With this, he had reached for the well-worn tricorn he wore out of doors and, as Christie could see through the crack between the closed double doors, had set it firmly atop his auburn head and turned to march resolutely out, leaving Christie just enough time to scamper out of the way, through the drawing room, to the terrace outside. What Christie had been unable to overhear then were her father's private thoughts as he reached the sun-warmed brick path leading away from the house.
Charles adored his daughter as the one bright light in his otherwise somber, business-oriented world. He had driven himself hard in these years since Jennifer's death, almost as if by throwing himself into a frenzy of hardwork, he could somehow fill up the emptiness residing deep inside his breast.
Ah, if it hadnt been for the child, that sunny faced little minx with laughing eyes so much like her mother's ...and yet, he felt sometimes, as if in moments like this, perhaps it was a mistake to have arranged his life thus, dividing it entirely between his daughter and his work ... never thinking of remarrying. The child was complex ... intelligent, sensitive, willful, independent and, oh a host of other qualities, and what if he hadnt done his best by her by not providing her with a stepmother to see to her girlish need? Was Celia right about these matters? He, himself, wasnt one to fuss over social niceties, but he was a man, and a self-made one at that, and did he have the right to create a daughter in the same image? After all, all he had worked for had been with an ultimate eye to his offspring's future and that future would soon find her assured a place in the finest society ... what if she didnt fit in when she assumed her place there?
"Ah, Jennie," he had thought, " I've never missed or needed you more!"
Christie, now standing up from her seat beside the path, pondered what the day might hold in store for her. Soon, there would be the usual midmorning ride with Charles. Neither of them would miss that! Then, while he either went into town to meet with Barnaby over some accounts, or tended to some business or other about the plantation at home, she would have the less inviting task of undergoing yet another fitting for her gown.
It surprised her, however, to discover the prospect of wearing beautiful clothes no longer seemed as distasteful as it once had. Actually, she had even involved herself in the choosing of this year's birthday gown, prevailing upon Aunt Celia to let her forgo white in favor of a soft, gauzy creation of the palest aqua. This color would accent her turquoise eyes. And she would be wearing her hair up this year. She had, in fact, been experimenting with such grown up coiffures for sometime now. That the ball being held was to be her formal introduction to society mattered little to her; let those vapid daughters of others she had met concern themselves over such matters. Her place was here, at Windreach, where she reveled in the wonderful freedom and the privacy she required to be truly happy.
A mockingbird called nearby, pausing in its flight to alight on the highest branch of a large magnolia tree, and Christie smiled as she took in its gay song. The sounds of early morning filled her with a joyous appreciation of just how sweet life could be for a young woman standing delicately on the threshold of it all that day, and with a light skip to her stride, she resumed her walk towards the stables, fingering the carrot she held for Thunder down in her pockets. The coming ball seemed ages away, and in the meantime, there were minutes to be lived.
Part Two
Windreach Plantation, 1790
Chapter Two
Garrett Randall was pensive as he allowed his big, black mount to pick his own way along the bridle path which ran across the southern edge of Windreach. The stallion's mood seemed in keeping with his master's, with only the occasional forward pricking of his ears giving away any indications that he wasnt concentrating on some matters requiring quiet contemplation.
The trip up from Charleston on the Marianne had been an easy one, with pleasant weather and smooth seas, and Garrett had seen to the discharging of his cargo with equal ease. Then, having left his ship in the able hands of John Baxter, teh first mate, he had set out from Fredericksburg for the Trevellyan plantation, finding his way by the map Charles had sent him with his letter. This aspect of his trip, too, should prove effortless and as such, largely boring and he made a small gesture of annoyance at not having been able to send Jesse instead. Searching out new breeding stock was a neccessary part of the running of their plantation, and his younger brother had seen to this aspect of their horse breeding before, but Jesse had been involved in negotiations for a profitable shipment of rice - the bulk of their upcoming crop - to a single high-paying buyer abroad. Not wanting to lose the advantage they had thus far gained in the negotiations, Jesse had asked his brother to make this trip, and Garrett had agreed, it being something he could combine with that business which called the Marianne to Virginia.
But soon, Garrett promised himself, yes, the moment he returned from this trip, he would make the time to resume the quest which had absorbed the major portion of his energies and interest for the past twenty years. His green eyes flickered with a hard glint of steely light as his mind came to rest on the topic that always triggered a deep spasm of anguish, even after all this time. Slowly, painfully, his thoughts turned back to that autumn day when he and Jesse, then only nine and seven years his junior, had returned from their hunting trip and discovered the carnage.
That day was burned into his mind forever. All the buildings had been lost, the livestock scattered and every person on the premises lay dead by knife or bullets - some fifteen people who had been living at his home. Not having taken the time to think or speak until the last of the bodies had been buried and appropriate words spoken by the Reverend John Sinclair, Garrett had stopped up his grief and immersed himself in the act of comforting the shocked and grief-torn Jesse. Therefore, Jesse's emotions had been allowed release and benediction, while Garrett's had been buried with a dark place in his heart, a place as deep as his parents' graves.
the authorities, consisting mainly of a man from the governor's office and two from the militia, had pronounced the act the work of a local band of renegade Indians, and after a few weeks of a fruitless search, had let the matter rest unresolved, there being more immediate and pressing problems at hand. Oh, they had increased the patrols along the river for a while in a weak attempt at easing the concerns of the other families who lived in the areas, but all such actions had proved futile. And strangely enough, no other massacres occurred or were attempted and after some time had passed, the inhabitants of the river area lost their fears and once again settled down to the routines of their lives.
