“I don’t know what you’re doing here, Duncan, but if you’ve come for my daughter, you’re wasting your time. I haven’t invested all this money raising her to see her take up with the likes of you.”
Ian never took his eyes off Faith.
“Please go,” she cried. Ian’s dark blue eyes were fixed on her. He finally turned and went to the door that opened into the woods. He paused, his hand gripping the jamb, and then he ducked out into the darkness beyond.
When Ian faded into the night, Faith felt all the light and warmth go out of her. She became aware that her father was shaking her when her head snapped forward and she bit her tongue.
“Do you hear me?” he screamed. She looked at him as if she had never seen him before. “Do you understand me?” His face was red with anger. “You are never to speak of him again.”
Faith nodded in agreement. That was fine with her, she couldn’t bear it if she heard them say his name. “Father, let go of me,” she begged. He released her, and she fell to the floor of the stable.
“I expect we’ll have no more of your nonsense where Mason is concerned.”
She shook her head again. Anything, she’d agree to anything. Just please, God, don’t let them hurt Ian.
She didn’t know how long she sat huddled on the floor after her father left. She finally realized she was cold. She wondered if she could remember how to stand, to walk, to breathe. She managed to climb to her feet and lurched unsteadily into the house and up the stairs to her room. She pulled the quilt out of the carpetbag and climbed into her bed.
The two families announced the engagement of Faith to Randolph on New Year’s Eve. The wedding was set for mid-June so the groom could enjoy the spring racing season back East without the burden of a wife.
Chapter Four
“Damn!” Ian exclaimed when the first droplets of rain came through the canopy of trees. He searched through the swaying branches overhead and frowned at the thunderheads piled in the sky. There was going to be a deluge, and soon. He didn’t want to risk the gray in the bad weather, especially when he didn’t know what lay ahead of them when they arrived in Point Pleasant.
There was a tavern up ahead where they could take shelter. It was just a summer storm, and it shouldn’t last long. Ian parted with a few precious coins to stable his horse, then went inside for his own meal just as the skies opened up in a deluge that hadn’t been seen in that area for weeks. He took a table in a comer next to a window so he could watch the weather. He planned on leaving as soon as the rain stopped.
He ordered a portion of stew, and a young woman delivered it with a pint of ale and a loaf of crusty bread. He laid his coins on the table and ignored her. She left with a frown and quickly turned her charms on a table of rough-looking men in the corner. They seemed inclined to stay for a while, and she was hoping the tips would flow as freely as the ale they were drinking.
Ian watched quietly as the raindrops gathered on the window panes. They would hit the glass, become suspended for a split second, then trail down like a tear on a cheek; like the tears that had shone silver on Faith’s cheek on the moonlit night when he told her a story about an angel in a blizzard, the night that he had almost made love to her. . . .
Ian stirred the spoon around in the bowl, taking inventory of the contents. It seemed palatable, and he began to eat because he needed the fuel, nothing more. That was the only reason he did anything anymore, because of need. The need to eat, the need to drink, the need to sleep, the need for Faith. He broke off a crust of bread and dipped it in the stew and ate it, his eyes on the window, willing the rain to stop.
Faith. She was constantly running through his mind, he could no more control thinking of her than he could breathing. He had nothing else to do at the moment, so he let his mind drift. He envisioned the first time he had seen her, standing in the road, and that first Sunday when she had come rushing into the clearing with her quilt under her arm. He remembered Faith riding beside him on a cool autumn day with her cheeks pink from the crisp air. Faith at the Masons’ ball, her breasts threatening to overflow the bounds of her soft pink gown. He felt a familiar tightening in his loins at the thought of that image.
His mind then drifted to later that night, when her passion had been awakened and she had innocently reached for him in her need. He wondered what would have happened if they hadn’t been interrupted, and realized that he had crushed the loaf of bread between his hands. He didn’t even remember reaching for it. He cleared the mess away to the other side of the table and picked up the pewter mug. The rain was coming harder now, with massive bolts of lightning and thunder that rolled through the trees. He hoped it would soon be over.
