Just One Touch

by Debra Mullins

  “Blow in her nostrils,” Rogan murmured. “See if she’ll let you touch her.”

  The animal flicked her ears back and forth at the sound of Rogan’s voice, but she didn’t move. Caroline took up the horse’s reins, then did as Rogan suggested and blew gently in the horse’s nostrils. The animal gave a soft whuff, and Caroline reached out a tentative hand to stroke her neck.

  “Well done,” Rogan said, stepping forward.

  The mare snorted and pranced. Only Caroline’s hands on the reins prevented the horse from running off. “Stay where you are, Rogan.”

  Rogan froze in his tracks, and Caroline reached out and caressed the gray’s nose. The animal flinched for an instant, but then she settled down and allowed Caroline to caress her. “It’s all right,” Caroline murmured. “He won’t hurt you.”

  “Be careful,” Rogan warned.

  The horse flicked her gaze at Rogan but didn’t move away from Caroline’s caressing hand. “Perhaps she doesn’t like men. That would explain her reluctance to obey Mr. Peterson and also how skittish she becomes when she hears you talking.”

  “Perhaps.”

  Caroline looked into the mare’s big brown eyes, compassion flooding her heart. “If we can get her past her fear, she’ll make a fine riding mount.” She stroked the animal’s velvety nose. “Yes, you’re beautiful, aren’t you?”

  “How do you propose we get her past her fear?” Rogan murmured, careful to keep his tone low and even. “I can’t get near her.”

  “I’ll train her.” She laid her cheek against the mare’s neck and cast Rogan a smile. “I think she needs me. I understand her. Do you think I could?”

  His lips curved. “I can’t think of anyone better.”

  Chapter 9

  Once they realized that the gray would respond only to Caroline, they had much more luck getting the horse home. Caroline rode ahead, leading the gray. Rogan trailed behind, his thoughts miles away, his pensive gaze on his wife’s schoolroom-straight spine.

  Curse his blasted temper! He’d seen the fear in Caroline’s eyes when she’d positioned herself between him and Peterson. And that talk of choices. Was she thinking of leaving him?

  He’d been resistant to the marriage at first, but now that Caroline was his, now that he had her in his house—if not in his bed—he intended to keep her. And apparently the only way to do that was to tame his thrice-damned temper.

  Easier said than done. Restlessness still plagued his body. There was still something untamed lurking there, something barely civilized, whenever he thought about what Peterson had done to that horse.

  He hadn’t felt anything so intense since Spain.

  God, Isabel. He closed his eyes in anguish as the memory of her dead body flashed through his mind. She’d made him crazy with her beauty and her lies. He understood some Spanish, especially the words that were never taught to young lads by qualified tutors, and so he’d recognized quickly enough what the locals had been talking about that night in the tavern.

  Isabel, the woman he loved, the woman he’d considered marrying, was a whore.

  Betrayal still stung, even years later. He’d gone to her house in a black rage, demanded the truth. She’d laughed at him, had taunted him with how she’d told him Banbury tales of love and devotion when her sympathies lay with the other side.

  When she’d lain with the other side.

  They’d quarreled. Her Spanish temper had clashed with his Irish one. She’d thrown crockery at his head.

  And then she was dead, her neck broken as she stumbled back against the fireplace and landed too hard on the stones of the hearth.

  What would he do if something like that happened to Caroline?

  Damn it to hell, this was why he hadn’t wanted a wife! He tangled his hands in his stallion’s mane, tempted to rest his forehead against the animal’s warm neck. When the rage was upon him, he became a beast, and those around him paid the price.

  He didn’t want Caroline to pay.

  But he didn’t want to lose her, either.

  The familiar buildings of Riverside loomed ahead. Rogan stared at the gate, reluctant to enter while bad humor still nipped at him. He glanced back at the green fields that stretched as far as the eye could see. A wild race across the land would ease his temper, give him back some semblance of control. Then he could he be trusted around Caroline.

  But then he looked back at his wife, at the wounded mare, and he knew he wasn’t going anywhere. That horse needed him.

