by Alisa Adams
Then she caught herself up short.
Where had these thoughts come from? She would not let her mind wander any further down that path. She was an independent woman, and her name was Alexa Montgomery, not Alexa Chevalier, or Alexa anything else for that matter. But if she was so sure of that, why did she keep having to remind herself?
When midnight came, and the dancing began, Alexa decided to stay in the background and watch. She had always loved to observe people going about their lives doing all the things that made each one special. The cook, as cooks usually were, was a big, blowsy flamboyant woman called Bettie with a chest like a fat strutting pigeon.
Her chief handmaiden was Peighi, a little pixie of a Shetland woman, who looked about sixteen but was in fact forty-two. It was she who was the real queen of the kitchen – since she laid down the house rules and enforced them with a rod of iron in the shape of a very heavy pastry roller!
Alexa watched them and giggled.
The stable master's name was Allie Macroon, a lantern-jawed ginger-headed giant of a man, not particularly beloved of his staff, whom he tolerated in an offhand way.
Allie thought that the major problem with people arose from the fact that they were not horses. Horses were his love, his life, his waking, rising, and the entire reason for his existence. If he had been the only man in a world of horses, life for him would have been paradise.
Alexa loved to watch him.
The horses, knowing when they were well-off, took full advantage, rifling his pockets for titbits when they got the chance, and arguing amongst themselves for his favors!
On Hogmanay, Allie paid a token visit to the riotous assembly of New Year revelers before quietly ducking off back to the stables.
Alexa had gone to see Jenny to give her some apple slices and met the big man as he was about to settle down on his straw pallet.
He sat up stiffly and looked at her.
"Mistress," he said carefully, "can I dae onything fer ye?"
Alexa chuckled. "No, Allie." She smiled at him. "I just came to say goodnight to my girl."
Allie ran a hand tenderly down Jenny's silky gray neck.
"Aye – a fine lady," he observed with reverence. "Strong as a lion, gentle as a lamb. I am willin' tae bet she can run for miles withoot tirin' tae."
"Yes, she can," Alexa answered. "You know a lot about horses, Allie."
Allie's face lit up.
"I mostly like them better than people, mistress," he confessed, laughing. "If they dinnae like ye, they kick ye or staun' on yer feet. Nae lies!"
Alexa threw her head back and laughed.
"I tell ye who else loves the horses, mistress," Allie whispered. "Yon Frenchie spice merchant. Aye." He shook his head approvingly. "An' they love him an' all. Horses are a great judge o' character, mistress."
He began to walk away from her, down the lengths of stalls, till he got to a huge, well-muscled chestnut stallion who began to dance about in his stall as soon as he saw them.
"Want tae knaw this one's name?" Allie slanted a sideways glance at her.
Alexa laughed as she looked at the polished, mahogany color of the horse's coat shifting with its restless movement.
"I have no idea," she replied, taking a step forward.
The stallion reared slightly, not enough to do any damage, but its intention was clear.
Stay away from me! it said, quite plainly.
"His name is Lucifer," Allie said, with some sadness in his voice. "He is a warhorse, an' his spirit has been bent an’ twisted intae that o' a soldier's wi' years o' fightin'. He has seen too much death an' battle."
Allie sighed, then suddenly he smiled as he looked at the big horse and told Alexa something unbelievable.
"There are only two people 'roon here who can touch that beast." He gently stroked the horse's gleaming rump. "Me an’ yon Frenchie."
Alexa was amazed. She stared at the beautiful horse, now tugging hay from its manger.
"And why do you think that is?" she asked, somewhat baffled.
"I knaw very little aboot people, mistress. Horses are my life. But I believe that baith the horses an' the people hae spirits, an' sometimes one spirit can be drawn tae anither by—"
He faltered for the words and looked at Alexa helplessly.
"Shared experiences," she finished for him. "The spirit of the animal to the spirit of the person. I don't know if you are right, Allie, but it sounds like a good explanation to me."
She paused then shook Allie's hand, smiling.
"There is a lot more to you than meets the eye, Allie. I hope we talk again, and Happy New Year."
"An' yersel', mistress," said Allie Macroon, who only ever talked to horses.
If Lucifer the warhorse had his spirit bent and shaped by the horrors of war, and if Allie's theory was to be believed, what horrors then had shaped the spirit of Auguste Chevalier?
Alexa noted with a flash of grim humor that 'Chevalier' meant 'knight' in French. If she had been a believer in such things, she might have seen some sign in that, but a surname was just a surname.
And one, she thought for the fiftieth time, that I have no intention of acquiring.
Alexa walked around the dancing crowds to retire to her own bedroom.
There were Lachlan and Shona, somehow managing to be joined in the celebrations like everyone else while being constantly entwined with each other as if they were in a world of their own.
And there was Annabelle with the tall, upright Laird of Arbroath, already looking at him with a proprietorial air as if she was already married to him. He had his arm around her waist, and she had her head on his shoulder. They had just met, and yet they looked so happy!