The table in the corner burst into boisterous laughter. He caught Mason’s name among the guffaws, and his hand tightened around the tankard. Mason he thought to himself. I should have killed him the first time I saw him. He slammed the tankard down and turned to the window. The barmaid gave him a look, then turned back to the others.
The first time he had seen Mason was the day he came striding into the stable shouting instructions about the care of the great stud he had brought back from England. The horse was pure evil, as brutal as his master. Mason had insinuated that Ian wasn’t man enough to handle the beast. Ian simply didn’t care to; it was too late to undo the damage that had been done to the animal. Mason had strutted about the place checking out the new stock, studying the new mares as if they were food at a buffet.
The next day he had taken Katrina while Ian was working with one of the other mares. Ian had been livid when he returned and found out. He had immediately set off to find Mason before the mare was damaged beyond repair. He had come upon them in a small field. Mason was ruthlessly hitting her with his crop, trying to get her to jump a low stone wall. The mare was shaking her head and turning from side to side, limping in the front. Ian hadn’t hesitated; he kicked the chestnut into a run and took Mason off the back of the mare with a tackle launched from the back of his flying horse. Mason had landed face down in a pile of wet leaves and come up spitting and snarling. Ian got to his feet and went to check Katrina. The mare was trembling with fright, and her breath was coming in wheezing gasps. Mason came up behind Ian with his crop raised. The mare snorted in fright, and Ian turned, snatched the crop from the man and sent it sailing into the field. Mason swung on him and Ian countered with his forearm and followed with a punch that sent his adversary to his knees. Mason stayed there, testing his jaw, while Ian stood over him with his legs apart and fists ready.
“I shall have you fired,” Mason threatened.
“I don’t work for you,” Ian replied, dismissing the threat. He led the hobbling mare over to where the chestnut was waiting. He bent over to check her foreleg and looked back at Mason in disgust. He swung up on the chestnut’s back and slowly started back to the barn, Katrina limping badly beside him. He had spent all of that day nursing her. She had patiently let him tend to her, but Ian knew the trust she had for him was gone, he could see it in her eyes. She felt he had betrayed her by bringing her to this place of pain. He had stayed up with her all night, and then gone on to Sunday services and his rendezvous with Faith.
Faith had understood his pain and frustration. She’d also shared his antipathy to Mason. Just the thought of Mason’s rough hands on her satin skin made Ian want to kill him. There was no way in this world he would let Mason touch her, use her the way he had Katrina. Ian knew Mason would use any woman that way, he was a taker, he knew no mercy and would give no quarter. All he was after was his own satisfaction. He would not have Faith.
Ian had spent the week before the ball working with Katrina. Every available minute he spent with her, even sleeping in her stall at night. He periodically heard Randolph coming and going in the stable. Ian ignored him for the most part. He would soon be gone, and the future was too precious to risk over a beast like Mason. Ian had no illusions about what would happen if he was to go head to head with Mason. He could possibly beat him i
n a fight, but he wouldn’t have a chance against the entire county coming down on him if he did. It was best to steer clear of the man and finish his job.
On Friday night, despite his best efforts, Katrina went down. The entire estate was involved in getting ready for the upcoming ball, but Ian’s world began and ended in Katrina’s stall. The Masons’ stable hands supported him the best they could. They respected his abilities and felt his frustration at the senseless waste of such a fine animal. Unfortunately, they had been dealing with the like for years. Ian nursed the mare throughout the early morning hours and into the afternoon. By dusk he realized that he was just prolonging the inevitable. Katrina’s spirit was gone; he could see it in her eyes. All that was left in the soft brown of her eyes was suffering; it was best to end it now.
That decision, however, belonged to her owner. He washed up and changed into a clean shirt, dragging his wet hands through his hair to rake it into some kind of order. The drive of the house was lined with carriages, dropping the well-dressed elite of the county off in front of the massive stairs that led to the mansion. Ian wondered briefly if Faith had arrived as he ducked around the back into the garden. He came in through the kitchen and shook his head at the cook as she looked up from her platters of food. The dear woman had taken a liking to him and made sure that he ate well. She always packed him a lunch for his Sunday trips to town and had been sending special treats down to the stable this week just to keep him on his feet. Ian made his way through the crowd and came up behind the receiving line where the Masons were greeting their guests. The younger Mason rolled his eyes at him, but Ian ignored him and waited patiently for the elder to acknowledge his presence. Mr. Mason finally inclined his head towards Ian, and he related the mare’s prognosis in a few short words.