  They both did.

  The gray pranced skittishly as Tallow and Grafton came out of the stables to greet them.

  “Stay back,” Caroline said. The two men stopped short.

  “What happened to her?” Grafton asked, clearly appalled.

  “She was beaten,” Rogan replied, dismounting from Hephaestus. “She doesn’t seem to like men, so Caroline will tend to her.”

  Tallow scratched his head. “Are you certain that’s wise? No disrespect intended, Lady Caroline, but that horse is a heck of a lot bigger than you.”

  “There’s no other way.” Caroline glanced down at the hand Rogan extended to her. For an instant she hesitated, still unsettled by his display of fury earlier. But his eyes were calm, if grim. She took his hand and let him help her from the horse. “Mr. Tallow, please see to Destiny. Mr. Grafton, do we have an empty stall?”

  Grafton nodded. “This way.” He headed into the stables.

  Caroline untied the gray’s reins from Destiny’s saddle and walked the horse a few paces away so that Tallow could take Destiny. He led the mare into the stables, leaving Caroline alone with Rogan and the gray.

  “Do you need help with her?”

  Caroline shook her head. “No, but I’d like you to stay close by. She seems to be perfectly well behaved as long as you keep back.”

  Rogan gave a short nod and followed several paces behind as she led the gray into the stables.

  Grafton waved her down to the end, where a stall door stood open. He backed away as they approached, and Caroline had no trouble getting the gray into the stall.

  “Close the door, Mr. Grafton,” she said. “Then please fetch some water and whatever you think would work best for these cuts.”

  Grafton closed the door and hurried to do her bidding.

  “Is everything all right?” Rogan’s voice seemed to come from the very walls.

  She looked around, glanced out of the stall as far as she could without unsettling the horse. “Where are you?”

  “In the next stall. I thought it would be better if she couldn’t see me.”

  Caroline glanced at the horse, who stood placidly enough, though wearily, after her ordeal. “I think you’re right.”

  “You said you wanted me close by.”

  The humor in his voice warmed her after the chaotic events of the morning. She grinned. “You’re right. I know horses, but I’ve never healed wounds like these before. I need you to help me.”

  “You know I will.”

  The wall between them gave his voice a husky, seductive tone. Her body warmed in reaction, even though her new knowledge of his hair-trigger temper had sparked second thoughts about their relationship.

  In the next stall, Rogan began to softly sing in Gaelic.

  The gray’s ears flickered, but otherwise she did not react. After a few moments, Caroline caught the tune, and she began to hum along with Rogan, stroking her hand down the gray’s satiny neck.

  The song had the cadence of a lullaby, and the words Rogan sang were beautiful. His voice wrapped around Caroline, calmed her, encouraged her to yield. She began stroking her hands through the gray’s mane as her body softened, and her heartbeat slowed to a steady beat that kept pace with the song. With his voice Rogan wove a spell of intimacy and trust.

  The gray’s head came up, and her ears flickered as if listening. Caroline continued to hum along, her hips gently swaying with the rhythm, her hands caressing the mare along her neck, where she hadn’t been hurt. The gra
y nudged Caroline with her nose, and Caroline stroked that, too.

  Grafton approached slowly with soft cloths, water, and salve. Still humming, Caroline took them from him without missing a beat of the song.

  “Rogan,” she said, “I need instructions.”

  “Keep humming,” he said. “I’ll tell you what to do.”

  So she kept humming the ancient Irish lullaby as Rogan softly walked her through the steps to correctly treat the mare’s wounds. Though the gray flinched once or twice while Caroline was trying to clean some of the cuts, for the most part she appeared calm under the spell of the song.

  Finally all the wounds had been tended. Caroline picked up the water, salve, and soiled cloths and let herself out of the stall. The mare gave a soft whinny and stuck her head out for one last caress on the nose. Then Rogan came out of the next stall, and the gray retreated back into her own.

  Caroline gave Rogan a huge smile. “I did it! All her wounds are clean.”

