Alyssa had loosely plaited her hair into one thick, long braid, which hung across the white peasant shirt she wore. As his gaze swept lazily down her young, slender body, Tray could guess why Sorche appeared so dismayed. Instead of a riding habit, Alyssa had somehow talked Sorche into allowing her to wear a pair of his buckskin breeches. Her boots hugged her lower leg, and the breeches, although far too large, clearly displayed the curved length of her thighs. Sorche looked horrified.
“Good morning, my lord.” Alyssa was busily putting on kidskin gloves that matched her dark maroon wool cloak.
Tray tipped his head in respectful obeisance to Alyssa. She stood expectantly, waiting for him to say something. A spark of challenge glinted in her eyes and Tray couldn’t stop the smile that now lurked at the corners of his mouth. “Good morning, my lady.” Rasheed sidled and Tray pulled on the reins, quieting the stallion. He gestured to Old Ned, who stood ready beneath Thomas’s hand. “As you can see, we’re prepared for you.”
Alyssa was so intent on having to argue with Tray over her wearing a pair of breeches that she had failed to even glance at the horse she would be riding to the high country. Her lips parted in amazement. There, on Old Ned’s back, was a man’s saddle, not the customary ladies’ sidesaddle! Laughter gurgled up from her throat and Alyssa’s gaze darted from the saddle to Tray. She reached out her hand, resting it momentarily on the hard surface of his thigh.
“You knew!” she said in an accusing tone.
Gravely, Tray nodded, merriment in his gray eyes. “Actually, when Maura came to me earlier this morning, wringing her hands and telling me that you were tailoring several pairs of my old breeches, I knew,” he admitted. He looked over at Sorche, who still wore a frown on her face. “It’s all right,” he called to his foster mother, grinning recklessly.
Sorche crossed her stout arms across her ample bosom. “It isn’t right at all,” she grumbled, “wearing a man’s pair of breeches!”
Alyssa ran over and hugged Sorche, then she skipped back to Old Ned and eagerly mounted. The morning was chilly despite the first long rays of the sun reaching across the ocean to warm the Welsh land, and Alyssa drew the hood of the cloak over her head. “But we’re going to be working, Sorche! How could I possibly help if I were always tripping over the material of my riding habit? Would you want me to fall off that sidesaddle while holding a squirming lamb?”
“Mother Mary and Saint Joseph! Or course I wouldn’t!”
“I’ll be better off dressed this way, believe me, Sorche. And who else will see me? Just Tray. And he understands, don’t you?”
Tray shared a secret smile with her and then directed his attention to the distressed Sorche. “Mother,” he began in a conciliatory tone, “Aly was raised in a pair of trousers and a man’s saddle. And you know that we’ll be mounting and dismounting quite a bit, picking up orphaned lambs. I don’t want Alyssa to fall when a struggling lamb gets caught in the material of her skirt and throws her off balance.”
“Well,” she ceded gruffly, “since you put it that way…But I still say it isn’t ladylike!”
Alyssa laughed, riding Ned up beside Tray, her voice silvery and pure in the coolness of the morning. “I promise that as soon as we return, I’ll be back in dresses and riding sidesaddle.”
“Very well, but mind you, Tray, she’s a beautiful young lady and deserves to dress like one! I’m Irish, too, but you don’t see me going around barefoot and in a pair of old breeches.”
Alyssa had the good sense to remain silent and let Tray mollify Sorche. “And when we return, I fully expect you to have the best dressmakers from Liverpool come to Shadowhawk to sew her a wardrobe,” he agreed.
Sorche’s scowl left her face. “That’s more like it,” she muttered, and her features softened. “Both of you, be careful.”
Tray nodded. “Very careful, Mother,” he agreed. “We’ll see you in approximately a week. Pray the weather holds.”
Alyssa could barely contain the explosive excitement that threatened to engulf her as they finally set out. Even Old Ned was stepping lively. Normally anything more than a shuffling walk was an achievement; today, the Welsh cob was smartly lifting his twenty-year-old legs. She had to admit that Tray and Rasheed were far more impressive looking. Rays of the sun set fire to the blood bay coat of the stallion, and his proud neck arched magnificently. But what took her breath away was Tray. This was the first time she had had the pleasure of watching him sit astride the Arabian stallion.
