"Good afternoon, Bruce. I see your deftly schooled tongue is still in fine working order ... but I thank you for the compliment anyway. Beau, Aaron, how are you?" asked Christie, smiling in their direction as she stepped toward Rebecca. "Rebecca! Now, you do look beautiful, especially so in that russet riding habit. It matches your hair, I'd swear. It's good to see you again," she added, giving Rebecca an affectionate hug.
Rebecca Kingsley was Aaron's younger sister and she was the only young woman of Christie's age whose company Christie found tolerable. Rebecca was sensible, witty and wonderfully lacking in artful poses and artificial or insincere manners. Moreover, she had the habit of being unusually direct and outspoken, something a lot of people found disconcerting, to say the least, but which, to Christie, was often the source of amusement and delight.
"Christie," said Rebecca excitedly, "we all came to bring our families' yeses to your party invitations. What fun it will be, to dance at another grand ball! You must be very excited! I know I was, for my eighteenth. And we want to know if you'll come riding with us this afternoon. Will you?"
"Yes, Christie," added Beau, "we see little enough of you outside of formal affairs. I swear, if you continue in this way, you're going to turn yourself into the loveliest recluse in the county."
Langston had arrived with a tall pitcher of lemonade, and Christie placed herself in a chair off to one side as she demonstratively picked up her embroidery and began to stitch on it. The one thing she didnt care to do this afternoon was to involve herself in a formal riding party with these young men. Going with just Rebecca would be acceptable, for she was an able horsewoman and would be there for the ride, but Beau and Bruce and Aaron were, she knew, more interested in pursuing a social chase than they were in the sport or the exercise, and this she could do without.
"I'm sorry, but I don't think so, Rebecca. I spent the whole morning on Thunder, and I'm in need of some rest, even if he's not. But stay a little while and have some lemonade. I'm glad everyone can make it to my party." She was sorry she had had to lie about needing some rest. Lying never sat well with her in any form, but a direct approach might have hurt some feelings, as Aunt Celia would have been quick to point out.
Aaron came forward and handed her a lemonade. "I'm going to make this the slowest lemonade I've ever drunk," he said, casting a glance over her slender person. "My poor eyes are fairly starved for a satisfying look at you, Christie. Don't you feel at least a little guilty, keeping yourself from us like this?"
"Of course she doesn't, silly," said his sister. "Christie has always been the most independent one among us. If I were clever, Christie, I'd borrow the habit and then find myself equally irresistible among the boys. But, unfortunately, I'm afraid I wouldn't be able to keep it up for very long. I just naturally find myself attracted to some of them," she added, sidling up to Beau and taking his arm. "But I take it they don't really mind, do you, Beau?"
With this, Beau stepped back and gave her an exaggerated, courtly bow, finishing with a kiss, bestowed in elegant fashion, upon her outstretched hand.
They were all taking this way, playfully and jocularly, when Charles and Garrett came into view of the terrace as they walked from the stables, having left their mounts there after a ride to the east pasture. "Uh-oh," said Charles, gesturing for Garrett to join him as he stopped on the path. "It looks like Christie's gotten herself tied up with some visitors, and if I don't miss my bet, I'll wager she wants rescuing."
Garrett looked in the direction Charles was indicating as Charles continued.
"She hates these semi-disguised courting occasions, you know. Says all the young pups you see there bore her. I love to spy on her a little on occasions like this, to observe my daughter when she doesn't know I'm watching. I've learned a great deal about her this way. You'll notice how she sits in that chair and bends over her embroidery? Now you can't appreciate this, but I happen to know Christie hates needlework—does it only when her aunt nags her I into it, although I remember one Christmas when I received from her a handsomely embroidered vest— I well, at any rate, you see her stitching away right now? It's a subtle avoidance technique. It's her way of not mingling any more than she has to, with those eager Lotharios there. . . .Sometimes she worries me, though. She'll be eighteen in less than a fortnight, and yet, she exhibits not the slightest interest in getting wed. Seems perfectly content to remain here I at Windreach, riding that adored horse of hers, running about like a half-grown filly . . . Tell me, I are you a married man, Garrett?"