“Can she be saved?” Mr. Mason asked. Ian shook his head and waited while the man’s attention was drawn back to his guests.
Faith was standing in the hall. At the sight of her his loins tightened with such an impact that it took his breath away. She was angel and temptress rolled into one. The pink satin of her gown shimmered around her, giving her skin the glow of a pearl. He could see the rise and fall of her breath in the exposed part of her breasts. Randolph was looking at her. He wanted to kill him.
“Put the mare down,” Mr. Mason told him. Ian tore his eyes away and looked at the man. “Do it now.”
Ian nodded in agreement. He looked at Faith again. He wanted to whisk her away from this place, from Mason’s lecherous gaze. He had to go. Katrina needed him more now. He went out through the kitchen.
“I’ve asked God to send you an angel to help you through this, laddie,” the cook said as he came through the doors. She gave his arm a squeeze. Ian brushed a kiss on her sweaty forehead as he went out. He felt as if he was being watched as he went down the drive, but he saw no sign of anyone when he turned to look at the well-lit house. Every room was ablaze with light except for the library, which showed only a soft glow from the fireplace.
When he got back to the stable he went to his room in the loft and removed a revolver from his saddlebag. He sat on the edge of his cot and looked at the piece, the soft light from the lantern gleaming off the well-oiled barrel. He contemplated what it would feel like to use the piece on Randolph Mason, deciding that beating the man to a pulp with his fists would be much more satisfying.
When he came down with the gun, the hands saw his intent and quietly cleared the area, turning down the lanterns as they went. He went into the stall, dropped on the straw and lifted Katrina’s head into his lap.
“I wish I could have saved you for Faith,” he whispered into her ear as he rubbed her sweet face. There was no response. Her spirit was gone, leaving behind a shell that wheezed with every breath. He took the gun in his hand and stood over the mare.
Faith was there. He hadn’t seen her but he knew she was there; he didn’t want her to see this. “Faith, wait for me outside,” he commanded softly. He took careful aim at the mare’s head. “I’m sorry, Katrina,” he said and fired the gun.
The barmaid came to check on Ian. The rain was still pounding, the water gathering in ruts and depressions in the road outside. Tan waved the girl away before she had a chance to speak, and she went back to the group at the other table.
Ian turned back to the window. He prayed again for the rain to stop. He needed to be on his way. If only he could have left Point Pleasant the night of the ball, then maybe she would have gone with him. He would have had her away before Mason had had a chance to work his wiles on her.
He would never forget the way she’d looked that night in the barn, when he’d finally come to take her to Richmond. She had come out of the stall, her eyes swollen, as if she had been crying. He had known right away that something was terribly wrong; he could feel it in his heart.
It had been six months since that night. Six months since his heart had been torn out of his chest by her words, yet all he could do was think of her. She had said she needed more, so now he had more to give. He hoped it was enough. If it wasn’t, he would go on without her, but it wouldn’t be the same. He looked around the rough walls of the tavern. It had been six months since his last stop here also. He barely remembered the first visit.
He had left Faith’s that night in a daze. He could not believe it. After all the time spent together, all the planning, she just didn’t want him anymore? Could it be that simple? He had mounted the chestnut and turned him to the east, the road back to Richmond. His mind was in a whirl. What had gone wrong? Where had he made his mistake? He had been so careful of her and her feelings, treating her gently, letting her make her own discoveries of her feelings. He rode as if he were asleep, his body functioning automatically as he sought to make sense of what had happened. He couldn’t deny the tears she had shed, but he also couldn’t deny that she had clearly wanted him to leave. He left the town without a backwards glance. The trail was well lit by the moon, and he let the chestnut set his own pace.
He had ridden close to an hour when he was knocked from the saddle by an impact that left him lying breathless in the snow. A shadowed figure loomed over him, and a few others stood behind.