Despite his size and muscularity, Tray rode with a practiced ease that bespoke a man born to the saddle, as she herself had been. The buckskin breeches he wore hugged his thighs and narrow hips with an awesome beauty. And he was beautiful, Alyssa realized, in the way only males could be. She found herself drinking him in, memorizing the breadth of his shoulders and powerful chest. Beneath his simple cotton shirt, dark, curling hairs showed at the base of his throat.
Her gaze lingered on Tray’s face and she found herself smiling softly. He looked ruggedly handsome, relaxed, the corners of his well-shaped mouth sending a tremor of heat through her. His black hair curled slightly and she longed to comb her fingers through the thick silk of it. When Tray slowly turned his head to look at her, Alyssa felt an ache beginning in her lower body, an intense feeling that left her shaken and bewildered. Never had she experienced such pleasure as now, beneath his tender inspection. She felt cherished, protected and—the word loved sprang to her mind.
Love? she asked herself, a slight frown tugging at her mouth. What was love? She wasn’t sure, never having experienced it. And what was this marvelous, breathless sensation vibrating through her as Tray caught and held her gaze? Her heart beat faster, her palms felt clammy and she experienced such a deep flush of utter joy beneath his inspection that she thought she might faint. And she had never fainted in her life! Alyssa lowered her lashes, unable to hold Tray’s hungry look. Oh, why hadn’t she paid more attention to the girls who were two or three years older than herself when they talked about love?
* * *
They rode in companionable silence. Occasionally Tray would call her attention to a brown hare or a red hawk flying high above them, hunting for prey. The gentle slope of the plain began giving way to a less hospitable soil of rocks and pebbles. Wales, unlike her beloved Ireland, was wild, rocky and almost desolate in its appearance. As she looked up, Alyssa saw the craggy black mountains swathed in a white blanket of snow.
Three hours later they arrived at the lower slopes, where a huge flock, numbering well over a thousand ewes, was gathered. The wind was sharp and Alyssa drew her heavy wool cloak around her, noticing that Tray had finally donned his black one. Her attention was drawn to the sheep, their woolly whiteness stark against the green of the grass and black rocks that dotted the rolling expanse of the slope where they grazed. Several Welsh collies circled the peaceful flock, snapping quickly at any member that wanted to wander too far from the safety of the group. The head shepherd raised his hand in greeting, his bearded face breaking into a welcoming smile as they rode up. To the right of them stood a large gray-and-white stone cottage with a slate roof. A stream of black smoke wafted lazily from the chimney to be swept away by the inconstant breeze coming from the mountains far above them.
“Aly, why don’t you go inside and get warmed up? Sayer and I will be in momentarily.” Tray gave her a smile, noticing her nose and ears were red from the cold. “He’s probably got a kettle of stew brewing, if I know him.”
“It sounds wonderful,” she murmured, dismounting.
Tray grinned. “I’ll see you in a few minutes, little one. Get inside. If you catch so much as a sniffle I’ll have not only Dr. Birch angry with me, but Sorche, as well.”
After a brief meal at the cottage, they set out again at a good pace. The wind picked up, its gusts containing an icy bite. Alyssa kept the hood over her head, grateful for the warmth it provided. She had to urge Old Ned to keep pace with Tray’s seemingly tireless stallion. By the time they re
ached the second cottage, it was late afternoon and Ned was stumbling with fatigue. Alyssa gave the Welsh cob an understanding pat as they finally drew to a halt. Everywhere she looked, they were surrounded by an ocean of bleating sheep. Lambs on wobbly legs would peek out from behind their woolly mothers to see who the new visitors arriving on horseback were. Alyssa smiled at Tray as they waited for the head shepherd to be summoned to them.
“I’m so glad you let me come along! It feels good to hear the call of the sheep. I can hardly wait to get my hands on the babies.”
Tray gave her a tender look, relaxing in the saddle. “You like babies, eh?”
She flushed, catching his innuendo. “Well—of course.” Then she added defiantly, “Tell me what Irishwoman doesn’t love children!”