"No, sir," answered Garrett, his eyes on the terrace.
"Ah, well, then you know nothing of the problems of raising children. I tell you, horses are a lot easier!
Come, let's have some lemonade."
They walked toward the house, and as they neared the terrace, Rebecca, who had been talking to Christie, caught sight of them, and turning to her hostess with great animation, she asked breathlessly, "Christie, who is that? The man with your father!"
As she hadn't been looking in the same direction, Christie turned and stiffened. "Oh," she answered, trying to sound casual, "a guest of Father's. He's here mainly on business."
"Well, what's his name? He's disgracefully handsome!"
"Garrett Randall. He's from the low country near Charleston," said Christie, wishing she could escape for sure now.
"Well?" asked Rebecca.
"Well, what?"
"What else do you know about him, you lucky thing! Is he married?"
"Why, I—I don't know, Rebecca. I'm not in the habit of asking such things about Father's guests."
"Oh, I would have, if he were staying at ray home," enthused Rebecca. "I'll tell you what—I'll find out!"
"Rebecca, no! I don't care to know— Good afternoon, Father, Garrett," she called. "Will you have some lemonade?"
"It's just what I had in mind, darlin'," said her father, coming up and kissing her on the forehead.
As Charles proceeded to make introductions, Rebecca moved casually to Garrett's side, giving Christie a wink. Christie's answer was to make a face at her friend, before bending more closely over her needlework. What should she care about
Garrett Randall's marital state? More than likely, he Was married, with a pack of children at home, to boot. It would be entirely within character for him not to let a little thing like that stop him from his womanizing pursuits!
She smiled to herself as she noticed Rebecca engaging him in conversation now. Leave it to Rebecca Kingsley to find out any necessary information! She would probably ask him outright, regardless of how forward it might appear.
Just then, Rebecca stole a moment when Garrett's attention was focused elsewhere, and catching Christie's eye, she gave her a broad grin and shook her head negatively. So Garrett was unmarried. Christie discovered herself mildly curious. "Strange," she thought. "He must be over thirty, although he looks as if he could be younger. But I'd guess over thirty because, at dinner, he mentioned fighting under William Moultrie and later, with Francis Marion, the 'Swamp Fox,' in the War for Independence. Hmmph! He's probably single because no decent woman would have him!"
Suddenly, Garrett turned and crossed to where she was sitting, and Christie wished she'd gone riding. Perhaps she still would!
"Good day, Christie. I wouldn't have thought needlework to be one of your interests," said Garrett.
"It serves to relieve certain boredoms," she returned coolly.
He pulled out a chair across from her and sat in it, his long legs stretching out, catlike, in front of him. She noticed his dark hair, moist with perspiration, was curling damply around his forehead and temples, and his skin bore an even deeper tan today, as a result of several long hours in the sun. Well, she couldn't blame Rebecca for wondering!
"But you would prefer more active pastimes, I gather," said Garrett, grinning now. "Sports, to develop your leg and arm muscles," he added, rubbing the side of his cheek.
"It would seem they have served me well enough," she replied,
beginning to feel uncomfortable. She really wasn't in the mood to be baited just now, and here they were, thrust together again. Damn! In the future, she would be more careful to avoid such a trap. "How do the horses look, Garrett? Have you found any to your liking? And how long will you be staying at Windreach?"
"I've found several excellent mares thus far. You Trevellyans know your business. As for my stay, why, I thought you knew—I'm not to leave until after your birthday ball," he added, his eyes taking the opportunity to roam over her seated form and apparently liking the appearance she presented in her thin white cotton dress.
So he was staying that long! Now feeling even more uncomfortable, Christie put her embroidery aside and stood up.
