the differences between them.
“The French are cloying and extremely concerned with appearances,” he said. “The men paint their faces and the women simper. You, Katrine Murray, are nothing like that. You say exactly what you think. And even if you didn’t, your eyes would give you away.”
She flushed and lifted her chin. “I find the French charming, and despite what you think of my temperament, I believe there were more than a few gentlemen at court who were sorry to see me leave.”
“I’m sure of it,” he replied dryly.
“I beg your pardon?”
“The Pretender’s reputation with women precedes him, even to England.”
Katrine leaned forward and spoke between clenched teeth. “He is not the Pretender. He is our prince. His father, King James, is the rightful ruler of England and Scotland.”
Richard set his teeth. “King George is our rightful king, chosen by Parliament.”
“Damn Parliament!” Katrine cursed in Gaelic. “It has no right to make such a choice. Kings are born, not made.”
Richard’s words were carefully controlled. “I disagree. A king is responsible to Parliament. He must rule properly. The Stuarts are greedy and self-serving. England does not want them back.”
“She may have no choice.” The words were out before she could call them back.
Richard’s eyes narrowed, and the silky words carried their own hint of danger. “Really? How interesting. You must tell me more.”
“What are the two of you discussing so seriously?” James Murray’s voice interrupted them.
Katrine’s cheeks burned. She lowered her eyes and bit her lip. She had no more self-control than a child. It would serve her right if Uncle James sent her home.
Richard’s voice, laced with amusement, answered, “We were deciding where to ride tomorrow and if we should make it a picnic.”
Katrine lifted disbelieving eyes to his face. He smiled and stood. “’Tis late. I believe I’ll retire. Shall we meet at seven, Katrine?”
“Seven will be fine,” she answered. “I’ll inform the cook that we’ll take our luncheon with us. Good night, Major Wolfe.”
“Good night.” He bowed over Lady Murray’s hand, bid his host a pleasant evening, and left the room.
***
Spring in the glens of Scotland wasn’t really spring at all, reflected Major Richard Wolfe as he looked up at the leaden sky. He thought of his gracious home in central England. The rose garden would be in bloom and the promise of summer heat would encourage a round of picnics and parties that would rival the famous watering holes of Bath and Harrow.
He tightened his long, booted legs around the stout middle of the shaggy Highland pony and looked at Katrine. She had an excellent seat. Even in a sidesaddle on that absurd mount the Scots referred to as a horse, she looked beautiful and completely at home. Her riding habit, although of excellent cut and expensive material, showed signs of wear. Her boots were scuffed, the heels run down, but her back was straight and her hands were relaxed on the reins. The clean loveliness of her face, unmarked by paint and powder, threatened to take his breath away. If only she were English or at least a member of a loyalist clan like the Campbells. He grinned ruefully. If she were either of those things, she would not be Katrine Murray.
“You are very quiet this morning,” he said, urging his horse to catch up with hers. “Have I done something to offend you?”
She looked directly at him, her eyes moving over his face, considering his question. “On the contrary,” she said at last. “You rescued me. If my uncle realized the extent of our conversation, I would be posted back to Blair.”
He did not pretend to misunderstand her. “In that case, I am pleased to be of service.”
His hair was the color of winter sunlight and his eyes were deeply blue above the darker color of his coat. He smiled engagingly. She could have withstood his undeniable charm. After two seasons in Paris, Katrine had seen enough of charming men to last a lifetime. But his smile disarmed her. It was appealing and deeply personal and filled with such warmth that she couldn’t look away. Instinctively she knew that she would never lie to this man. “Don’t you want to know what Uncle James is so afraid I’ll tell you?”
Richard was surprised. Whatever he had expected of Katrine Murray, it wasn’t this. “Not yet,” he said, his expression reflecting only polite interest. “First, I’d like to see something of the country.”
Several hours later, they stopped to eat amidst the ruins of an ancient castle set