His glance was charged with meaning. “You’ll make a good mother, Alyssa Kyle,” he said huskily.
Alyssa swallowed, mesmerized by the intimate caress of his voice and gaze. How many times had she dreamed of having children? There was nothing in the world that she wanted more than her own babies to sing lullabies to, carry on her hip and watch grow amid the shower of her affection. Alyssa lowered her lashes, unable to stand the heated look she saw in Tray’s gray eyes. What would it be like to have Tray as the father of her children? She gasped softly as the ramifications of that question struck her with full force. The head shepherd galloped up to them on a sturdy bay cob, distracting her from this troubling train of thought.
“My Lord Trayhern, I thought you’d never get here!” the man panted, pulling his cob alongside Rasheed.
“What is it, Master Reece?” Tray asked, his voice calm.
“I just came from the last cottage, my lord.” The red-faced man gulped, trying to catch his breath. “Master Taffy has all his shepherds out trying to gather up the scattered flock. For the last two nights he’s been besieged with packs of wild dogs that have come to hunt the new lambs. You’re needed there.”
“All right,” Tray growled, “I’ll go up there right now. In the meantime, Reece, I want you to spare me all the men you can and send them up tomorrow at first light. Send a messenger down to Sayer and tell him to get extra men from Shadowhawk. We’re going to need them.”
Reece bobbed his head gratefully. “Yes, my lord. Right away!” He turned, digging his heels into the cob and galloping down the slope toward the hay shed in the distance. Tray turned to Alyssa.
“I want you to stay here, Aly. It’s getting dark and Ned is too tired to make the trip.”
“Tray, let me get a fresh horse from one of the shepherds. I can—”
His eyes narrowed. “There isn’t a horse here that can possibly keep pace with Rasheed. I need to move quickly.”
Alyssa leaped off Ned, tying the reins and putting them across the cob’s neck. She walked around to Tray’s left side, her arms extended. “Then take me with you! You’re going to need every person you have once you get up there, and I can borrow a cob when we arrive. I’ve lambed before. I know what has to be done. Give me a hand up!”
He gaped blankly down at her for a moment before a slow grin pulled at his mouth. “All right, my lady, but be prepared to ride the whip. If you fall off, I’ll leave you behind.”
She gripped his hand and Tray easily pulled her up. Alyssa settled behind him on Rasheed’s broad, short back. “I’m not going to fall off,” she told him tartly, wrapping her arms tightly around his waist.
Within seconds, they had left the lambing cottage behind. Alyssa gloried in the powerful, synchronous movement of the Arabian beneath them as they raced across the darkening slopes toward the craggy mountains looming before them. Clinging tightly to Tray as dusk turned to darkness, she was taken by Rasheed’s incredible endurance. Riding a horse at night at any speed was dangerous, and yet the stallion, like his confident master, seemed able to pierce the veil of darkness that surrounded them. Rasheed rarely slowed to anything less than a trot to catch a second wind and then quickly moved back into another canter.
They rode into the last encampment hours later. The weak light of lanterns outlined a huge shed area and two cottages. Through tired eyes, Alyssa could see men hurrying back and forth from the lambing shed. Her arms were weak from strain and she rested her head against Tray’s back as he brought the stallion down to a walk. She let her arms drop to her sides, her fingers numb. Tray seemed as tireless as his horse, still sitting straight in the saddle, as if they had merely gone for a short country ride.
“Aly?”
She roused herself, her head feeling terribly weighted. “Yes?”
“Are you all right?” There was genuine concern in Tray’s deep voice.
Alyssa felt his arm come around, awkwardly encircling her and giving her a squeeze. She smiled and closed her eyes. “I’m fine.”
“You seem tired.”
“Why, aren’t you?”
“Spitfire to the end, eh?”
She laughed with him, nuzzling her cheek against the wiry wool of his cloak. She felt bereft when he withdrew his arm. “I told you I wouldn’t fall off.”
A chuckle rumbled from his chest. “Only because you were afraid I’d break your slender neck if you did.”
“True. I clung to you out of absolute terror, in case you chose to make good your threat, my lord.”
“Why do I have the feeling you’re just letting me think that?”
