When the Splendor Falls

by Laurie McBain

  Suddenly Neil heard the low, soft laughter that had drifted to him across the meadow the day before.

  Despite her predicament, Leigh couldn’t help her laughter. It was irrepressible. Never had she seen such a startled expression cross someone’s face as it had the stranger’s in that instant when he’d become aware of the danger lurking before him. But it had quickly turned to concern when he’d quickly scissor-stepped the handle of the pitchfork, then comical disbelief when he had fallen into the hay in an undignified sprawl, when only moments before he had so arrogantly thought himself in control of the situation.

  “Sauce for the goose is sauce for the gander,” Leigh warned, her voice husky with laughter as she risked retribution by challenging him with the moral.

  But Leigh was startled by his reaction this time, her laughter fading as she heard the stranger’s. Her breath caught as she listened to the rich sound and stared at his face, the harshness banished into boyishness as he laughed. The fine lines etched around his eyes crinkled with humor, and there was no cynicism or malice now in the smile that widened his mouth, showing the gleaming whiteness of his teeth.

  Carefully placing the musket in the hay, he held out a gloved hand. Thinking he meant to make peace between them and help her to her feet, Leigh reached out unhesitatingly to accept his assistance, forgetting her previous opinion that he was not a man to be trusted.

  Light as a feather, Leigh felt herself pulled to her feet, but then his arms were around her. They felt like iron bands enclosing her as he pulled her against his chest and between his legs as he rolled into the hay, carrying her along with him in his tumble.

  “You are far too trusting,” he said, his breath warm against her cheek.

  Breathless, Leigh stared up into his face, wondering how she had ended up beneath him, one of his long legs wedged between hers.

  “A tumble in the hay with a lovely maid—or a rather silly little goose who seems fond of sticking her neck out too far, especially when there are wolves around,” he said, reminding her of the moral she had taunted him with moments before, but his grin quickly faded when Leigh’s teeth bit into his shoulder. “Damn,” he muttered, grasping her chin and forcing her into releasing his flesh.

  Stormy blue eyes met and held startled but amused gray-green eyes.

  “You obviously haven’t the same sentimental feeling for a tumble in the hay that I do,” he said, rubbing the painful bite on his shoulder.

  “That is because it is always the gentleman who is doing the tumbling, and too often not at the request of the lady,” Leigh informed him, her back itching from the scratchiness of the hay beneath her.

  “Ah, but a gentleman seldom tumbles a lady in the hay,” he corrected her, quite comfortable with their position in the hay.

  “Ah, but only those beneath them,” Leigh couldn’t resist adding.

  “Witty as well as beautiful. And dangerous,” he said, feeling a slight throbbing in his shoulder where her teeth had left their brand on him. “Where did you learn to fight? On the levy?” he inquired silkily, but the pleasure of holding her warm, slender body in his arms had been worth the pain of the wound. He had never met anyone like this young woman and she fascinated him.

  “My brother taught me all I need to know about repulsing the unwanted attentions of someone who is not a gentleman,” Leigh warned.

  “A brother?” the stranger repeated, glancing over his shoulder just in case the fellow was lurking nearby to brain him with a cudgel. Striking from behind a man’s back did not seem out of character for this brother of hers, and if he possessed even half the spirit and fight she did, then he was in serious danger. “Remind me never to get in a fight with him. I’m not certain I would survive such chicanery. However, he does seem to possess some intelligence, for beauty such as yours should never be wasted on some common lout of a fellow who could be expected to honor it with only his unimaginative praise and clumsy touch. And certainly not with the expensive trinkets from an eager gentleman admirer that a lovely and ambitious young woman would quite naturally expect as her due. Nor should she be cheated of that gentleman’s expertise as a lover. I wonder how many favors this brother of yours has demanded just to have you smile at an interested gentleman. However, I would question your claim of ‘unwanted attentions,’ for I remember a pair of soft lips kissing mine most persuasively.”