Garrett and Jesse, suddenly finding themselves alone in the world, had managed to endure the harrowing experience largely through the efforts of the older son who, as it quickly became apparent to all who knew him, was no longer a boy - by virtue of the ordeal - but a man, and a man to be reckoned with.
Nearly single handedly, almost as if letting the process become an act of absolution, Garrett had begun and accomplished the rebuilding of their estate; and with it, their shattered lives. Using the not inconsiderable knowledge he had gained from his father about the management of the plantation, together with the fortunate existence of a large account of goodwill left behind by Jeremy's outstanding reputation and respect in the business community, Garrett had been able that to secure the necessary credit to rebuild Riverlea; and in the years since, had managed to even multiply those holdings far beyond the considerable wealth Jeremy had accumulated at the time of his death.
Less than a year after the tragedy, as he stood watching the finishing touches being put on the new Big House, Garrett had reminded himself that this was only the preamble to the fulfillment of a promise he had made that day when John Sinclair had mumbled mournful words over two dark caskets as they were lowered into the ground. At that time, he had vowed silently to himself, as the sound of Jesse's sobs drifted over to him from the other side of the two large heaps of freshly turned earth, that, from that moment on, his life was to have one purpose - to find whoev
er had done this to them and extract revenge, and in the process, to make a new life for Jesse and himself. That the work done by his parents would not have been in vain. By giving purpose to the lives his parents had led and gaining retribution for the deaths they had died, he, their son, would somehow answer the whole useless "why?" of the tragedy with the only meaningful answer and sense he could find to make of it. In the matter of seeking out the murderers, he knew he was not alone, for the young Jesse had understood the need; but for Jesse it was a matter of justice being served; for Garrett it was a matter that went much deeper, a thing beyond words, as it was beyond tears.
Now, as he let the big black seek his own pace in the early morning light, Garrett was filled, as he had been so many years, with a sense of urgency to be done with the business at hand, so that he might snatch yet another block of time from the increasingly pressing matters of business, and devote it to the task of relieving this solitary burden of his heart.
With this on his mind, it became particularly annoying to remember that Trevellyan had based his invitation to come to Windreach to discuss horses around a parallel invitation to attend a social engagement. Normally, Garrett found an adequate amount of pleasure in the usual social involvements which came with being a wealthy landowner and prominent businessman in the SOuth of that time. But feeling, as he did this day, an urgent need to get back to his search, the notion of having to attend the frivolous birthday ball of an eighteen year old brat was insufferable. Not that he was one to shy away from women. Actually, Garrett Randall was one of those gentlemen who found it possible to be as at home in the boudoir as on the battlefield - or the high seas or in the counting houses of commerce - and his reputation with women provided the local gossips with ample sources of speculation. Indeed, through the facts of his parents' deaths and his ensuing quest, he had, in the process of hardening his heart, closed out the need for love of any woman - or man, except for the special place he kept for Jesse - and it was this attitude which had led to his prolific encounters with many women, seeking in breadth what he could not - would not - accept in death.
Oh, he enjoyed the more obvious charms of women, and they succumbed to him readily, for he was possessed of a commanding virility and such devastatingly handsome good looks as to cause feminine pulses to quicken and heads to turn the moment he entered a room. Exceedingly sure of himself with regard to the female sex, he made use of his casual affairs in much the same way he used goods horses, as objects to satisfy his most immediate needs, to be taken and discarded when they no longer served his purpose.
But love had no place in his life as he saw it, and feeling he would probably never marry, he left Jesse the responsibility of carrying on the family name. Of course, if he would have the great good fortune to find his quarry and carry out his revenge in the near future, perhaps he might then find the time and inclination to wed; but then it would most likely be to insure a continuation of his own line, and not for love, for he had done without that emotion for so long, the possibility of its emergence into his life at such a late date was highly improbable.
Suddenly, far up ahead of him, his eyes caught sight of a solitary rider, moving very fast. As it was yet very early, he was immediately intrigued by the appearance of anyone riding so hard and fast. As the rider moved closer, he was startled to find it was a woman! This fact had taken a few seconds to register because at odds with an obviously feminine trail of long pale hair flying behind, was the boyish looking apparel of the slender figure sitting astride in the saddle. The large gray she propelled was clearly being given his head, and garrett couldnt help admiring the horsemanship he saw. Reining his horse in, he stopped and waited for her to approach.
Christie was relishing her early morning gallop, letting Thunder stretch his great muscles to their fullest as he liked to do prior to the later, more controlled pace he must assume when accompanying Charles on his big bay gelding, captain, for their daily jaunt. As there was no reason to expect to see anyone about at this time, Christie wasnt really looking too far ahead of her and so missed the lone horseman who sat watching her until she was almost upon him.
