When the Splendor Falls

by Laurie McBain

  “I’m all right, Lucy, truly I am. I was out riding,” she said.

  “Stephen said you’d gone down to the stables, but to go out riding so early?” Blythe demanded, thinking her sister must be feverish. “Of course, Julia does snore, so you probably couldn’t sleep anyway. I felt like stuffing a pillow in her mouth last night, and that was before she even fell asleep. I declare, Leigh, I’ve never heard anyone talk as much as she does, and half the time she doesn’t say anything. Thank goodness she’s still downstairs eating breakfast.”

  “I had something to think about, and I wanted to be alone,” Leigh said lamely, looking down in amazement at the unmatched pair of stockings she held.

  Blythe stared at her sister for a long moment, then patted her hand understandingly, as if she were the older of the two. “It’s what happened yesterday afternoon, isn’t it?” she asked, nodding her head wisely.

  Leigh’s eyes widened in dismay. How did Blythe know about the stranger and the stolen buckskins?

  “You know,” she prompted helpfully when Leigh continued to stare at her dumbly. “Matthew Wycliffe. It’s true. You’re going to marry him, aren’t you? I do like him, but I wish you weren’t going to marry so soon. You just came home from Charleston, and now you’ll be going back there. I’ll never get to see you anymore, and when I do you will have changed. Being married will do that to you. Remember how much fun we used to have with Annie, but now that she’s married to Reverend Scunthorpe, she never laughs anymore and wants to be called Cora Anna instead. She’s gotten so stuffy and plump, and she’s always cooing over little children. She really should not wear gray all of the time. She reminds me of a big pigeon. I wish Matthew Wycliffe lived in Virginia,” Blythe added, sighing, for this summer just hadn’t been the same as the ones before. Something was happening. It was different, but she didn’t know why. It was as if there was something crackling in the air. Like the sound of distant thunder just beyond the hills, or heat lightning flashing in a darkening sky at twilight. You knew the storm was coming, you could feel it, but it wasn’t here yet. It just made you jittery. Maybe it was because she was turning sixteen on Friday and she would be attending her first ball, and…

  “Do you think anyone will ask me to dance, Leigh?” Blythe asked diffidently, voicing her most worrisome thought. “Mama has such high expectations, and, well…I don’t want to disappoint her,” Blythe admitted, glancing up from her perusal of her feet, and the depressing revelation that her feet were far too big, not dainty like their mother’s or Althea’s, or even Leigh’s. And suddenly she began to worry that she would grow even taller than Leigh. She’d never catch a husband then. Why, she’d be even taller than Guy, Blythe thought, a horrified expression crossing her young, earnest face as she saw herself towering over everyone, her big feet stepping on the toes of any gentleman foolish enough to have asked her to dance.

  Leigh smiled softly, understanding more than her young sister might realize. Blythe was like Capitaine, coltish, all legs and tail, and tripping over her own feet. But one day…one day she’d be lovely, and as graceful of body as she was of spirit now. “Your dance card will be filled and Papa will have to keep a stern eye on you, lest some gentleman tries to take you out into the gardens unescorted.”

  “Do you really think so?” Blythe asked shyly, a dreamy look crossing her face.

  “You’re going to be the prettiest and most sought-after girl at your party,” Leigh told her honestly, for Blythe, with her dark hair and hazel eyes, which were always brimming with laughter, had a quality about her that drew people to her. Everyone was her friend. “In fact, I wouldn’t be at all surprised if Justin Braedon couldn’t keep his eyes off you, so beautiful will you be in your new gown,” she added, for she hadn’t missed her sister’s gentle questioning of Julia about Nathan’s young cousin from the territories.

  Blythe made a comical face, swallowing her surprise with an unladylike gulp, for she hadn’t turned sixteen yet, nor had she danced her first dance in the arms of a handsome young gentleman admirer, so she hadn’t had time to learn to hide her childishly honest reactions behind the cool mask of a sophisticated belle.

