything about his days at the castle but for tedious details concerning his work on the chapels.

The Alexander’s hut nestled in a valley on the outskirts of Balanoch, nearly twenty furlongs from the castle proper. Nevin, overseeing the renovation of two chapels on the estate, walked each day, but such a tiring journey was beyond her aching joints and swollen limbs. Walking to Balanoch, a furlong to the south, was possible, and on good days she could manage five or more, but twenty and back again were impossible.

If she couldn’t wheedle the information from her son, mayhap, if the weather held, she could walk to the village.

Nevin was all she had left, and no one—not the MacKeltar, not the church, nay, not even God—was taking her last son away.

“Here, horse, horse, horse,” Gwen cooed.

The creature in question peeled back its lips, showing frightfully large teeth, and she hastily retracted her hand. Ears flattened, tail swishing, it regarded her balefully.

Ten minutes ago the groom had brought two horses out of the stable and tied them loosely to a post near the door. Drustan had led the largest one off without a backward glance, leaving her alone with the other. It had taken every bit of her nerve to trudge up to it, and there she stood near the door of the stables, trying to woo the infernal thing.

Mortified, she glanced over her shoulder, but Drustan was several yards away, conversing with the stable master. At least he wasn’t watching her make a fool of herself. She was city born and raised, by God. How was she supposed to know what to do with a thousand pounds of muscle, hair, and teeth?

She tried again, this time with no tempting appendage proffered, merely a sweet murmur, but the obstinate creature nonchalantly lifted its tail and a warm stream hissed on the ground.

Hastily snatching her slippered foot from the line of fire, she arched a brow, nostrils flaring. So much for thinking this day was going to be better than last night.

It had begun with promise. A half dozen maids had toted up a steaming bath and she’d gratefully soaked her still-tender-from-lovemaking body. Then Nell had brought breakfast and coffee to her chamber. Fueled by caffeine-induced optimism after gulping the dark, delicious brew, she’d dressed and strolled off to find Drustan, to continue her efforts to convince him of the danger he was in. But the moment she’d walked into the Greathall, Drustan had informed her they were going to the village. On horses.

Gwen cast a dubious glance at the beast. She’d never met a horse in person, and now she was supposed to entrust her small self to that monstrous, muscular, haughty creature? It reminded her of Drustan in both stature and demeanor. And it didn’t like her any more than she trusted it.

Oh, the horse was beautiful, and at first she’d admired its lovely doelike eyes and silky nose, but it also had sharp hooves, big teeth, and a tail that—ouch! Kept flicking her across the rump every time she got too close.

“Here, horse, horse, horse,” she muttered, tentatively extending her hand again. She held her breath as the horse made a soft whinnying sound and nudged its nose toward her fingers. At the last minute her resolve slipped and, envisioning strong white teeth neatly nipping her fingers off, she fisted her hand, and the horse, of course, turned away and flattened its ears again.

Swish!

Behind her, Drustan watched with amazement.

“Have you never seen a horse before, lass? They doona answer to ‘horse.’ They have no idea they are horses. ’Tis like sauntering into the forest, saying, ‘Here, boar, boar, boar. I should like to roast you for dinner.’”

She shot a startled, embarrassed look over her shoulder. “Of course I’ve seen a horse before.” Her brows puckered and she added sheepishly, “In a book. And don’t get all cocky on me; you should have seen your face when you saw a car for the first time.”

“A car?”

“In my time we have…wagons that need no horses to pull them.”

He scoffed and dismissed her statement completely. “So you’ve never ridden a horse,” he remarked dryly, tossing himself up into his saddle. It was a lovely motion, full of casual grace, supreme confidence, and male power to the Nth degree.

It made her downright irritable. “Show-off.”

He tossed her a lazy grin. “Although I’ve not heard that before, ’twould seem you weren’t complimenting me.”