With a start, she drew her mount up sharply, causing the gray to rear in the process.
"Trying to run me down, beautiful? And that's no way to treat a fine piece of horseflesh, you know."
Garrett was grinning as his eyes roamed appreciatively over her oddly clad figure. However, she was completely unaware of the seductively enticing picture she presented as she glared back t him, and they remained there, silent for a moment amid the sound of stomping hoofs and heavily blowing equine nostrils.
Waist length hair, the color of winter wheat, streaked flaxen by the summer sun, hung wildly about her heaving shoulders which, in her excitement, now moved in unison with the rising and falling motions of her chest, calling attention to voluptuously high and rounded breasts which seemed to thrust forward saucily as they strained against the soft, white material of a shirt intended for a flatter physique/ Tight gray riding breeches revealed a pair of long, shapely thighs attached to the curviest pair of slender hips he had ever seen, all complementing a waist so tiny Garrett knew he could span it with his hands.
But it was her face on which his eyes ultimately fixed. Its perfect heart-shaped contours were accented by high cheekbones, set off by a pair huge eyes of deep sea-foam turquoise, and he was reminded of the color of the ocean on a sunny day when a shaft of sunlight chances to infuse a swell with light and color. They evinced a slight upward tilt at the corners, as if to agree with the angularity of the cheekbones, and the thick, almost black lashes fringing them were lush and long.
Then, just as Garrett was noting with conspicuous pleasure how her delicate, straight nose played perfect counterpoint to a full, sensitive mouth, she spoke.
"Sir, who are you and what are you doing on this land? And what business is it of yours to be telling me how to treat my horse?"
Turquoise eyes turned greenish as her anger increased.
"Now, just which question does her ladyship demand I answer first?"
Garrett's own emerald eyes were mocking and he still possessed that same infuriating grin, which widened now as straight white teeth gleamed against sun-bronzed skin.
"Ooh, how dare you!" she spat, " I have a perfect right ..."
But whatever Christie thought to tell him her perfect right was, was sharply stifled as, in a single movement, he brought his horse up alongside hers and , sweeping her out of her saddle effortlessly, drew her to him as his mouth came down on hers in a fierce, searing kiss.
At first, taken completely aback by the shock of it, Christie remained limp and impassive under the onslaught, but as her senses came around to realizing the enormity of her fury at the act, she began to struggle vigorously against his embrace. Large, muscular arms continued to encase her in a steely grip, however, and try as she would, she could not free herself. Now she felt his hard, demanding lips begin to move more purposefully against hers, forcing her own lips apart as his tongue sought the soft, warm recesses of her mouth.
This was Christie's first real kiss, and to have it reach these proportions was more than she could bear; just when she felt
as if she might faint from the combined terror and outrage within her, he released her abruptly.
"You, beautiful creature, have a perfect right," he breathed, "to have the senses kissed out of you, with a face and body that look like that."
Looking directly into her furious eyes, he set her back of Thunder, who had remained obediently still during the entire process,. Then Garrett gave the gray a hearty slap on the rump, forcing Christie to deal with the immediate problem of controlling her startled horse. As they were moving away from him, Garrett called after her.
"Good bye, lovely, and try to remember, young ladies who think they have a perfect right to ask questions of a man ought not to be out riding unescorted. Oh, and uh, thanks for the kiss, sweetheart."
With this, Garrett turn
ed his horse and rode off casually in teh opposite direction.
It was several minutes before Christie could gather her whirling senses together enough to bring Thunder under the control she normally assumed without difficulty, and by then the stranger had disappeared beyond a stand of trees which ran along the main drive. Anger, outrage and shocked disbelief fought within her, at last finding voice in a piercing screech which rang in the empty air. Thunder flattened his ears in a gesture that clearly indicated his distaste at this behavior, so unlike what he had come to expect from his young mistress, and he pawed the ground as if to inquire what was coming next. Noting his impatience, Christie forced herself to make a decision and, urging him lightly with her heels, she rode off in the direction of the stables. As they moved along, she found it possible to resume some of the steadiness of her earlier frame of mind.
" I dont know who he is, but I'm going to find out," she said, "and when I do, Thunder, I'm going to find a way to make him sorry for this insult. No one takes advantage of a Trevellyan without paying for it!"
But as she spoke, her cheeks flushed with the remembrance of warm, hard lips on hers and a fiery embrace that caused a curious tingle deep inside her, even as she fought to dismiss it from her mind.
Chapter Three
"Miss Christie, if you dont hold still, we're never going to get you laced up right."
Almeira's lips pursed together in a narrow line as she worked at the task of constricting an already wasp-thin waist into even narrower confines. The normally thin, pale face of the woman was flushed from the exertion of the afternoon's activities, which now centered on the business of readying her vivacious and energetic young mistress for yet another fitting for the gown she was to wear to her birthday ball a fortnight hence. Given the spirited nature of her young charge, Almeira found such activity no easy task, and as the date of the ball came closer, she found the responsibility of managing this frisky colt of a girl was bringing her near physical exhaustion.
Christie Page 2