  “Excellent.” He smiled at her, touched her cheek. “I’m proud of you, love. You caught on quickly.”

  Caroline stepped back, uncertain. “Thank you.”

  He frowned. “What’s the matter?”

  She tried to retain her smile. “Nothing.”

  Eyeing her closely, he took the basin of water from her and set it aside, then took the cloths and salve. “Something is wrong. You flinched away from me.”

  With nothing to occupy her hands, it was all she could do not to twist her fingers. “It’s been an exciting morning. Now if you will excuse me, I intend to visit Papa this afternoon.”

  She tried to dodge around him, but he caught her about the waist. She froze.

  “Caroline?” Puzzlement shadowed his eyes. “Are you afraid of me?”

  “Of course not.” She willed her muscles to relax.

  “You are.” Abruptly he let her go.

  Botheration! She’d hoped to come to terms with this herself before he noticed the difference in her. How could she explain her confusion?

  He came around in front of her, tipped her chin up so she met his gaze. His gray eyes held concern and affection and not the slightest hint of anger. “What’s happened, love?”

  She sighed. Clearly he would persist until he’d wormed it out of her. “What happened last night—and this morning—made me uncomfortable.”

  He let out a slow, deep sigh. “I was afraid of that.”

  “I don’t know what to think, Rogan.” She gave in to the urge and twisted her fingers. “Last night, I told you what had been done to me. And you were wonderful. So caring, so understanding. Then this morning you wanted to kill a man.”

  “I was angry about what he had done to the mare,” Rogan said. “You saw her.”

  “I did. And I saw you.” She shook her head. “Last night it was your brother. Today it was Mr. Peterson. Who will be next? Will it be me?”

  “No.” He took her face in his hands, his expression utterly sincere. “No, never.”

  “Can you promise me that? I don’t think so.” She pulled away from him. “You have no control over your temper, Rogan. Who’s to say it won’t be me who angers you next time? I’m afraid, and I don’t want to be.”

  “I don’t want you to be afraid of me.”

  “But I am. I need to think, Rogan.” She hurried toward the stable doors.

  “Think about what?” He started after her.

  “About our marriage.” She slipped through the doors, but before Rogan could follow, Tallow appeared in the doorway.

  “Lord Chessington is here about his stallion,” Tallow said. “He’s in the study.”

  Caroline heard Rogan curse behind her and hurried her pace toward the house. Lord Chessington would keep him busy, at least long enough for her to change and slip off to see her father.

  “You’re not going back to him!” The duke ruined his imperious command by succumbing to a tremendous coughing fit.

  Caroline sighed and crossed the parlor to bring her father a glass of water. “Papa, calm down. You’re not helping matters.”

  The duke sipped at the water. As he got himself under control, he turned a narrow-eyed look on his daughter—a glare that might well have been intimidating had his eyes not been red and watery from coughing. “You came to me, daughter, and confided that you fear your husband’s black temper. That twice—twice—since your wedding yesterday, you have seen him engage in brawling, once with his own brother! And now you ask me to calm down?”

  “All I wanted was your advice, Papa. I didn’t mean to upset you.”

  “Here’s my advice—the marriage can be annulled. I can find you another husband.”

  “You will do no such thing!” Her cheeks flushed with frustration and a hint of embarrassment. “For heaven’s sake, Papa, I don’t need you to defend me. Rogan is my husband, not some villain.”

  “No need to stand up for the fellow, daughter. Everyone knows of his wild reputation. I made a mistake in picking him for you. I thought since he had saved your life that he had changed.”

  Caroline turned away from her father, fists clenching at her sides as she stared fixedly out the window at the sunny morning. “Please do not remind me how you manipulated the man into marrying me, Papa. The deed is done. I will decide whether or not I stay with Rogan.”

  “Nonsense! You’re my daughter, and I can still protect you. If Hunt is not the man I thought him, I will take care of the problem. What is done can be undone. Unless…”

  At his uncharacteristic hesitation, Caroline glanced at him. “Unless what, Papa?”