"Aaron, Rebecca, I think I will take up your invitation to go riding," she said. "If you'll give me a few minutes to change, we can go immediately. I begin to find needlework tedious."
And she rushed into the house, leaving four pleased young people, an astonished-looking Charles, and an amused Garrett Randall.
Chapter Six
During the days that followed, Christie, determined to avoid Garrett as much as possible, tried to resume the normal leisurely pace of living she had always enjoyed at Windreach. Her best chance of doing this, she had decided, was to spend as little time as possible in and about the stables and breeding pens or any of the other places where horses where to be found. This left her with a considerably smaller sphere of operating room, but, gritting her teeth, she reminded herself it would only be for a short while, for once the ball was over, Garrett was expected to be on his way—and out of her life for good, she noted with satisfaction.
It was mid afternoon on a particularly hot day when she hit upon the idea of riding to a spot she hadn't visited since the heat of the previous summer. This was a small clearing in one of the thickest parts of the woods that faced the eastern edge of the plantation, beyond the pasture where the prize mares were kept. Here an underground spring had long ago erupted and formed a deep, clear pool before it again trickled away to eventually feed the brook that meandered through several of their best grazing pastures. Christie had discovered the place years before, and, because of its seclusion, had long ago taken to using it for her private swimming pool on the hottest days, for, being spring-fed, the water was icy.
Now as she felt perspiration forming beneath the thin cotton shirt and light breeches she wore, she hurried Thunder along the old path through the woods in eager anticipation of a cooling swim.
She was almost to the pool when she heard a sound that was unfamiliarly loud amid the usual woodland noises of birds chirping and insects humming in the shade. Yes, it definitely was a splash, and one that would have been made by an animal considerably larger than the raccoons she had occasionally surprised there.
Reining Thunder in cautiously, she brought him to a halt just out of sight of the clearing and dismounted quietly. Suddenly she spied a movement to her left and there, tethered to a tree, she saw the big black horse she knew to be Garrett Randall's Jet!
Quickly, yet stealthily, she crept to the edge of the clearing. There she saw Garrett Randall, diving into her pool, and he was stark naked!
Averting her eyes from his nude form as it cut through the water, she was about to turn back and ride off, pretending she hadn't seen anything, when an idea struck.
This was a good distance from any of the buildings on the plantation, a half-day's journey on foot from the main house. If he were suddenly to find himself with his mount missing, Garrett would be forced to make that walk. Her eyes sparkled mischievously as she pictured him seething with anger as he made the trek with only riding boots to walk in; she knew such boots were not made for walking! Oh, it would serve him right to have that arrogant manner of his trimmed a bit! She could hardly keep from giggling aloud as she headed for the black stallion's tether.
She unfastened the reins swiftly, bringing them back over the horse's head before she gave his rump a sharp, resounding slap which sent the animal galloping.
At the sound, Garrett looked up from where he had been treading water and saw her.
Wickedly, she grinned at him.
"Enjoy your swim, Mr. Randall!"
Then she turned to mount Thunder. Suddenly she spied, in a heap under a nearby tree, a pile of male clothing—his clothing!
Her mind worked quickly. The humiliation of having to walk back might smart some, but how would he feel if he had to do it without any clothes on!
Chortling gleefully, she glanced over her shoulder to discover him still staring at her from the water, but with a decidedly angry frown on his face. She made her decision. He was stuck in the water without his clothes and that would trap him there while she took the time to pick up his garments and make off with them.
This she proceeded to do, laughing merrily to herself as she stooped to grab them, when suddenly she realized that he was not going to let the mere fact of his nakedness keep him in the water—he was coming after her!
Shrieking in disbelief, she dropped the clothes and lunged toward the spot where Thunder stood, hoping now only to get away.
But Garrett was a bolt of lightning, anger feeding the energy that filled his unencumbered limbs, and in a few seconds he was upon her as she tried, unsuccessfully, to mount her horse.
"Loose my horse and steal my clothes, would you?"