  “Sometimes a person will do something distasteful just to avoid something far worse,” Leigh told him with brazen honesty, surprised to see a look of cruelty cross his face, but just as quickly it was gone and his gaze remained only slightly narrowed with amused speculation. “I’ve always been good about taking my medicine.”

  “My kiss? Like taking medicine? That awful, was it?” he asked with a deep laugh, apparently not offended in the least. “I had no idea I was such an ogre. I would have thought you’d have had to put up with far worse. You’ve probably had to fight off the attentions of the young gentlemen of the family you work for since you were about thirteen,” he told her, his finger sliding through a long strand of her loose hair as if he could not resist the temptation. “Have you always managed to escape?” he asked softly, curious about this vibrant woman he held in his arms.

  Leigh stared at him in puzzlement. “The family I work for?”

  “Yes, this is Travers Hill. And you are either the head groom’s daughter or the overseer’s, and there are several eligible sons in the Travers family. One of the daughters, the eldest, I recall, is married to Nathan Braedon. Nathan might have married her, but he’d have had to have been blinded by love not to have seen you and sought your favors. Or did he?”

  Leigh stared at him in amazement, then realized that her appearance had led him to believe her nothing more than a servant—certainly not a properly brought up young lady. No wonder he had taken liberties with her, daring to touch her and kiss her, knowing she would not expect him to act the gentleman. Indeed, in his mind, he might even have thought she wished for his attentions, hoping he would offer to remove her from her life of drudgery. And even had she not, she could not have stopped him had he wanted her. Nor could she have expected help from anyone, for it was accepted by society that poor serving girls had no virtue to be protected should some disreputable gentleman have seduction on his mind. And had the maid been innocent, then it was a pity, but she had probably enticed the young gentleman into his lustful actions on the unfounded hopes that he might offer her marriage. When attending her young lady’s finishing school in Charleston, Leigh had heard many a horrifying tale of unfortunate young women who had been ruined. It was scandalous talk reserved for whispers at night when innocent, well-bred young girls were safely tucked away in the cool darkness of bedchambers as chaste as cells in a convent.

  And this stranger thought she was a serving girl, or a lady’s maid, or even the groom’s hoydenish daughter, Leigh realized in dismay. Her mother would have swooned, Leigh thought, suddenly unable to bridle her sense of humor, for once he discovered her true identity, this arrogant stranger, who seemed at times almost a gentleman but not quite, would be embarrassed and chagrined, humbled and humiliated before her. He might even know a moment’s fright, thinking her father or brothers might challenge him to a duel for sullying the family name. Or, if a bachelor, he might even feel it necessary to ask for her hand in marriage to save her from having been dishonored by his ungentlemanly conduct. And that—having this gentleman asking for her hand in marriage—would truly cause her mother a fit of the vapors.

  Neil wasn’t prepared to hear her sudden laughter, the low, warm laugh having a strange effect on him as he held her quivering body close to him. He wanted to be laughing with her again, sharing the humor, but he had the distinct impression that she was now laughing at him, and it stung him to the quick as only a few things could. He felt apart from her, like the outsider he was and always had been.

  “The Travers boys, unless there is something dreadfully wrong with them, would be as hot on your scent as their hounds after a
fox, my dear. I am surprised you aren’t used to being caught and bedded in the hay. I thought I had given you chase enough. Or is this coy, maidenly demeanor of yours part of the game? What price will you now demand?” he challenged in a roughened voice, no longer amused, and wanting to hurt her as she had him.

  Leigh opened her mouth, outraged by his remark about her brothers, and herself, and raising her hand, she slapped the stranger across his lean cheek before he could draw back. The impact left a ruddy mark against his dark skin.