  “Botheration,” the duke muttered, red flags of embarrassment coloring his cheeks. He avoided her gaze.

  Caroline realized what he meant. She pushed aside her own embarrassment and reminded herself that she was a married woman now. “Unless the marriage has been consummated?”

  He jerked his gaze back to hers, his gnarled hands clenching on the arms of his chair. “Never tell me the blackguard has forced you! Did he hurt you? I swear, I shall kill him for this!”

  “Papa, please.” Caroline rolled her eyes as her father fell into another fit of coughing. “Now see what you’ve done.” She took up the glass of water and held it so he could take a sip. “Rogan hasn’t hurt me at all, and I will thank you to stop this talk of annulment.”

  “Then why are you here?” he wheezed. “Why aren’t you at home with your bridegroom?”

  “Because I was worried about you.” She laid her hand on his cheek and smiled.

  He covered her hand with his. “You flatter an old man, daughter. But you’re really here because you had a falling out with your new husband.”

  She gave an exasperated sigh and stepped away. “It wasn’t exactly a falling out. More like an unexpected complication. And I didn’t know where else to go.”

  “This will always be your home, Caroline. At least as long as I breathe.”

  “Now I feel foolish.” She took a seat on the settee near his chair. “Running home to Papa at the first sign of discord.”

  “And who else should you run to?” The duke gave her one of his rare grins, and for an instant she could forget that he was so ill, that she might lose him to his mysterious ailment. “Besides, your marriage was my doing, so if there’s a problem, I am to blame.”

  “Indeed, it was your doing.” She sent him a look of fond exasperation. “But now it’s my problem. I’m not a child anymore, Papa.”

  “You’re my child, and I want to be certain you are cared for should this illness get the best of me. I thought Rogan Hunt was the man to do that. I cannot live forever, Caroline.”

  “Don’t say that.” Distressed at this easy talk of death, she placed her hand over her father’s where it rested on the arm of his chair. “You will get better, Papa. You have color in your cheeks today.”

  “Only because I’m embarrassed at having to discuss the intimacies of married life with my daughter.” His eyes widened. “Dear God, Caroline, your mother wasn’t here to talk to
you.”

  “Don’t worry, Papa.” She squeezed his hand and glanced away. “I already know what happens.”

  “No, you don’t.”

  Her lips twisted in a bitter smile. “Of course I do, remember?”

  “No.” With effort, he sat up in his chair, reaching to hold her hand between both of his. “Daughter, you do have knowledge that I wish you didn’t. But when it comes to the intimacies between a husband and wife, you are as innocent as any girl your age.”

  “Dear Lord, Papa,” she whispered, mortified that such a subject had come up.

  “This is not easy for me, either.” He squeezed her hand, urging her gaze back to his. “Believe me when I tell you that you know nothing about being married, my dear. I am distressed that I sent you to your husband without arranging that another woman speak to you first.”

  “And yet I survived.” Pushing aside her own bitterness, she managed a calm smile for her father. “You did not fail me, Papa.”

  “Caroline, you are my life. If I have made a mistake in marrying you to Rogan Hunt, please tell me so I can rectify it.”

  “Yes, do tell us, Caroline,” came a voice from the doorway. Caroline jerked her head around and saw Rogan standing just inside the room, his gray eyes fierce with emotion. “Was our marriage a mistake?”

  “Rogan.” She stood. “What are you doing here?”

  “I missed your fair company.” He cast a glance at the remains of luncheon. “I assume, since none of the servants barred me from the door, that your father has yet to dispatch a letter to the archbishop to annul our marriage.”

  “Watch your tone, Hunt,” the duke warned. “My daughter has every right to seek my counsel.”

  “She’s your daughter, but she’s my wife.” Rogan slapped his riding gloves against the palm of one hand, never taking his gaze from Caroline. “And if she feels there is a problem, she should discuss it with me, not you.”

  Caroline twisted her fingers together. “You were busy with Lord Chessington.”

  “I’m never too busy for my bride.” Rogan strode into the room, tossing his gloves on a nearby table.