by Jane Ashford
“Your sister has a lovely voice,” she said when they were seated. Emmy Gates was playing a ballad on the pianoforte, and Marianne was singing.
“She does that,” he agreed, watching Marianne briefly before turning his full attention on Alicia.
They looked at one another. Once again, Alicia had the sense of unspoken things passing between them. Under certain circumstances, she realized, one need not put a feeling into words.
“You are here alone?” asked Cairnyllan rather abruptly.
“Alone?” She gazed at him, puzzled.
“You have no older relative or…”
“Oh, you mean a chaperone.” Alicia cocked her head and smiled. “Cousin Lavinia stayed at home with her dogs, as she knew Lady Perdon would be here.”
“Ah.” He gazed disapprovingly at their hostess, who was showing Jack and Roddy the steps of some complicated figure for the quadrille.
“She is a thoroughly nice woman. And I have known her all my life.” Alicia’s voice had sharpened.
“She may be. But as a chaperone, she is somewhat lax, is she not?” He inclined his head in the direction of Jane Sheridan and Willie Morgan, who had retreated to a window embrasure and were deep in conversation, their heads very close together.
Alicia started to inform him that Jane and Willie were engaged, and were undoubtedly discussing their wedding, which was set for the following month. But she pressed her lips together again, eyes sparkling with annoyance. Lord Cairnyllan was uncommonly arrogant, to make assumptions about people he had met only this afternoon. Let him think what he liked, and find out later what a prating fool he had been!
He noticed her expression. “We are rather old-fashioned in the highlands, I fear,” he said coldly.
“One might almost say gothic,” she retorted.
“Alicia,” called Roddy from across the room. “Come, let us try that duet again. Mari—Lady Marianne has never heard it.”
Alicia rose and went to the pianoforte, her resolve renewed. Lord Cairnyllan watched her walk away with relief. He had almost been tempted to change his opinion of London misses this afternoon, but Lady Alicia had reminded him in time of their standards of behavior. He too rose, and went to give his arm to his mother, who was on the point of retiring.
For some reason, Alicia felt relieved when he was gone. This was nonsensical, she told herself, when she was planning to give him a sharp lesson. If he chose to talk so disparagingly of the haut ton, it would treat him accordingly.
She immediately proposed cards again, singling out Marianne MacClain. Though the girl seemed reluctant at first, she was convinced when the other young people followed Alicia’s signal, and in a few moments a number of them were sitting down to a game of piquet.
When Alicia proposed stakes, Roddy raised his eyebrows. She almost never gambled—insisted it was a dead bore—and if she did, it was for small sums. Tonight, however, she appeared to have altered her habit. Meeting her eyes, Roddy abruptly saw what others had noticed some time before; Alicia was in the midst of one of her pranks. There was nothing for it but to go along.
Marianne was a poor cardplayer. Very soon she had lost the small amount of money in her reticule and was scrawling notes of hand in a round, childish script. Roddy nearly objected when Alicia explained this process to her, but Alicia quelled him with a sharp glance.
Marianne lost yet again. Jane Sheridan left the table, frowning at Alicia, and the latter shifted a bit uncomfortably under her gaze. Alicia’s anger at Cairnyllan was dissipating, and she was wishing she knew how to manage the cards so that Marianne might make up her losses and end the play. The girl was looking very uneasy. Alicia was about to declare the game over in any case when Ian MacClain returned to the drawing room.
Lady Perdon had retired, leaving the cardplayers alone. Cairnyllan started to nod a greeting, then saw what they were doing. One glance at the scattered bits of paper and Marianne’s worried face told him all, and Alicia, watching him, was so shaken that she drew in her breath. Lord Cairnyllan was furious; there could be no doubt of that. His great hands clenched and unclenched, and his vivid blue eyes blazed with anger. Alicia waited for the inevitable explosion, ready, if not eager, to defend herself.
It did not come.