  Dancing over to the window as if in the arms of one of those gentlemen, Blythe stared out across the gardens. Leaning her elbows on the sill of the opened window, she took a deep breath, the heady scent of roses perfuming the air as the heat of a summer’s sun chased away any early morning mists that had lingered too long in the vale. She wished she would see Palmer William and Justin Braedon riding up the lane. Maybe he wouldn’t even be coming to visit his relatives at Royal Bay. And if he did, maybe he wouldn’t even want to come to her birthday party. “I think Justin Braedon is a very pleasant young man, nothing more than that,” she said in denial of anything more, unwilling to admit even to Leigh that she cared for Justin Braedon in case he didn’t ask her to partner him on Friday for at least one dance—if he even showed up.

  “And I am certain he thinks you are very pleasant too,” Leigh said, feeling calmer and far more herself now that she was talking with Blythe in the safety of her bedchamber, her family and friends around her. She was back at Travers Hill and the stranger couldn’t touch her here. In fact, perhaps she had dreamed everything that had happened, Leigh decided, putting back the stockings and Blythe’s chemises with a steadier hand.

  “Good Lord! Who is that?” Blythe squealed. “And why does he have the lil’ cap’n tied to that big bay of his?” she called out, leaning even farther out of the window as she craned her neck to see more. Hurrying to the side window, she had a better view of the stranger who’d just ridden into the yard, for their bedchamber, a corner room, overlooked both the front of the house and the stables across the greensward toward the back.

  “What?” Leigh said faintly, not having to see the big bay her sister mentioned to know who rode it so boldly onto Travers land, but she found herself going toward the window anyway.

  “He’s got your colt, Leigh!” she repeated, turning around to stare in amazement at her sister.

  “Capitaine?” Leigh felt a sinking in her heart as she rather belatedly realized that Capitaine hadn’t followed her home from the meadow. So blinded by her own self-absorption, she hadn’t even noticed that he was missing.

  She’d even rubbed down Damascena, never wondering where he was. How could she have forgotten him? Leigh berated herself. Never, never before would she have forgotten about her horses.

  “He’s riding right into the stables!” Blythe breathed, nearly overbalancing out the opened window as she tried to catch one last glimpse of the stranger. “I wonder who he is,” she asked again, glancing at her sister as if expecting an answer.

  “Well…don’t look at me. How should I know?” Leigh demanded, her dark blue eyes bright with anger and self-disgust. “But I intend to find out,” she added bravely. “How dare he come riding onto Travers land as if he’d every right to!”

  “Don’t worry. Sweet John will take care of him if he’s done something wrong,” Blythe said reassuringly. “He’ll rassle him to the ground if he doesn’t have a good explanation of why he has the lil’ cap’n in tow.”

  “Sweet John isn’t in the stables. He’s down at the track exercising the horses.”

  “Then you can’t go down to the stables alone. He might be a thief, after all, he’s got Capitaine. Maybe he’s going to steal more of our horses! Of course, he did bring the lil’ cap’n back to Travers Hill. Maybe he just found him? But I wonder how he knew where he belonged,” she said, puzzled. “I thought at first that it was Adam Braedon. He sure looked like him. And did you see the packhorse he had? He must have come a long way, so how’d he know about Travers Hill?” she demanded, a thousand unanswered questions coming to mind. “I wish Papa hadn’t already left, but he and Nathan went to the sawmill. And Guy left for the Canbys just a little while ago. Mama’s having a tray in her room, then she’s going to take a short nap. Althea’s resting. And I don’t know where Jolie is. Everything seemed to get back
to normal once Stephen was rescued, and then everyone was going to search for you, at least they were until Stephen said you’d gone down to the stables, and then Jolie nodded, and that settled that, because she said you’d said something to her about riding out with Sweet John or one of the grooms,” Blythe explained matter-of-factly, for if Jolie knew about it, then everything was all right.

  Blythe ran back to the window. “I don’t see him yet. I wonder what he’s doing in the stables,” Blythe whispered.

  “I’m going down there,” Leigh told her again, determined to deal with the stranger once and for all. She would be able to handle him; after all, she was at Travers Hill now.

  “Oh, Leigh, no! You can’t go by yourself. I’ll come with you,” Blythe offered.

  “No!” Leigh said, grabbing her arm before she could race from the room. She had no idea what the stranger might say about their previous meeting—and that was something she wanted kept a secret.

  “Listen,” Leigh said, pulling Blythe back to the window. “You wait here. You’ll be able to watch the stables and—”

  “And call for help if you don’t come back out,” Blythe concluded helpfully.