Alexa looked for Auguste – Not for any special reason, she told herself – but she could not see his tall figure anywhere in the throng of revelers. She had decided that Allie's theory, while very romantic, was just an enchanting fantasy. But she would never look at Allie Macroon in quite the same way again!
Unbeknownst to Alexa, the reason why she could not find Auguste was because he was standing in the shade of a carved pillar behind her, gazing at her in wonder without quite knowing why.
38
Auguste
Alexa intrigued Auguste. He was certainly not looking for another wife, and definitely not one as mercurial and quick-spirited as this one, but he loved to watch her.
Her delight when he had shown her the spices he had brought with him made him feel as though he had injected a little magic into someone's life, particularly when he'd introduced her to vanilla!
He was a well-traveled man, having plied his trade from North Africa to the Mediterranean, from France, Spain, and Italy to Greece and Cyprus. He had been all over the South East of Europe, but this was his first trip to its wild north-western extremity.
He was at once fascinated and appalled. The weather was constantly, determinedly dreadful, and the people, although incredibly hospitable and friendly, had a gray, soaked look most of the time. He often thought of the contrast between his own sun-soaked land with its warm vineyards and this one. Oh well, no doubt the Scots liked Scotland!
But Alexa seemed not to be Scottish at all. If he could have likened her to any creature at all, it would have been a mermaid with her sky-blue eyes and sun-blonde hair. He knew that there were people even further north in Europe who looked like her but he had never met any.
Auguste was a widower. He had been married young to his childhood sweetheart, Mariette, but like so many women in those days, she had died during a difficult childbirth, along with the baby girl she had been carrying.
Auguste had married again in haste, but the union had been dissolved after just six months due to his new wife's relationship with an older man.
His parents were dead, and although Auguste owned a prosperous business at the age of just twenty, he had no emotional support apart from that of his sister, Annabelle, who was two years his junior and whose loyalty had been his mainstay throughout the years.
He was absolutely devoted to her, and she to him.
Now, as her guardian, he owed her a happy, stable life with a man who would take care of her material and emotional needs. How she wanted a child of her own! But the understanding with the Laird of Arbroath had been conditional upon one thing – Annabelle's happiness with the union.
Auguste had negotiated the marriage through Shona, who, as well as all her other talents, was something of a local matchmaker. It was well-known that she had 'the Sight' of course, so her judgment was trusted implicitly.
In the first few years after Mariette's death, he had driven himself hard to improve his standing among the trading community, and he had built a reputation for honesty and integrity in his dealings with those to whom he sold and from whom he bought. He was scrupulously fair in his dealings.
It was said of him that the numbers of grains in his spices were accurate to the last peppercorn, and he never allowed himself to be sidetracked by favoritism.
The result was that he had become a moderately wealthy man, and his sister had become a moderately wealthy woman, a good marriageable commodity. But commodities were trade goods, and Auguste had no intention of trading Annabelle to anyone. While allowing her to choose her own path, he would have preferred to see her stay unmarried than wed a man with whom she would be unhappy. Thank goodness for Shona McGregor!
But watching a fascinating young woman playing with vanilla pods and actually courting her were two different things. Auguste did not want marriage. He remembered the desperate days after Mariette's death, and the lonely, empty nights.
It had taken him years to get his equilibrium back, years in which it sometimes seemed that the best course of action would be to take an overdose of milk of the poppy and leave life behind. But he had never done it, partly because he was a coward, but mostly because of Annabelle.
He laughed as he realized that he would now be free to do as he pleased, and now that he was free to do it, he no longer wanted to.
On this current day, Auguste and Alexa had again been in the vicinity of each other. However, he turned away just before she did.
Alexa went to the stables, Auguste went to bed, and a fascinating opportunity was missed.
New Year's Day was always a bit quieter than the night before, mainly because of the number of sore heads caused by the previous evening's revelries.
Lachlan and Shona never got up early that day, no matter how many guests they had. They never made love on New Year's morning, but lay in each other’s arms in the half-dark of dawn, dozing contentedly.
After an hour or so, the children began to tumble in and out of the room, settling for a while like butterflies before running out again, bored by the sight of their semi-conscious parents.
It was a lovely day in a lovely season, perhaps their favorite day of the year.
"How long ago was it? That day you rescued me?" Lachlan asked her.
"Aboot a hundred years ago," Shona replied drowsily. "Ye ask me at least once every New Year's Day! Lachlan, I think 'tis time fer the willow bark tea."
Lachlan sighed, rubbing his forehead.
"Yes, wee wifey, you might be right at that." He grimaced. "My head's pounding."
"I wonder how Annabelle got on with the laird?" Shona mused aloud. "He can be a wee bit… proud sometimes."
Lachlan laughed.
"Beneath that hard shell," he observed, "lies a heart of pure custard. She will have him eating out of her hand in no time." He sat up. "Ow! Too much of that Spanish wine last night. It's that damned Frenchman's fault – kept asking me to try all these different spices. I confess I went down without much of a fight, Shona."
Shona reached over to the nightstand and poured him a glass of ale from the jug there – leftover from the previous night – then helped herself to one.
"Aye, well, Lachie McGregor, ye always were a pushover!" She laughed.