Astonished, Alicia watched the man subdue his obviously formidable temper. She saw him take several deep breaths and slowly relax his hands. His face fell back into impassive lines, and only the spark in his eyes gave any clue to his feelings. Strolling forward with a bland negligence fully worthy of White’s, he paused behind Marianne’s chair. “Taking a flier?” he asked.
His sister started violently, dropping her cards faceup on the tabletop, and twisted to gaze at him, frightened and pleading.
“I beg your pardon,” was his only response. “I have spoiled your game. Let me make amends by taking Marianne’s place.” With subtle strength, he practically lifted Marianne from her chair and set her gently aside. Seated, he looked slowly from one to another of the players. “I apologize; you must deal again.”
An almost visible tremor went around the table. Alicia felt a thrill of excitement that overbore her contrition. What a powerful personality he was. She had never met anyone like him.
The new hand was dealt, and the play began. It was immediately evident that Cairnyllan was a far finer player than his sister. Indeed, his skill outstripped any at the table. In less than an hour he had recouped Marianne’s losses and begun to increase her little store. He played one more hand, betting heavily and accepting notes from each of the others, and when he had won it, stood abruptly. “I believe that is enough,” he said, his voice hard.
“You are a splendid player, sir,” ventured Alicia, greatly impressed.
“I learned at Cambridge, for just such occasions as this,” he replied harshly. “I was determined never to endure them again.”
“Again?” Alicia was very curious.
“It’s late. Are you ready to go up, Marianne?”
His sister merely nodded, seeming close to tears, and he offered his arm. They started out, then Cairnyllan paused. Turning, he took their notes from his waistcoat pocket, tore them across, and flung the fragments on the table. In the next moment, the MacClains were gone.
“Phew!” exclaimed Roddy when the door shut behind them. “I feel as if I hadn’t breathed for an hour.”
The others nodded.
“I say, Alicia…”
“I know, I know. I went too far. I shall apologize tomorrow.” Alicia was lost in admiration.
Roddy gaped. He hadn’t expected any such admission. Indeed, he had never before heard Alicia admit she was wrong.
“Wasn’t he wonderful?” she added, and rose to stride out of the room, leaving her friends speechless with amazement.
Two
The riding party gathered on the front lawn after breakfast, Perdy looking as if he wished he could disappear. Alicia had put on her dark blue riding habit, which she knew became her admirably, its tight bodice molding to her slender frame. Marianne was resplendent, though a bit subdued, in crimson.
Alicia went to the groom, who was holding both her favorite mare and the young horse, Whitefoot, she had promised Cairnyllan. “Are you ready to try him?” she called.
“I am that.” The earl took the horse’s bridle and ran a hand along his nose. “I’ll be a bit heavy for you, lad, but I shan’t push you hard.”
Alicia admired the man’s russet hair against the sky. “I want to apologize to you for last night,” she said.
He shrugged as if to dismiss the subject. “I never supposed you had induced Marianne to gamble. It is, I believe, chiefly a male vice.” He eyed the men in the group with disdain.
Alicia hesitated, tempted to escape blame by confirming his theory with her silence. His tone had been so contemptuous, and she found she valued his opinion, after last night. But she co
uldn’t. Her friends did not deserve such treatment. “Actually,” she said, trying to keep her voice light, “I suggested the game. But it got a bit out of hand.”
Cairnyllan looked at her, his amiable expression fading, then turned away to mount without a word. Alicia felt very low as her groom helped her into the saddle.
The sky was partly overcast, with gray clouds streaming in close order across it and a brisk wind, as they all mounted up and turned toward the long avenue and the front gates. Alicia and Cairnyllan, the best riders, took the lead, reining in their fresh horses, then letting them dance a little down the graveled drive.
Alicia drew in a deep breath and threw back her head. This was better. She had been feeling pent-up in the house, she realized. She was used to a great deal more exercise than Perdy planned for his guests. At home, she rode every day, and often walked in the afternoon. Passing the wrought iron gates, she turned her horse’s head left and let her out into a trot. There was a splendid ride in this direction, she knew, providing plenty of opportunities for a gallop. Surely Lord Cairnyllan would forget his anger in the joy of it.