  “Yes,” Leigh said slowly, “but I don’t think there will be any need for that.”

  “You don’t?” Blythe breathed in awe, wondering how her sister planned to deal with the stranger.

  “No,” Leigh said, a slight smile curving her lips as she thought of how she would greet the stranger. “You wait here, Blythe. Give me time to handle this. Promise?”

  Blythe nodded, her cheeks flushed with excitement. “If I hear you scream, then I’ll get help.”

  Leigh nearly halted in the doorway, but gathering up her courage, she hurried from the room, slowing only enough to tiptoe past her mother’s bedchamber. Then she was down the stairs in a flash, stopping in the foyer to pull the bench beneath the parlor door so she could reach her grandfather’s fowling piece. With the quick efficiency of one who has done a task before, Leigh primed and loaded the flintlock, then she left the big house by the front door. She had taken a chance passing by the dining room where she could hear the chink of silverware against china, and Julia and Noelle arguing. But it had been worth the risk, for she had avoided passing beneath the windows of her mother’s bedchamber, where she might have been seen crossing the yard toward the stables.

  Blythe nearly fell from her precarious perch on the windowsill when she spied her sister running across the yard carrying their grandfather’s fowling piece, as if ready to shoot a turkey flushed from cover by one of Guy’s hounds.

  Seven

  Eyes of unholy blue.

  Thomas Moore

  With anger riding high now, and a far more acceptable feeling to deal with than the newfound emotion of love, Leigh reached the stables. Her steps faltered as she shifted the flintlock to a more comfortable position in her arms, then gathering up her courage, she entered the stables.

  The stranger’s big bay, with the heavily laden packhorse and her little Capitaine tied behind, was blocking her path. Leigh glanced around, but she didn’t see the stranger anywhere. Despite her nervousness, and the uneasy feeling she was being watched, Leigh walked along the passage, her hands tightening around the smooth stock of the flintlock musket she held protectively before her.

  “Ah, the welcoming party,” the stranger murmured, startling Leigh as he appeared behind her without having made a sound. “I suspected if I waited long enough someone would come running from the big house. Especially since my arrival was observed from the upstairs window by the little dark-haired girl. Did she cry the alarm?”

  Swinging around, the barrel of the musket pointed threateningly at his chest, which was broad and would have made an easy target for even the poorest of marksmen, Leigh stood her ground.

  “You’re on Travers land.”

  “So you told me before,” he said, not disappointed by her hostile greeting, and noting that she’d been the only one to enter the stables.

  Neil glanced down at his gloved hands, trying to control his grin, for things had gone much easier than he’d anticipated. He’d been prepared for questions upon his arrival at Travers Hill. But the reason for his unannounced arrival would have been obvious: the return of the colt. He had expected more difficulty in discovering the whereabouts of the young woman, without revealing a prior acquaintance with her. But to his amazement, he now found her standing in the middle of the empty stables, slender hands locked around the stock of a musket held steadily in his direction, softly rounded chin tipped aggressively, rich chestnut hair falling in thick shiny waves, and apparently determined to do him bodily harm.

  “You are trespassing. How dare you follow me here,” Leigh brazened, her voice sounding confident despite the shaking of her knees, especially when she saw the half smile curving his lips.

  “Remembering the sweetness of your lips…and your gentle touch,” he added mockingly, grimacing slightly as he moved toward her, “I’ve come to the foolhardy conclusion that I would follow you just about anywhere. Pleasure, followed by pain, makes it all the sweeter. And often, pain is then rewarded by pleasure. It can become an opiate to the senses. Not to be denied, and to be sought after at any cost. And as you can see, I suffered no permanent damage, and have come seeking pleasure. You are very fortunate, my dear. You would never have forgiven yourself,” he said, his eyes warm with the humor only he seemed to appreciate.

  “I would never have forgiven myself?” Leigh responded with an incredulous look that mirrored the innocence in her eyes. “You would do well to get back on your horse and leave. As I warned you before, you are on—”

  “Travers land,” he finished for her, taking in the cleanliness of the stables and the fine markings of the blooded roan in the stall at his right. “I stand warned. I quake in fear of the awesome Travers name.”