“Randolph Mason sends his regards,” the shadow jeered. Ian was hauled to his feet and punched in the stomach before he had a chance to regain his breath. He fell to his knees. Another shadow grabbed his hair and pulled his head up.
“Mr. Mason would like you to know that he plans on riding all of your mares.” The shadow punched his jaw, causing Ian’s ears to ring.
“Mr. Mason said to tell you he’s especially fond of the mare you call silver angel,” another shadow said into his ear. Ian closed his eyes. Another punch was coming, and he didn’t care.
Ian had awakened the next morning stiff and cold. He had dragged himself onto the chestnut and made his way to the same tavern where he now sat. He had spent the day recovering there before heading home to Richmond.
Now the rain was tapering off. Ian scanned the sky through the window to see if there was a break in the clouds. There was, but more bad weather was in store. At least for the moment the heavy pounding had given way to a light pattering against the pane. He needed to leave; he had lingered long enough. Ian rose from the table and made his way to the door.
“A toast!” The table of revelers exclaimed. “A toast to Randolph Mason and his marriage to the Ice Princess!”
Ian froze in his tracks.
“I guess she won’t be the Ice Princess after tomorrow night,” one of them offered.
“Mason will thaw her out right quick!” another added, and the entire table burst into laughter.
Ian stood in the door as the realization hit him. Faith had remarked at one time that Mason had called her the Ice Princess. She was marrying the bastard tomorrow. He stumbled out into the yard. The rain was lightly falling, and he turned his face up to the sky to let the drops splatter on his face and trickle down his collar. He stood there for a moment blinking up to the heavens. Then he squared hi
s shoulders and shoved his hair back before setting his hat firmly on his head. He was going to see Faith. He wanted to hear from her lips that she loved Randolph Mason.
Chapter Five
Faith woke with a start. The thunder had awakened her as it rolled across the river and rumbled through the treetops. The rain was coming down hard, and the wind was blowing it in her open windows. She kicked the quilt off and quickly closed the window at the front of the house. She stopped, however, when she got to the side window. She stared at the oak tree as the wind blew the rain in on her body. Was it possible for her to escape by way of the tree?
The realization of what she was thinking hit Faith like the raindrops hitting her body. She had been living as a sleepwalker these past six months. Since the day she’d asked Ian to leave, her emotions had been dead. It hadn’t mattered what anyone said or did, if only they left her alone so she could dream of Ian. But Ian was in Richmond where Mason couldn’t touch him. It was that simple, she realized. She could go to Ian, be with him if he still wanted her. If he didn’t, well, she’d just worry about that then.
Faith wheeled around and surveyed the room. The carpetbag came out of the wardrobe. She packed it as she had before with a few essentials, her mother’s Bible and the quilt. She hastily dressed and then stood at the window braiding her hair, her mind racing over the best way down. If she could make it to the tree, the rest would be easy. A bolt of lightning split the air. She began to count, and when the thunder started to rumble she dropped the carpetbag to the ground. She straddled the sill and surveyed her options. If she could reach the branch above, she could swing her feet over to the one below, possibly going hand over hand to bring her body into the center of the tree.
She took a breath and stood up on the sill, grabbing the frame with her left hand. She took a deep breath and reached out. A gust of wind took the branch out of her reach. The rain was running into her eyes. She looked down at the ground two stories below. The wind died. She reached out again, then leaned, letting go of the window frame. Now she was dangling from the limb, the wind whipping the leaves against her. She swung her feet into the tree and managed to brush the limb below with the toe of her boot. The rain was making the branches slick, and she tightened her grip. She crossed hand over hand until she could get a foothold on the branch below. She made her way into the center of the tree and wrapped her arms around the wide trunk. She needed to keep the trunk between her and the house in case someone was in the drawing room. On her way down, she noticed that the rain that had been blowing moments before had almost stopped. The only remaining problem was hitting the ground without breaking a bone. She managed to land gracefully without any damage to life or limb, and she smiled to herself as she looked over the route she had just come. If only the trek to Richmond could be that easy. She crept up to the house to retrieve her bag. She heard voices inside and stood next to the open window, listening.
Chase the Wind Page 5