They rode along a narrow lane between high hedges and through the tiny village of Perdon, with its scattering of thatched cottages and stone bridge over the stream. From the blacksmith’s came the rhythmic clanging of hammer on metal. Beyond stretched fields and a ridge of low hills crowned with trees. The path Alicia had chosen led up and along this for some miles before curving back toward the back of Perdon Abbey park. She urged her mare forward and reached the summit first, pulling up to wait for the others. The view was pleasant rather than dramatic. More fields spread out below, and they could see several other villages to the east. But the path was good, and the small height gave the illusion of distance and intimacy.
Cairnyllan stopped beside her and leaned over to pat Whitefoot’s neck. “How do you like him?” asked Alicia, determined to converse.
“He is becoming used to me. I think we shall get on well enough.”
“Care to try his paces?” Alicia indicated the path before them.
“Is this a good place?” The earl eyed the terrain doubtfully. The way appeared smooth and easy, but he could not tell when it might plunge down the hill or cross one of the narrow ravines he had noticed further along the ridge.
“Afraid I’ll outpace you?” Alicia’s mare curvetted, and with a sudden laugh, she gave her her head, thundering off in a full gallop.
Cairnyllan hesitated only a moment before using his heels on Whitefoot and following. The rest of the group watched them pound up a slight incline and then disappear over its rim. “Neck or nothing,” murmured Roddy. “That’s Alicia.”
“Are we going to just sit here?” exclaimed Marianne MacClain, who had recovered her spirits in the open air. Then she too spurred her mount to a gallop.
Perdy groaned audibly, but the others were already after her, and he was forced to kick his large, sleepy-looking roan to a surprised trot.
A good way ahead, Alicia was still laughing. The air streaming past her face and the feel of the mare racing under her were wildly exhilarating. She had left everyone behind and was flying along the top of the ridge. Twice, they had leaped narrow defiles, little more than cracks in the hillside but deep and overgrown with thorned blackberry. She felt as if she could go on riding this way forever, away from the world and completely free.
The sound of hooves made her glance back. Cairnyllan was catching up. Alicia’s pale blue eyes lit, and her smile became mischievous. She bent a little more in the saddle and kicked the mare to yet greater speed. Happily, the horse extended her neck and ran.
Together, the two riders thundered along the path. Trees and undergrowth flashed by. They leapt another tiny ravine—first Alicia, then Cairnyllan arching up and over and landing at full gallop. Alicia’s laughter floated back as she held her lead, and the sound brought a grim smile to the earl’s ruddy face. He bent lower, but he did not close the short distance between them.
Finally, Alicia pulled up beside a massive oak, and he swung in beside her. They were both breathing quickly, and when their eyes met, both smiled. “How dare you ride that way sidesaddle?” wondered Cairnyllan. “I certainly wouldn’t want to try it.”
She laughed. “I have ridden so all my life.” Her smile turned reminiscent. “Though I used to go astride as well, when I was younger.”
He raised one eyebrow, but replied merely, “You have the finest seat I have ever seen in a woman.”
“Or a man?” she retorted. “I managed to beat you.”
“I didn’t want to founder your horse.” He sounded amused. “If I had one of my own…”
“Oh, of course.” She taunted him a little.
“And you had a good ten yards start,” he added, beginning to be nettled.
“Shall we try it again from here?” Alicia gazed into his eyes challengingly. She still felt immensely excited, and she realized now that this was not entirely due to the gallop. She had enjoyed winning the race, as she always did, but the presence of Ian MacClain had somehow intensified the sensation. Looking at him now, his ruddy hair brilliant in a shaft of sun and his blue eyes glinting, Alicia was abruptly flooded with a surge of desire. She thought of kissing him, and a thrill shivered through her.
Alicia had been kissed before, twice, in fits of great daring that she had later brushed aside, along with the gentlemen so favored. It had been an interesting experience, one that she was glad to have had but was disinclined to repeat. But watching Cairnyllan’s face, she was suddenly certain that with him it would not be the same at all.
