Guaire had passed from one racing stable to another, all within the Boyle family. Each would race him for a few years under forged papers, and then pass him to a cousin. Only when Guaire passed to an heir uninterested in keeping a stable had he gone up for sale--and Imogen bought him, thinking a retired racehorse of his caliber might be a good match for her brood mares. That had turned out to be the best purchase of her life.
She gave her father a hard look. "Swear it, then."
He pulled off a glove and bit his thumb. He held it out for her to see, blood and all. "I swear by my own blood that I mean no harm to you, your household, your child…or your husband."
Imogen didn't know what to make of that. He would be bound by that oath, as his kind always were, just as she and Guaire would be bound by any oath either of them made.
He wrapped his glove about his thumb and squeezed it. "I have no other children. I only wish a chance to know the one I do have."
Imogen couldn't imagine what it would be like to be separated from Patrick, and that thought tempered her anger. "I will consider permitting you to visit with me, but I will need to discuss the terms of it with my husband first. I will put his preferences above yours at all times. If Guaire says no, then there is no bargain."
Finn nodded. "And he has cause to refuse me, I know."
"I'll send word around to your place tomorrow," she said, "to let you know what he and I have agreed upon."
"I had hoped you might be pleased to meet me, but I didn't factor him into my reckoning." Finn shook his head and handed her the bloodied glove. "Tell him of my promise, at least."
Imogen gingerly took the glove. Might some charm be woven into its fibers? She could rarely sense such things, but Guaire always did. "I'll tell him."
Her father made an urbane bow and left her there in the hallway, feeling stunned.
PART 2
Guaire peered down from their bedroom on the second floor, staring out the window that looked over the stable yard and the green roof of the stable. Finn had ridden away on a chestnut gelding, heading the long way around to his adjacent property rather than cutting through the west pasture. Guaire had no idea what Finn was doing here--in the New World, in New York, or in the front sitting room downstairs.
For the most part, Guaire hadn't given Finn a thought for years, not even married to his daughter as he was. Now Finn had walked into their lives with the ease of an old friend, and Guaire didn't know if he could forgive him, much less trust him.
But Imogen was Finn's daughter. Seeing them together, one couldn't have any doubt of that. Her mother had raised her in denial of the puca side of her heritage, to be serious and cool, to restrain the wildness that ran under her skin. But it had always been there.
He was still staring out the window when Imogen came looking for him. "Patrick is down for a nap," he whispered before she could speak.
She came and put her arms around him, and pressed her face against his neck. He set his lips against her hair. "This scares me, Ginny."
"I know," she said. "Me, too. I couldn't see through his glamour at first."
Guaire pulled back and his eyes met hers. "He's always been…unusual. He's old and powerful, and much stronger than I am. If he tries to take you from me, I may not be able to stop him."
Imogen pulled a stained glove out of her pocket. "He swore. On his own blood, he swore that he meant no harm to anyone in this household."
Guaire caught the scent of blood on the thing--a binding. Even so, for their kind the exact words of an oath were the ones they must obey. They could bend and evade the oath any other way. "Ginny, what exact words did he use?"
She repeated her father's words, which were a broad oath indeed.
Guaire still didn't trust it. He sat down in the wide chair before the window and pulled her to sit in his lap. When she'd settled comfortably, he asked, "What did he say about Patrick?"
So Imogen repeated every bit of that conversation as well, answering when he had questions. And once she'd relayed everything to his satisfaction, she asked, "Is it true that he has no children other than me?"
"I don't recall his having any children," Guaire admitted. "I don't even know how old he is, darling. Old, more than a hundred years, for sure. But no, I'd never heard of anyone saying they were his get."
"Except me," she said.
"I just don't know, Ginny." He sighed heavily. The Fair Folk had convoluted ways of thinking, putting multiple layers of meaning into what they did and said. Pucas were of the Lesser Folk; they had simpler ways. But as he recalled, Finn had always been an exception to that. "He's one of the hard ones, and I can't think like that."