  “You’ve stolen from me, you’ve nearly unmanned me, you’ve drawn blood, you’ve insulted me, and now you’ve struck me. I’ve never had the incredible misfortune of meeting such a bloodthirsty young woman before. Not even held captive by the Apache would I be treated with such abuse. Not even by their women. But without a good fight, there is no honor in the victory, and you have proven a most challenging opponent. But you have lost, and I warned you that you would have to pay a far higher penalty,” he told her, capturing her hand as she raised it again. He held it bound to the other hand she had raised against his chest in a futile attempt to try to hold him off. Pulling her arms over her head, he stared down at her for a long moment, his gaze lingering again on the seductive curve of breast revealed by the tautness of the pale blue material of her gown. Slowly, he lowered his mouth, prepared to claim more than a kiss as his prize this time.

  Neil smiled when he felt her struggling against him, her knee trying to find and strike against his most vulnerable spot again, but she couldn’t fool him twice, and her struggles only served to join her hips more intimately with his, which startled her even more when she felt him hardening against her. Her face was flushed, her dark blue eyes full of blazing anger, her golden-brown hair tangled and caught with spiky bits of hay, and he thought he’d never seen such beauty. With a certainty that came of instinct, and which he had learned never to question, Neil knew that this woman and he would become lovers. And even had it only been wishful thinking, he would have believed still, because her eyes could not hide the truth. There had been a look of desire in the dark blue depths when she had looked at him, and although quickly veiled, it had flared briefly, warming him with its fire.

  She-With-Eyes-Of-The-Captured-Sky now haunted his thoughts. He could hear once again the softness of her voice in the darkness as she spun wondrous tales until his eyes had grown heavy as the peace of slumber came to his troubled spirit. Her softly spoken words had conjured up the magic of the ancient beliefs…of a destiny one could not change. Of a destiny one had to accept.

  It was the destiny of the Morning Star to chase his bride, the Evening Star, through the heavens for eternity. But she would remain just out of his reach, waiting in the dusk of evening, waiting for the warmth of his embrace. As he reached out for her, the darkness would fall and he would flee into it, lost, until she appeared in the heavens to guide him into her arms with her brightness.

  Suddenly Neil knew he wanted this woman—perhaps more than he had any other woman—and he intended to have her. He found himself wondering what it would be like to have her by his side always, from dawn until dusk, and in the dark hours between. To return to the territories with her as his woman—his wife—to return home to Riovado. She had no home here at Travers Hill. Except for this brother of hers, whom he suspected would sell her as quickly as a broodmare, she might have no family to call her own. She would welcome his proposal, for a chance to build a home of her own, where she served no one, and could raise a family of strong sons and daughters who would be their own masters.

  Yes, she would come with him. There was nothing to keep her here. She would be his—only his.

  Leigh stared up into his lean face, her heart quickening its beat as she realized his intent. Her lashes flickered momentarily, for held beneath him, her wrists shackled by the overpowering strength of his grasp, she could do nothing but wait for his touch. But Leigh Travers was not one to give up without a fight, and she opened her eyes, determined not to cower beneath him, but when her gaze met and was held by his she found herself forgetting about her antagonism, for there was a sudden gentleness in his eyes and in the strong hand that touched her cheek, caressing it. He seemed vulnerable as he stared into her eyes, and in that brief moment, she knew that she held the power to hurt him. How? She didn’t know, but she knew she possessed it. Slowly he lowered his head, allowing his lips to move against her throat, barely touching her flesh. Leigh felt an uncontrollable shiver quivering through her when she felt his breath warm against the delicate contours of her ear. He spoke softly, his words strange and unintelligible to her, but they were words of love and desire. She waited breathlessly when his lips moved over the hollows of her cheeks, then hovered briefly above her mouth, then they were almost touching her lips.

  Her lips parted…

  Suddenly a horrible, terrifying, bloodcurdling cry cut through the quietness of the stables. Before the last notes of the savage cry had echoed, the stranger had released her and was crouched above her waiting to spring. Leigh stared in amazement, her eyes wide with disbelief as they caught the flash of the knife blade he held poised in his hand. Any gentleness that had crossed his face had been wiped clean and replaced by a look of such cruelty that Leigh knew he was a man capable of killing.