The earl seemed to sense the change in her thoughts. He looked slightly startled at the heat in her eyes, then his own flickered and, at the same time, hardened a bit, conveying an equally intense response. They remained very still for a long moment, eyes locked, then Alicia took a shaky breath and wheeled her mare into a gallop again.
This time, Cairnyllan was right behind her. Alicia could see Whitefoot’s head in the corner of her eye, and her heart began to pound in rhythm with the hoofbeats. She found it difficult to breathe, and her mare, feeling the uncertainty in her hands, stumbled a little over a rock in the path. Alicia pulled her head up, and they recovered, but the hesitation had allowed the earl to come abreast.
Side by side, they raced, throwing brief glances at one another. Both bent low and urged their horses forward with knees and thoughts, intent on the contest between them.
Alicia was certain she was pulling ahead again when the widest ravine they had yet encountered loomed before them. It was at least six feet to the other side, she estimated, perhaps more. She could take it, of course, but…reluctantly, she started to ease the mare back from her headlong gallop, to prepare for the jump. Then she saw that Cairnyllan was making no such prudent move. He was going to attempt it flat out. She let her hand drop again, then quickly changed her mind. She couldn’t be sure of making the jump unless she slowed. And neither could he, she thought irritably. He seemed to have forgotten his worries over her horse.
Cairnyllan pulled ahead, and Whitefoot launched out over the ravine. Alicia caught one glimpse as he seemed to falter, then she herself was flying up and landing on the opposite side. Her mare stumbled slightly, then they were galloping along the path again.
After a moment, when the earl did not come up with her, Alicia turned. She saw Whitefoot some yards behind, his bridle dragging, slightly favoring his left forefoot. At once, she wheeled and raced back to the ravine.
Cairnyllan was in it. He had just picked himself up, in fact, and was brushing at the sleeve of his riding coat. Luckily, he had landed in a spot free of thorns, but he would have to push through a great clump of blackberry to get out.
“Are you all right?” called Alicia.
“Yes.” His tone was curt, and he sounded angry.
“Good,” Alicia snapped, and turned back to reassure the shake
n animal. After a few moments an angry exclamation came from the ravine, and Alicia looked again at the earl.
Despite stern self-admonition, she began to laugh. He looked so funny standing there scowling, his head not even reaching the level of the path.
“Very amusing, I’ve no doubt,” said MacClain, the Scottish burr of his R’s intensified. “Suppose you give me a hand up.”
Alicia stifled her laughter and surveyed the situation. It would not be easy getting him out. The ravine was small but very steep. She would have to dismount. Sliding to the ground, she searched for a branch but found nothing. There were no large trees nearby. Finally, she crouched above him and extended her riding crop for him to grasp. It was not the most stable position, but the earl seemed likely to explode if she did not do something quickly, and she felt sympathy as well as amusement at his plight. How she would hate to be in it!
Cairnyllan grabbed the end of the riding crop and started to climb, but, in his impatience he pulled far too hard, and in the next instant, Alicia had tumbled forward into his arms and both of them were on the floor of the ravine in a heap.
“You blundering idiot,” he roared, trying to untangle himself from her mass of skirts and sit up. “Why didn’t you hold on?”
“Because you didn’t allow me to,” blazed Alicia, jerking her head and leaving several strands of silver-blond hair in a thorn bush. The pain made her even angrier. “I should have known that a man who couldn’t make an easy jump would botch his own rescue.”
“Rescue, is it? If your damned horse…” He paused, too honest to blame Whitefoot for his mistake. Indeed, Cairnyllan might have admitted that the whole thing was his fault for pushing his mount, and that his anger was chiefly at himself, if Alicia had not chosen that moment to say, “Take your hands off me.”
Cairnyllan glared at her, their eyes only inches apart, and Alicia responded in kind. Abruptly, they became intensely aware of one another, and their rage dissolved into something as hot, but of a far different character. Alicia remembered her earlier thoughts, and her eyes shifted to the earl’s lips. She could feel his arms supporting her. Seeing the change in her face, his blue eyes flamed. He bent his head and kissed her passionately.