"Motives within motives, my mother said," she whispered.
Which matched with what he recalled of Finn. "I'm going to send Billy to Sheepshead with the horses," Guaire told her.
August was almost gone. The Saratoga meet had ended, and the next races for them would be those at Sheepshead Bay, out on Coney Island. It meant hours on trains, and it was a trial for Guaire to be surrounded by steel for so long anyway. It was time for Billy Sanders to take on more responsibility anyway, he reckoned.
"I would be more comfortable with you here," Imogen said. "Until I understand why he's come, at least."
"Ah, then, I won't be traveling for the next decade or so." Guaire's arms tightened about her. He hadn't known his own father. He would have liked to, he'd always thought. And he knew that Imogen felt the same, despite all the ill her mother had claimed about Finn. "If you're wanting to talk to him, Ginny, I'll not argue, but watch your words. And I'm thinking, I would want to know why he left Ireland. Crossing the ocean's a terrible thing. You were a babe when you did so, but I remember it, and I'll not be doing that ever again. I have to ask myself why he did."
"You don't think it was to find me?" she asked with a furrowed brow.
He pressed a kiss to her forehead. "As much as I'd like to believe he did so, I can't, Ginny."
"He bought the Hammersly place," she said. "Whatever reason he has for coming here, he landed very close."
Guaire had noted that as well. Imogen liked to believe in coincidence. She liked to believe it had been a coincidence that he'd ended up in her stables rather than some other owner's. But he'd never had much faith in randomness. "You know I said 'twas Fate made you buy me? We'll have to hope that Fate knows what she was doing when she led him here as well."
***
Imogen decided to go herself, a way to talk to Finn that wouldn't bring him anywhere near her family. So one of the stable boys saddled up Captain for her, and she rode the old bay gelding through the west meadow toward the Hammersly house.
She'd never before set foot on the farm her father had purchased. It had belonged to William Hammersly, who had wanted to acquire Hawk's Folly so fervently that he'd shot one of her prime horses, tried to steal Guaire in horse form, and nearly kidnapped Imogen herself. She wasn't certain she liked her father as her neighbor any better. Even so, when she reached the farmhouse, she steeled her nerves and slid down from Captain's back.
The house was older than hers, dating from the Civil War, with a wide porch and small windows. Since no groom appeared to take Captain's reins, Imogen tied them to the porch post and walked up the steps. The house seemed strangely quiet, no servants bustling about, no hands working near the tired stables. Only a handful of horses grazed in a distant paddock, the caretaker's private property, she recalled.
Dark curtains hung over the windows, and Imogen couldn't see any light within. She lifted her hand to rap on the door, but stopped, asking herself again if she really wanted to pursue this. But a night's sleep had convinced her that the opportunity to learn about herself outweighed her fear of her father, so she knocked on the door loudly.
It only took a moment for the door to open, Finn himself standing at the threshold. "Have you made up your mind?"
She'd expected a more traditional greeting before he pursued his answer. "Yes. We've decided that we'll try to
work out some terms. A chance to get to know each other."
He looked pleased. Perhaps relieved, she decided, although his expression hardly changed at all.
"Won't you come in, then?" He stepped back and, after a brief hesitation, she followed.
The inside of the house smelled dusty, and the furniture was still covered. A line of steamer trunks ran along the main hallway, as if he'd carried them inside but never bothered to unpack them. "How long have you been living here?" she asked.
"A week," he said.
The air in the house was stale. "Don't you have anyone working here?"
"No, I saw no reason to hire people on if you didn't want me to stay." He went into the front sitting room and pulled the Holland covers off two chairs. At the first sight of each--one a tall leather wingback chair, and the other, a smaller feminine version in a burgundy floral brocade--his expression hinted that he'd never bothered to look under the covers before.
"Did you buy this place sight unseen?" she asked.