He had one muscular arm tightly about her waist while the other was wrapped around her chest, binding her arms helplessly at her sides as she tried to struggle free.
"Young lady, I think it's time you were taught a lesson in manners and polite conduct toward one's guests!" His tone was angry, the words coming out as if he were biting them off, one by one.
Then, casting about as if in search of something, he spied a fallen tree trunk and, dragging Christie with him, he moved toward it and took a seat.
Christie finally found her voice then; her shock until now had rendered her fairly speechless. She screeched, "You bloody bastard, let me go!"
"Ah-ah, that's no way for a lady to speak, either," he mocked. "Looks like you're long overdue for this."
And with a single movement, he proceeded to turn her across his knees and soundly spank her tightly clad bottom with his open hand.
Pure rage coupled with the humiliating indignity of it all, welled up in Christie, and with each resounding wallop, she shrieked and yelled at him at the top of her voice, but Garrett's voice rose above hers.
"This," he said—whack!—"ought to teach"— whack!—"a young female"—whack!—"who's about to turn eighteen"—whack!—"not to behave like a child,"—whack! "Or she'll have to suffer"—whack! —"the consequences"—whack!—"a child would endure!"—a final whack!
Christie's shrieks were by now interspersed by tears, but more from anger than from the pain to her buttocks.
"How dare you!" she choked out between angry sobs. "How dare you!"
Garrett now stood up, but he did not yet release her. Instead, picking up her bodily, he marched to the water's edge, all the while laughing at her feeble efforts to disengage herself from him.
"No!" she screamed. "You can't do this—"
Laughing loudly by now, with an upward toss, he threw her deliberately into the pool, clothes and all.
Christie hit the water with a resounding splash and the shock of its icy temperature almost knocked the breath out of her. In numb fury, she rose to the surface, sputtering and spewing water, and if looks had been able to kill, Garrett wouldn't have had a prayer.
Ignoring her obvious fury, Garrett stood, hands on hips, and called to her in a casual voice.
"I have to be getting back now. Your father is expecting me at the house at four o'clock. Since you have sent my mount running, I am forced to use your gray. You have a choice. You can hurry up out of there and join us, or you can walk back by yourself. Which will it be?"
Christie looked at him in dumb amazement.
"Well," he drawled, "make up your mind. I'm not in the habit of being late for a
n appointment."
Still looking dumbfounded and in abject humiliation, Christie maneuvered to the edge of the pool and climbed out. She knew she looked a sight. The thin summer clothes she wore stuck to her body, clinging fully to every curve and hollow, leaving little to the imagination, and as she looked down, she saw that the nipples of her breasts had peaked from the iciness of the water and were thrusting forward noticeably beneath the now-transparent material of her shirt.
Flushing a bright crimson, she crossed her arms over her chest in an effort to cover herself.
"I—I can't go—like this," she stuttered.
With a chuckle, Garrett, who in the meantime had begun to dress himself, came toward her with his own dry shirt. He was wearing his tight riding breeches and boots, but was naked from the waist up.
He met her as she reached a grassy place beside the pool, and with a final glance at her distress, wrapped his shirt around her shoulders. Then he was lifting her up again and in a moment had her in Thunder's saddle while he took the reins and, with a single movement, mounted behind her. With a brief pressure from his knees at the big horse's sides, they were off in the direction of the main house.
Christie endured the ride back with as much silent dignity as she could muster. She tried not to notice how his brown, well-muscled forearm made contact with her breasts as it held her in front of him in the saddle, and whenever they hit an uneven patch on the path, she swore silently as the stinging sensation in her buttocks reminded her of one of her many reasons to wish this man dead.
They made the ride in total silence until finally they neared the guest cottage where she knew he'd
been staying.
"Guess this will be far enough for me," he intoned in that same mocking drawl he seemed to reserve especially for her. "Thanks for the ride. I suppose you can find your way to the house alone?"
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