* * *
Lucifer liked the big man with the brown hair. There was something about him that said: 'I'm your friend. You can talk to me.'
So when Auguste came up to him on New Year's Day with a bowl of apple slices, he was quite delighted to see him. He blew on Auguste's hair and whickered softly in his ear before delicately accepting his New Year's treat.
Auguste scratched the big horse between his ears and underneath his chin, talking to him gently in French the whole time. There was an ambiance about this horse that just made him feel good and peaceful, and right.
They called him Lucifer, one of the names of the Devil, but Lucifer was also the morning star, the most beautiful angel in heaven. One name, two horses. Sometimes he felt like that too.
Lucifer munched his apple slices and stood quite still while the brown-haired man ran the flat of his hand all over his shiny coat, making him shiver with delight.
When he did this, the noises he heard sometimes went away, and there was peace. And when the man looked into Lucifer's eyes and crinkled his own in that funny way that people did, he felt happy, and he went on feeling happy for a long time after the brown-haired man went away.
Just then the peace was shattered when the little fair-haired woman came in, bringing a blast of cold outside air with her.
Lucifer turned his head away and retreated to the back of his stall.
"Good morning, monsieur," Alexa said, somewhat breathlessly. The wind was already whipping up a fierce gale. "Happy New Year to you."
"And you, mademoiselle." Auguste bowed gallantly.
"I came to see Jenny," she told him. "I wanted to get her some more apples, but I think you got there first!" She laughed. "Do you not have a headache today?"
"Hmmm…" He frowned. "I am trying not to think about it." Then he grinned. "I try not to drink too much – it never ends well!"
They laughed, looking into each other’s eyes, and for a moment, Alexa experienced a feeling of profound closeness to him, then it was over.
Slightly shaken, she went over to Jenny and gave her a bucket full of vegetable peelings instead of apples. Jenny had no complaints at all as she tucked in, and Alexa stood watching her, unaware that she herself was being watched.
"She is indeed a beautiful horse," Auguste said with admiration as he walked over to her. "But big for a lady!"
"My sister gave her to me as a birthday present. She was six months old and tiny. I was ten years old and tall. By the time I was eleven, she was much bigger than I was, and by the time I was twelve, I was falling off her! I love her so much."
Auguste ran his hand down Jenny's neck just as Alexa did the same. Their hands touched. Her instinct was to jump back, but all she did was to slowly slide her hand away with a murmured apology.
"Why does that horse like you so much?" Alexa asked suddenly, to break the awkward silence.
Auguste looked at Lucifer across the stable thoughtfully for a moment, and Alexa, unable to help herself, gazed longingly at his profile for the few seconds before he turned his face back to her.
It was a classically perfect profile, with a broad straight forehead, dark brows shading his deep gray-green eyes, deeply slanted sharp cheekbones, and full lips. His skin was not quite clean-shaven and had the beginning of a dark beard along his jawline. The brown hair that Lucifer liked so much was caught back in a leather thong so that she could see the gold ring glinting in his left ear. He was so close to her that she could smell cinnamon on his skin. If only…
Her reverie was interrupted when he spoke, and she jumped slightly.
"Allie says it's a meeting of souls," he replied. "One soul meeting another with similar experiences. Lucifer is a battle-hardened horse, used to rough treatment. Maybe the horse thinks I am the same. It's a fanciful notion, but Allie truly believes it."
"He told me about it too." Alexa smiled as she took Jenny's bucket away. "Which battles have you fought?"
"Only those of the heart, Mam'selle Alexa!" Auguste laughed. "And now I must go. We are dining with the Laird of Arbroath today to plan the wedding of my sister. Have a wonderfu
l day!"
She watched him as he breezed out, a happy man with not a care in the world.
Auguste felt her eyes following him as he left to go back to his apartments. He was glad to be going out – if only to get away from her because he was beginning to find Alexa maddeningly attractive, and he just could not deal with such a complication in his life. He never wanted to be wed again, or have children.
He was content to be the solid, respectable businessman he had become, looking after his own affairs and responsible to no one but himself. Imagine dragging a wife along on his travels, or worrying about one waiting at home?
No, for a man in his profession, there was only one possible road – the single one.
Like Alexa Montgomery, he needed to be free.
39
Trying To Be Free
Auguste found that he could not be free of Alexa, though, no matter how hard he tried.
When he came back from the trip to Arbroath, she was sitting playing chess with Lachlan in the small parlor near the Great Hall. When the game was finished, Lachlan went to fetch wine from the cellar, and he was left alone with her.
Everything about her was perfect, and he wept inwardly as he thought what he was denying himself. Here was this extraordinarily beautiful woman sitting just a few feet away from him, and he was denying himself the chance to get to know her.
Why? Suddenly the whole thing did not make sense. He wanted her one minute and did not want her the next. For God's sake – what kind of fool was he?
"Do you play chess?" Alexa asked, smiling at him.
He made a little face and rocked his hand a bit from side to side.
"If you have any kind of prowess you can beat me," he said regretfully. "I am a poor example of a player, but I will give you a game so that you have the pleasure of winning!"