"I asked my agent here to find something as close to your land as possible," he said and gestured for her to sit in the more feminine chair. "I didn't care what the house looked like, although the land itself is pleasant."
Imogen sat, asking, "Do you know who lived here before you?"
He sat across from her. "One William Hammersly, now deceased, from what my man said."
"Hammersly wanted my land," she told him, "and was willing to go to extreme lengths to get it. Lengths that caused his death, in a way."
Her father regarded her with one raised brow. "You killed him?"
Imogen tried to return that sardonic expression, but suspected she failed miserably. "No."
He sat back and crossed his legs. "Then how did you deal with him?"
She explained how Hammersly's greed finally led him to the use of magic on track-owned lands, something the Saratoga Racing Association didn't permit. The next day he'd collapsed in an apoplectic fit. Whether there were supernatural forces involved in that, or if the man's excesses had merely caught up with him, Imogen had no idea--nor did she want to know.
Her father seemed to appreciate the tale, though, and they discussed her relationship with the previous landowner for a time. Neither of them broached the subject of her mother or of Guaire, which kept them in neutral territory, a surprisingly amicable discussion. But since she'd told Guaire she'd be gone no more than an hour, Imogen told her father she would have to go.
"And will you allow me to visit your house again?" he asked when she rose. "I would like to get to know my grandson."
Imogen frowned. "I am still considering that. Perhaps you can come next Wednesday for tea."
He inclined his head, and then surprised her by asking, "Do you know where I can hire reliable servants?"
He would have to go into town. And sooner or later, people would begin to talk about how much he looked like her. Or how much she looked like him. And while her mother had claimed to be a widow when she arrived, Imogen had let slip once that her father was still alive in Ireland. How long would it be before people started assuming familial connections between them? "Do you intend to tell them you're related to me?"
"What do you suggest? I know what your mother told people. What would happen if they discovered that I am your father?"
He didn't look old enough to be her father, so it was unlikely people would believe that. She said so, and then added, "Perhaps, if people ask, you could say we are cousins."
"If asked, I am willing to say that," he conceded.
So she gave him a quick listing of where he could seek out household help and, citing the time, sped out the door.
Guaire was waiting anxiously at the stables when she rode in. He helped her down from Captain's back. "You're late. Are you all right?"
Imogen nodded. "For now, I think I trust him."
"For now," Guaire repeated. "One day at a time?"
"The best I can do, I think."
***
It wasn't until after sunset that they had time to go over her discussion with her father. Guaire heard it in her voice: for all that Finn's presence worried her, she wanted him to stay. She wanted him to be her father, whether he'd earned that privilege or not. And Guaire would support her in that, whether he liked Finn or not. But he intended to be cautious.
After a great deal of discussion the next day, Billy Sanders agreed to take the three-year-olds to the races at Sheepshead Bay in Guaire's place, Billy's first outing as their official trainer. The young man fretted over being gone so close to Mary's time, but Mary just reminded him that their child wasn't due for a month or so, and sent him on his way. The rise in his pay helped soften his worry, Guaire thought.
And Guaire talked to people in town that week, running down shopkeepers and trainers and grooms. In the three years since he'd arrived, he'd made plenty of friends. If anything were happening in Saratoga, he heard of it.
"He's setting up stables," Guaire told Imogen over Sunday dinner. Finn had hired a full staff for the house and a handful of grooms. "Breeding is my best guess."
She regarded him with a troubled expression he wished he could wipe away. "Where is the money coming from?"
"Fairy gold?" Guaire suggested, only half serious. He'd never been concerned with wealth or fine things. Most pucas weren't. They spent their lives in search of the next bit of mischief instead. Even though Guaire hadn't had a single cent to his name--or a shred of clothing--when he'd first come to Hawk's Folly, apparently Finn chose not to live the same way.
Imogen shook her head at his jest. "He bought the Hammersly place, and now he's buying horses? He has to have money somewhere."