  “Damn it! You son of whoredom! You coyote’s hindquarters! You slime on the rock beneath an eagle’s aerie. Where the devil are you?” a laughing voice suddenly called from the entrance. “Not playing another one of them Comanche tricks on me? Should I duck in case a stray arrow shoots past my head? Or is someone going to take a pot shot at me?”

  Leigh sensed rather than saw, even before the glinting blade of the knife was sheathed, the instinctive relaxing of taut muscles as the stranger sat back on his haunches, a slight smile beginning to curve his lips. Then in one swift movement he had gotten to his feet and pulled her with him.

  Leigh tried to restore her dignity, for she, too, had recognized that voice.

  It belonged to Adam Braedon.

  At first glance, Adam Merton Braedon bore a strong resemblance to his cousin, so it was understandable that Leigh might have momentarily mistaken the stranger for him. But upon closer inspection, the similarity ended, for although Adam Braedon was tall, he wasn’t as tall as Neil Braedon. Nor was he as lean and bronzed, although his body was firmly muscled and his face bore the healthy color of a physically active man. His blond hair curled naturally and had more of a reddish tint to it than his cousin’s. It was also properly clipped and combed off his forehead, and his long side whiskers, albeit bushy, were neatly trimmed and his mustache fashionably waxed. The color of his eyes was different too; they were a pale gray like his sister Julia’s. And there was nothing hawkish about his profile, which was deemed quite without fault by all who were privileged to gaze upon it. Impeccable as always, Adam was arrayed in his finest riding coat and boots, his breeches pressed with a razor-sharp crease, his shirt front starched to perfection.

  “Dagger! Good Lord! Appearing out of thin air, you never change, do you, but I’m not surprised since you were spawned of a heathen land and sired by the ol’ lone wolf of the pack,” Adam Braedon called out when the object of his complimentary greeting stood, revealing himself. “I thought I recognized that bay as one of ours, but when you cut across the meadow, I lost you. I was on the road, my horse doing a gentlemanly trot, my thoughts concerned with the sorry cut of my sleeve, when I spied a heathen rider in the distance. Figured you could only be heading here to Travers Hill, and I knew you weren’t lost. Recognized the colt too. How on earth did you come by him? It belongs to Leigh—” Adam Braedon’s words halted abruptly as he watched a tousled young woman step from behind Neil’s broad back, a dangerous-looking musket held easily in her hands. “What the devil?” he exclaimed, not having missed the rumpled skirt, which she had neglected to brush down, revealing a froth of white petticoat, or her unbound hair, in which several pieces of hay were caught in the chestnut tangles. She looked as if she’d been thrown
from her mount—or just been tumbled in the hay by an amorous beau…although, her possession of the musket, and the sound of gunfire he’d heard, would seem to have discouraged any gentleman so foolishly inclined.

  However, since he knew Leigh Alexandra Travers would never have been thrown from her horse, the other must be true…but the thought of Leigh Travers being tumbled in the hay by his cousin was just as outrageous an explanation.

  Leigh saw the look of disbelief replace the one of surprise on Adam’s handsome face and felt herself blushing all the more as she rightly suspected what was going through his mind. And as she stared at his openmouthed expression, she realized yet again that it was all his fault. Her predicament would never have happened if Adam hadn’t been up to mischief and planted a garden snake in their picnic basket the day before. She would never have stolen the stranger’s buckskins otherwise.

  “With that fat head of yours as a target, Adam, I could hardly have missed,” the stranger said, apparently on a first-name basis with Adam Braedon.

  Leigh glanced at the two men, startled by the resemblance between them, which, as far as her conscience was concerned, relieved her of any blame for her actions of the last twenty-four hours.