The frown faded, to be replaced by a slight quirk of his lips. “Is it better than a new carriage and horses and a dozen frocks?”
“What are you talking about? It’s a hundred times better.”
“It’s only a bowl.”
“It’s special to you, and you gave it to me.” Beth took it carefully and smiled at the dragons chasing one another in eternal determination. “It’s the best gift in the world.” Ian took it gently back from her and replaced it in its slot.
That made sense; in here it would stay safe and unbroken.
But the kiss Ian gave her after that was anything but sensible. It was wicked and bruising, and she had no idea why he smiled so triumphantly.
“Cam is here.”
Ian saw his brother out of the window a few days later as he buttoned the shirt he’d just shrugged on. Behind him, Curry prepared the rest of Ian’s clothes, while Beth, looking pretty bundled in a red silk wrapper, drank her morning tea at the little table.
Three days he and Beth had been here, and they’d spent all three days in Ian’s apartments making love. They’d made forays through the house or garden so he could show them to Beth, but mostly they’d stayed in the bedroom. Ian knew they had to leave his wing eventually and return to Hart and the real world, but he’d never forget the joy of this cocoon. Whenever times got bad, and he had no doubt they would, he could remember this.
Cameron had brought a new filly, the horse about a year old; and Ian took Beth down to greet them both. Cam was watching the unloading of the horse from its special cart as they approached. He cursed the handlers soundly, and then waded in and did the job himself.
“I’ve never seen a horse in its own carriage before,” Beth said as the spirited filly emerged. “Being pulled instead of pulling.”
The horse’s conformation was dainty, the pink edges of her nostrils sharp. She was a bay, and her black mane and tail flowed in falls of sable. She turned an interested brown eye to Beth.
“She’s not a cart horse,” Cameron said, his gruff voice even more gravelly from the dust on the road. “She’s a fine beauty and will win dozens of races, won’t you, love? Then she’ll breed more racers.” Cameron fondly stroked her nose. “Why don’t you marry her, Father?” Daniel asked, leaning against the van. “He’s been crooning to the damn beastie all the way up. It’s disgusting.”
Cameron ignored his son and went to Beth. He leaned to kiss her cheek, then clapped Ian on the shoulder, the scents of horse and sweat clinging to him. “Welcome to the family, Beth. Cuff my son when he’s rude. He’s had no upbringing.” “That’s because you brought me up, Father.”
“Everything all right?” Cameron asked casually of Ian. He was wondering how Hart had taken the news. “He’ll come around,” Ian said.
“We haven’t seen much of Hart in the last few days,” Beth said.
“Oh, no? Hiding from him, are you?”
“No, we—“ Beth broke off and went bright red. Cam looked from her to Ian, who couldn’t help grinning, and then Cam burst out laughing. Cameron’s laugh could ring to the skies. The filly jerked her head back in irritation. “What are you laughing at?” Daniel asked, frowning. “Oh, you mean you were in bed. Good on you, Ian. I’ll have a little cousin soon, will I?”
“Unmitigated brat,” Cameron growled in good humor.
“You don’t say such things to a lady.”
“But laughing at them is all right?” Daniel countered. “You see what I mean?” Cameron said to Beth. “He has a foul, impertinent mouth, and it’s all my fault. Ignore him. Have you taken her riding, Ian? Got a good horse for her?”
Beth’s face lost its color. “Oh, I don’t ride.”
All three Mackenzies stared at her. “You don’t ride?”
Daniel asked in shock.
Beth slipped her hand into Ian’s. “Not much opportunity to prance down the Rotten Row as a poor vicar’s wife. And Mrs. Barrington was beyond her riding years. I did hire a pony cart in Paris.”
Both Cameron and Daniel gave her pitying looks. “You are in luck,” Cam said. “The compensation for marrying a Mackenzie is that your brother-in-law is the best horse master in the British Isles. I’ll pick you out a horse and begin your instruction tomorrow.”
Beth squeezed Ian’s fingers tighter. “An elderly, placid nag, please. And really, I don’t need to ride. I’m happy using my own two feet.”
“Tell her, Ian.”
Beth turned to him, her eyes wide. Ian forgot all about the conversation and didn’t much care whether Beth rode like a master or stayed on the ground. He only wanted to put his arms around her, to hold her, to continue what they’d been doing before Cameron interrupted. He bent down and kissed her.
“I won’t let him hurt you,” he said.
“How reassuring,” Beth answered faintly.
The horse Cameron chose for her wasn’t exactly an elderly nag, but she was a gentle mare who had left her sporting days far behind. She was much larger than the sweet little pony Beth had pictured, towering above even Cameron, her feet like platters.
“She’s half draft horse,” Cameron said. “I breed them like that sometimes for jumping and stamina. She’s a sweetheart. Up you go.”
The saddle looked the size of a doily on the horse’s great back. It had one stirrup and a groove that was to hold Bern’s right leg.