"Is that a lot?" Guaire asked. Imogen had a head for business; he didn't. The question of funding honestly hadn't occurred to him.
"I hadn't thought about it until now," she said, "but yes. He's laid out a great deal of money. I would be flattered if I truly believed it was so he could see me."
Guaire watched her finish her dinner, the narrow line between her dark brows never easing. In this sort of situation, he wasn't the most help. He didn't think the way Finn did, with the deviousness more commonly associated with the Fair Folk. What Imogen needed was someone who could think like her father, someone who had a brain as convoluted as old Finn's.
And Guaire knew exactly on whom to call.
***
When Wednesday afternoon came, Finn sat down with Imogen in the front sitting room, a civilized thing, revealing that her 'wild' father understood the rules of polite society. He looked quite at home on her green-striped couch, his teacup and saucer balanced on his knee. They spoke of the weather in that part of the country, what he could expect when winter came, and the yearling sale that would come in the spring.
So far Guaire hadn't heard anything odd being said about her father in town, which meant Finn must be comporting himself much like any other new landholder in the Saratoga area. And he wasn't seducing every girl in town yet, either. Imogen considered that a good sign.
They drank the last of their tea, and she rose, indicating it was time for him to leave. He stood as well, a hopeful expression on his handsome face. "May I see my grandson today?"
After a moment of weighing the consequences, Imogen sent Mary to bring Patrick. "For a few minutes," she told her father. "He'll need to take his nap, soon."
Guaire came in through the front door then, brushing his shoulders. He cast a wary glance at her father, but turned back to her. "Are you all right?"
He had white flecks in his dark hair, melting down to droplets of water. Imogen reached up a hand, bemused. "Snow?"
"A cold wind came in fast," he said, with a worried shake of his head. "I think it's going to snow the night through."
"It's September!" Imogen protested. "We shouldn't be seeing snow this early."
Mary came waddling down the hallway then, her face flushed. "Mrs. O'Donnell!"
Imogen turned away from Guaire to the girl. "What is it, Mary?"
&nbs
p; "The nursemaid," Mary said, leaning against the doorframe. "I went to find her, but she's gone."
Guaire set a hand under Mary's elbow to support her. "Where's Patrick?"
The girl looked as if she might faint. "I don't know, sir. They're both just gone."
Guaire ran down the hallway, leaving Mary in Imogen's hands. Imogen turned to her suspiciously silent father. Finn still waited in the parlor. "What have you done?"
Trapped by the two of them blocking the doorway, Finn regarded her with raised brows. "Whatever do you mean?"
Mary had gone from flushed to a pasty white. The girl gasped, and then grabbed frantically at Imogen's arm. "Oh, Lordy, missus!"
Water started to pool on the floor at Mary's feet; Imogen knew exactly what that meant. She lifted her skirts with her free hand and tucked them up, casting an angry look at her father
"I am not responsible for that," her father said, pointing at Mary's belly.
Imogen wanted to scream at him, but contained it, worried for the girl. She stepped closer, sliding her arm about the girl's bulky waist. "Mary, have you been having pains?"
"For a while, missus, but…" Mary stared down at her belly wide-eyed, as if surprised that the child inside intended to come out. "It wasn't supposed to be for another couple of weeks," she protested. "I thought it was just in my head."
And now it was snowing. Imogen wasn't sure she could get the girl into town, not in the buggy. She certainly didn't want to deliver a child, but it was beginning to look like there wasn't much choice unless they could get a doctor out to the farm.
Guaire came jogging back up the hallway then, his features set. He touched Imogen's arm in passing and said, "No sign of them. I'm gonna head out to the stable and see if anyone's seen them."
"Ask if any of the hands has delivered a child before," Imogen called after him as he whisked out the front door. When she turned back, she was relieved to see the cook bustling down the hallway toward them.
Snow Comes to Hawk's Folly Page 2