The Rebel Bride by Catherine Coulter

Hugh grinned, then paused a moment to look about him. “I own you must be proud of your lands and home, Julien.”

“Yes, I suppose I am proud. It’s so very permanent and lasting.” Like Hugh, he turned momentarily to gaze back through the trees to the sun-bathed east tower, which commanded a magnificent view of the lake and the vast meadows and hills beyond. He turned back to Hugh and added, “When I am here, I scarce ever miss the racket of London. Particularly this time.”

“Why this time in particular?”

Julien pulled the branches of a bush from their path before he turned to Hugh, a silent smile on his face that did not reach his gray eyes. It was strange, he thought, but he did not at all have the inclination to speak frankly to Hugh. As a matter of fact, he realized with a start, the vague, unsettling feelings had quite vanished. He felt content and would have preferred to be striding to the lake by himself, enjoying the quiet and peaceful surroundings. But Hugh was here, and he must be a gracious host.

“Do forgive me, Hugh. I’m a sorry host this morning. What did you ask?”

Hugh cocked an eyebrow and gazed intently at his friend. Never one to pry, he stayed his curiosity, saying only, “It was nothing, Julien. I hope our baskets are large enough to hold all those jumping trout.”

At that moment they broke through a small circle of trees, and the unruffled blue water of St. Clair lake greeted them.

“A magnificent prospect, is it not, Hugh?”

“Yes, indeed.”

As Julien gazed about him, he chanced to see something move to his left, close to the water’s edge. “Who the devil can that be?”

“Perhaps Mannering has informed others of the abundant trout,” Hugh said, shading his own eyes.

“The devil,” Julien said. “This is certainly private land, and I intend to find out just who thinks he has the right to fish in my lake.” Julien turned swiftly and strode in the direction of the trespasser. He called over his shoulder, “Stay here, Hugh. I shall be back shortly.”

Julien walked rapidly and quietly, the dewy, thick grass cushioning any sound his boots might have made. He drew up short in surprise, for the intruder was but a lad. The boy was sitting cross-legged, a rude, homemade fishing pole held firmly in his somewhat dirty hands. He was gazing intently at the water, completely absorbed.

Concentrating on my trout, Julien thought, ready to grab the boy by his collar and shake him.

There was something faintly familiar about the lad, but Julien couldn’t quite put his finger on it. He strode up behind the boy and said in a voice that was exactly like his father’s at his grimmest, “And just who, my lad, gave you permission to fish in my lake?”

The boy jumped in surprise, and the fishing pole fell from his hands into the water. As he tried frantically to retrieve it, he yelled, “How dare you give me such a fright! Now look what you’ve done. I’ve a good mind to box your ears, you miserable—” The words died abruptly as the boy whirled on his heels to face the earl of March.

Julien found himself gazing into the face of Katharine Brandon, dressed again today in her boy’s breeches, her hair tucked under an old leather hat.

“You . . .” she said, quite as surprised as he.

Julien was the first to recover his wits. “I wish you good morning, Mistress Kate.” He bowed low in front of her. “I trust you find the fishing good here on St. Clair land.”

She scrambled to her feet. At his thrust, she had the grace to look momentarily flustered, but quickly recovered, curse her eyes. “Your agent, Stokeworthy, gave me permission to fish here. You know,” she confided easily now, “it is quite the best spot in the area. So many trout are running now. It is quite remarkable. Sometimes I feel that I could merely call out to them and they’d leap from the water and land at my feet.”

“St. Clair is honored by your accolades, Miss Brandon.” Oddly, he found himself somewhat put out by her confidence. Had she no maidenly shyness? He chanced to see her fishing basket and said, “And just how many of my trout are now at this very moment snug in your basket?”