Alyssa slid her arms around his waist, giving him a long embrace, burying her face against his back. “Because I know you didn’t mean a word of it, my lord.”
His large hand covered her own. “I’m taking you over to the sleeping cottage, Aly.”
“But—”
“Listen, little one, I’m proud of you. You have more stamina than I would give any woman credit for. But under the circumstances, you’re so exhausted you wouldn’t be of any use to me or Master Taffy. Don’t forget, you’re still recuperating. I love you for your courage, but you must bow to my judgment this one time and rest. You can begin helping us on the morrow.”
Alyssa shut her eyes, a tightly guarded feeling uncoiling within her heart. He loved her? Tray could have easily ordered her to the cottage and provided no further explanation. Instead, he respected her enough to explain his request. And how many men had she ever known who possessed that kind of innate sensitivity? Just one. Tray. His hand upon her cold, frozen fingers felt warm and comforting. Suddenly, Alyssa had the wild urge to embrace Tray as tightly as she could. Instead, she settled for placing her hand over his and giving it a strong squeeze.
“What about you?” she asked, feeling Rasheed come to a halt.
Tray dropped the reins on the stallion’s neck and twisted around, gently taking Alyssa into his arms and bringing her across his lap. His eyes narrowed as he studied her face in the dim lamplight. Her braid had come loose, and her hair was in tangled disarray around her pale face. Keeping one arm around her, Tray tucked several wayward tendrils behind her delicate ear. Her eyes were dark with fatigue, her lips slightly parted as she gazed wonderingly up at him.
“I’ll be all right,” he assured her quietly, his hand cradling her cheek. She looked so vulnerable and trusting, so totally relaxed within his embrace. Tray saw none of the fear that had lingered in her eyes and felt no tension in her body. She lay helpless in his arms, and without realizing what he was doing, he leaned down.
Alyssa stared up at him, mesmerized by the warm, liquid darkness in his shadowed eyes as his head came downward. Her lips parted of their own accord and she felt him grip her more tightly to him. The moist heat of his breath fell softly across her lips as he guided her chin upward…upward to meet his descending mouth.
She was totally unprepared for the charge that raged through her as his mouth slanted across her lips. The texture of his mouth was gentle against hers, tentatively tasting her, testing her response. She closed her eyes, her lashes like dark crescents against her cheeks as she shyly emulated the movement of his mouth against her own. She felt him groan…or did she hear it? An avala
nche of feelings, sensations and heat all exploded inside her. He tasted strong and good, and her nostrils flared as she hungrily inhaled his sweaty male scent. Unconsciously, Alyssa lifted her hand, placing it against his chest, and felt the heavy, thudding beat of his heart beneath her palm.
“Sweet,” he groaned against her wet, soft, lips, “you’re so sweet and good, Aly. God…” Tray lifted his head, a fraction of an inch from hers. Alyssa’s lashes slowly lifted, revealing languorous green eyes. A tender smile touched his mouth. “Come, I’ll help you down,” he told her in a roughened tone. “I think you’d fall if I let go of you.”
* * *
Dizziness nearly felled Tray as he lowered the ewe to the muddy ground. Twenty sheep left…. He straightened up, every muscle in his body screaming for a moment’s rest. Pushing his wet hair away from his eyes, he signaled Taffy and his men to join him. Drew had just returned to tell them that the fire was hot and the mutton steaks were ready to eat. Wiping his strong fingers down the length of his blackened breeches, Tray trudged toward Rasheed. All he wanted was to see Alyssa’s lovely smile. She’d arrived hours earlier, going directly to the thatched hut not far away to start a fire and fix them a meal.
Alyssa met Tray at the door with a glower. Then, as she took in his exhausted appearance, her expression softened. She gave him a distraught look as he walked to the table, where the mutton was piled high on a tin plate.
“Tray, can’t you stop? You’re nearly falling over,” she begged.
The meat smelled good and he sat down, grabbing a roasted leg. “We’ve only got some twenty to go, Aly, and then I’ll rest.”
“But—”
“We’re all tired. It isn’t just me.”
“Taffy and his men haven’t been without sleep for two days like you!”
Lord of Shadowhawk Page 15