Isobel laughed at the look on Laird MacRaeh’s face. His forehead was scrunched and the thin line of his upper lip was pulled taut. It seemed that he was genuinely worried his grandmother might’ve over-stepped. “I was glad to spend the morning in Lady Branwen’s company. And I liked how she prompted me to recallthe days I spent here as a child.” She lifted one hand and used it to shield her eyes. Even though Isobel wore a straw bonnet with a massive blue ribbon affixed to the brim, the sun was so blinding that she needed the extra shade. “I only wish my memory was more cooperative.”
“I felt the same way when Granny asked me about me own recollections.” He shook his head, causing the sunlight to kiss the coppery tones in his black tresses. “I wish I could remember ye.” He stopped walking, so Isobel halted her progress, too. She felt that he was on the verge of asking an important question, so she waited.
“Yes?” she prompted.
“Those summers yer family spent in Lochton…when ye were here…did ye ever participate in a footrace?”
Isobel giggled. “Perhaps I should not own it, but when I was a child, I loved to run.”
His eyes brightened. “And ye ran through the forest when ye came here?”
She tore her gaze away from him so that she could survey the area. Nothing in particular looked familiar immediately, so she answered, “I suppose I could’ve done as much.”
Laird MacRaeh’s features glowed as he added, “And did you ever play a game of chase? Were you a rabbit who was hunted by…”
“A rabbit!” The words burbled from her lips as a flood of long-forgotten memories washed through her mind. “Indeed! I was the rabbit and I had to outrun these boys…these…” She paused and looked carefully at her companion. “You! You were the hunter.”
“Aye.” He nodded solemnly. “I think I was.”
“Ha!” Isobel was delighted to make the connection. Her mind hummed with enthusiasm as one memory chased another and she suddenly recalled spending the day with a boy named Al who was just a few years older than her, but even then, had seemed to carry the weight of the world on his shoulders. “I remember you.”
“And I remember ye.”
His voice softened so much when he said those words that she stepped closer to him instinctively. As she drew nearer, she watched his chest rise and fall and she envied him the calm he possessed.
My own heart is beating like it might well fly out of my chest. Can he hear the thunder in my pulse? Can he feel the heat radiating from my skin?
A flicker of mortification flitted through Isobel’s brain as she started to analyze her feelings and gauge them against the Laird’s but before her thoughts could spiral, he whispered into the void, “When was the last time ye ran through a field, little rabbit?”
She wrinkled her nose, recognizing that the gesture was quite rabbit-like, but not caring in the slightest. “I have not done so since I was a child. That time in Lochton might’ve been my very last foot race.”
“A pity,” he breathed. “I seem to remember admiring yer speed and wishin’ I had been able to catch ye.”
“I imagine you’d have no trouble catching me now.” She darted a glance downward at his muscled chest. His pectorals strained against the white fabric. Her eyes roved to his kilt, and she even allowed herself to take a quick peek at his sculpted calves before schooling her thoughts and returning her gaze to his.
“Is that an invitation, me Lady?” the Laird said in a low, husky tone.
She arched a challenging eyebrow at him. “You want to race me, me Laird?”
He nodded. “If ye think ye can…”
Isobel did not wait for him to finish his sentence. Emboldened by the prospect of dashing through the tall grass, she spun on her heel, hitched up her skirts, and took off.
“Oy!” The Laird called after her, but Isobel did not slow her pace.
“You’ll never catch me!” she hollered over her shoulder.
“Come back here, ye wee rabbit!” he shouted. His words echoed through the field and she giggled, tickled pink.
Isobel was exhilarated by this mad dash, even though they had not chosen a finish line, determined the rules of their game, or decided what the victor would receive once the contest eventually ended.
She ran with all her might, hoisting her skirts high to avoid tripping over them, and shrieking with joy when she dared to look over her shoulder to see that Laird MacRaeh was gaining on her.
“Ye cannae outrun me anymore, lass,” he said as he drew nearer. While Isobel was huffing and puffing, doing her best to keep running, the Laird had slowed his pace so that it looked like he was doing little more than loafing. A lazy smile covered his fine features and simply because she wanted to see if she could astonishment, Isobel hiked her skirts higher, ducked her head, then put on a burst of speed.
“Ha-ha!” She laughed loudly as she darted away from Laird MacRaeh and raced toward a Caledonian Forest. The thick scent of pine made her nostrils flare and Isobel breathed deeply, sucking in one grateful gulp of air after another.
“Ye’ll get lost if ye go into that forest!” The Laird’s warning rang in Isobel’s ears, but she did not change her course.