The Winter Sea by Susanna Kearsley Page A

eye turned, curious, toward her. She was gazing upwards at it, with a roaring in her ears, when a man’s voice asked her, ‘Are you hurt?’
    She wasn’t sure. She tried her limbs and found them working, so she answered, ‘No.’
    Strong hands came under her, and helped her sit. She turned to better view the man, and found he was no stranger. ‘Captain Gordon,’ she said, wondering if she perhaps had suffered greater damage to her senses than she’d realized.
    But he seemed real enough, and his smile seemed pleased she’d remembered his name. ‘Aye,’ he said. ‘I’ve the devil’s own habit of turning up anywhere, and it’s a good thing for you that I did.’
    Running hoofbeats interrupted them as, breathlessly, the countess caught them up. ‘Sophia—’ she began. Then, ‘Thomas! How in God’s name do you come here?’
    ‘By His grace, my lady,’ said the captain, kneeling still beside Sophia. ‘Sent, it would appear, to keep your young charge here from being sorely injured, though I must confess I’ve done no more than set her upright.’ With a grin, he asked, ‘Do you indulge in racing now, your Ladyship? I should point out that, at your time of life, it is not wise.’
    Her look of worry cleared. She said, ‘Impertinence,’ and smiled, and asked Sophia, ‘Are you truly unharmed?’
    Sophia answered that she was, and stood to prove it. She was shaky on her feet, though, and glad of Captain Gordon’s firm hand holding to her elbow.
    He looked to the mare, quiet now, standing several feet off. ‘She does not appear such a dangerous mount. Will you try her again, if I stand at her head?’
    He did not say as much, but Sophia well knew he was urging her back on the horse for a reason. She’d only had such a great fall once before, as a child, and she yet could remember her father, in helping her back on the pony that had thrown her, saying, ‘Never waste a moment getting back into the saddle, else your confidence be lost.’
    So she went bravely to the standing mare and let Captain Gordon help her up into her seat, and saw his eyes warm with approval. ‘There,’ he said, and took hold of the bridle. ‘If you will permit me, we shall set a slower pace, on our return.’
    The countess rode beside them on her own well-mannered gelding. ‘Truthfully, Thomas,’ she asked him, ‘how came you to Slains? We have had no account of your coming.’
    ‘I sent none. I did not know if my landing would be possible. We are on our return from the Orkneys and must keep to our patrol, but as the winds have been most favorable I find myself quite able to drop anchor here some few hours without causing us delay.’
    The countess said, ‘You have not then been troubled much by privateers?’
    ‘I have not, my lady. It has been a voyage fraught with boredom—much to the frustration, I might add, of my young colleague, Captain Hamilton, who travels in my wake. He is most keen to fight a Frenchman, and can scarcely be contained from running out to open sea,’ he said, ‘in search of one.’
    The countess smiled faintly at the joke, but she looked thoughtful. ‘I confess I did forget your Captain Hamilton.’
    ‘I know. But I did not.’ His sideways look held reassurance. ‘Do not worry. I have everything in hand.’
    It was a function of his character, Sophia thought. He did, indeed, appear to have a flair for taking charge. Within a minute of their getting back to Slains, he had dispatched the mare to Rory to be groomed and searched for injuries, and Kirsty had been summoned to attend Sophia, much to the same purpose, while the captain and the countess waited downstairs in the drawing room.
    ‘I am not hurt,’ Sophia promised, watching Kirsty fuss round with the washing-bowl and linens, ‘and you do not need to wait upon me.’
    ‘Captain Gordon’s orders,’ Kirsty said, and cheerfully absolved herself of all responsibility. ‘Och, just look at this mud!’
    ‘I do fear I have ruined the