  Leigh swallowed her panic, for the stranger did not seem in the least bit impressed, or fearful of having trespassed. She couldn’t believe the audacity of the man in following her here. Leigh bit her lower lip in growing vexation, wishing Sweet John would hurry back from the track. Surely he would be returning to the stables within minutes, she thought with rising hope as she glanced toward the opened doors to the stables.

  “No sign of help on the way?” the stranger murmured pityingly as he closed the distance along the row of stalls. Looping the big bay’s reins over a hook, the stranger said quietly, “I believe we still have some unfinished business.”

  “I finished it, much to your discomfort, if you remember,” Leigh reminded him unnecessarily, and refusing to retreat before him.

  “Oh, I do remember,” he replied, his gaze moving over her with amused speculation, lingering for a moment on the quick rise and fall of her breasts beneath the tight bodice of the faded blue gown she wore so proudly. Then his glance fell to the shapely length of stockinged ankle and calf, the shoes she wore having seen better days. “You truly cannot be as young as you look,” he said with a disbelieving shake of his golden head.

  “I’m not,” she warned. “I am very capable of causing you serious injury again, and unless you truly enjoy pain so much, then I would suggest you get back on your horse, which I suspect must be stolen because I doubt the Braedons would sell you one of their bloods, and leave Travers Hill immediately. But first, you have yet to return my property to me,” she reminded him, gesturing with the barrel of the musket in case he had trouble understanding plain talk. “And I can use this, and very accurately too.”

  The stranger’s smile widened, but it wasn’t the kind of smile that made Leigh any less uncomfortable. “I have no doubt whatsoever that you speak the truth, for you seem a most accomplished young woman,” he said. “In fact, I’m certain you could shoot the tail feather off a robin,” he remarked. Thinking she referred to the stocking and ribbon he had taken from her, he said, “I am afraid I cannot part with so tantalizing a reminder of my encounter with you in the woods. They will always be a sweet remembrance of an
enchanted afternoon,” he said, then, when he saw her worried expression, he belatedly realized that the ribbon and stocking might be the only ones she had and he suddenly wished he could buy her a hundred ribbons of every hue and the finest silk stockings to wear against her soft, scented flesh.

  “So, you think you can best me again? I’ll take that bet. Should you win, you reclaim what was yours, but when I win, your forfeit this time will be more than a chaste kiss.”

  A chaste kiss? It had been far more than that to her. “I want my property. You are nothing better than a thief, and a stupid one if you think you can get away with this,” Leigh said, raising her voice in anger and fear and the hope that someone might hear.

  “I would be very careful about calling names, my little light-fingered one, for you stole from the wrong man this time,” he reminded her, and Leigh suddenly found herself retreating before his tall figure. “Don’t come any closer. I will shoot.”

  The stranger shook his head. “I don’t think so,” he said.

  Leigh backed into one of the empty stalls, wondering how Travers Hill could suddenly seem so abandoned. Never before had she realized how far away the big house was from the stables. No one would hear her if she screamed—not even Blythe, who would be listening for just such a sound.

  As if reading her mind, the stranger reached her in a stride, startling Leigh from her thoughts, one hand closing around the curly-maple stock of the musket, while the other took possession of the long barrel. Struggling to keep her hold on her grandfather’s prized fowling piece, Leigh’s fingers moved for a firmer grip, finding and closing over the trigger guard just as his hand reached it. Their hands met, their fingers entwining and somehow moving against the trigger. A deafening roar, accompanied by sulfurous smoke that seemed to Leigh to have been belched from the fires of hell, filled the small stall. Stepping backward too quickly without looking, her attention centered on wrestling the family heirloom and her hand from his grasp, Leigh stumbled over a pitchfork that someone had carelessly left half-concealed in the hay. As her foot pressed down on the curving forked end, the long handle rose suddenly from out of the hay like a dragon’s head, ready to strike against the enemy. The stranger managed to jump clear before the end could hit him where her knee had done damage before, but he lost his balance as Leigh suddenly released her hold on the musket. Falling backward, he lay sprawled in the fresh hay spread across the floor of the stall, an incredulous look on his handsome face. Catching the hem of her gown with her heel as she tried to find her own balance, Leigh fell into the hay next to him.