Page 14 of A Scoundrel’s Promise

Chapter Four

A comforting drumbeat of rain struck the abbey windows. Of late, the weather had been wetter than usual. There would be no fence-building this morning. Liam didn’t mind. He could use the time to finish Lord Dunn’s sketches and deliver them that afternoon—rain or no.

The leather chair creaked as he stretched his legs. He dropped his gaze to his sketchbook and inspected his latest drawing with a critical eye. Mackenzie. The likeness was a good one. He’d even caught the pout of her lips and the wicked gleam in her eye. His mouth curved in a smile, then he caught himself. He took a deep breath. Why was he drawing her face? Not only was she above his station, she toyed with men—most definitely, not a trait that attracted him… Yet, he had still chosen to sketch her face—not once, but twice.

A scuffling scrape of boots against the stone floor startled him into slamming the sketchbook shut. Ewan stepped into view, a letter in hand. He cocked a dark brow at Liam’s sketchbook but said nothing—as usual. He spoke more with his eyes than anything else, barring the occasional grunt. How his wife, Kyla, understood the man was a mystery. Liam met his brother’s cool stare with one of his own.

After a moment, Ewan handed him the letter. “If you’re off to Newborne, then fetch the new spades from the blacksmith, will you? We’re in sore need of them. He should be done by now.”

“Aye.”

Ewan left.

Liam broke the red wax seal and scanned the contents of the missive. A request from Lord Dunn to train a horse. He owed the man the drawings of his new outbuilding, as well.

He opened his sketchbook and flipped past the first sketch of Mackenzie, then paused. He studied the drawing. The first drawing had been of Lady Mackenzie on her horse. This one of her face, however, had haunted even his dreams. He’d hoped that by drawing her face, he would be able to put her out of his mind. He’d been wrong. Liam ripped the page from the sketchbook and tossed it into the fire, then did the same with the other sketch. He knew better than to foster an attraction to a woman he could never have.

The flames licked the pages. Liam forced his gaze away from the paper before the fire devoured Lady Mackenzie’s beautiful face.

***

“What do you think, Liam?” Lord Dunn asked as Liam brought his bay to a halt by the paddock later that afternoon. “She’s a devil of a horse, do you not agree?” Dunn nodded toward the Arabian mare trotting along the fencing, obviously seeking a means of escape.

Liam gave a low whistle. The horse was impressive, proud and sleek of line with a white coat that gleamed in the early afternoon sun. She tossed her mane as she passed them, her hooves churning the mud.

Liam swung down from his horse and tied the reins to the fence. “She is a beauty.”

“In more ways than one.” Lord Dunn barked a laugh. “She’s worth a king’s ransom.”

A breeze blew against Liam’s face, carrying the scent of damp earth and horse, as he leaned against the fence beside Lord Dunn. For a time, both men watched the prancing beast appreciatively.

Finally, Lord Dunn straightened. “A beauty, but too high-spirited. I need her civilized.”

The magnificent beast tossed her head and whickered.

“I fear she disagrees.” Liam chuckled, then met the man’s gaze. “What use have you for a civilized horse?”

The man laughed. “Ah, she isn’t for me.”

“Then, whose?”

“Would you be surprised to discover she is mine?” a feminine voice chimed in from behind.

Liam turned. Lady Mackenzie approached, a vision in a lavender pelisse that gaped just enough to flash a tantalizing view of rose-sprigged muslin with a blue satin ribbon tied snugly under her breasts.

“My father’s gift.” She smiled, dimpling her cheeks.

“This horse is yours?” he asked, surprised. Good God, what was her father thinking?

Mackenzie stopped in front of him. “Why does that astonish you? I am quite the accomplished horsewoman.”

Liam dropped his gaze over her in a cursory inspection, recalling just how she’d jumped from her horse the day before. She had displayed a mark of skill.

“Aye, you’re a pair,” he murmured. Then, aware he’d allowed his eyes free rein over her shapely form, he yanked his gaze back to the horse.

“My lord,” a man called.

As one, they turned to face the newcomer, Mister Pettigrew, puffing heavily as he hurried across the grass to arrive out of breath.