by Claudy Conn
“Oh no, then what happened?”
“Aye, so the minister was no longer a hostage, ye see. M’grandfather hurried to the yacht he kept in m’grandmother’s small village and where her sister Carmen was awaitin’.” He put up a hand to stall her question. “Carmen saw him cooming alone, without her minister and took it into her head that he meant to shuck their plans and run off with her to sea. She thought he had decided to force her into marriage with him.”
“Oh no, how complicated. Then what?”
“He came on board, and she hid behind the door with a very large vase in her hands, and when he entered her room from the companionway, she hit him soundly on the back of the head. Down and out he went. Mary Margaret, who had heard that the minister had escaped, arrived at the yacht just at that moment. There she found her sister, quite hysterical. She threw water in Carmen’s face and sent her home, telling her she just had time enough to get home before anything was discovered. So it was that Mary Margaret took on the business of reviving m’grandfather while he lay there bleeding and unconscious. All at once, she realized they were at sea.” The earl grinned ruefully. “Ye see, the crew had orders to set sail promptly at five o’clock, and that was what they did.”
“All she had to do was tell them to return,” Bess offered.
“Not so easily done. Their orders were to set sail for France. M’grandfather, ye see, was fading in and out while Mary Margaret nursed him. He didn’t coom to entirely until they were nearly at the French coastline, and his crew took orders only from him.”
“Oh dear …”
“Precisely. He escorted Mary Margaret to Paris, where we have a bevy of relatives, but by then the damage was done. Her reputation would be ruined if he didna marry her, so he still had a bride on his hands.”
“Oh my … how awful for them both.”
“Ah, but it wasn’t. By the time they docked in France, they were hopelessly in love with each other. Theirs was a solid and happy marriage.” He smiled over the memory.
Bess clapped her hands. “I adore this story—but what of Carmen and the minister?”
“Aye, Carmen did in fact marry her minister.”
“Wonderful. I love happy endings.”
“I do so hate disappoint ye, lass, but Carmen made life for herself, her minister, and for a time for her sister Mary Margaret as miserable as she could.”
“But why?”
“I don’t think Carmen was happy in the end with her staid fellow, or the simple life he gave her, and blamed her sister for stealing m’grandfather from under her nose.”
“Oh, but that is too bad of her. Of all the ungrateful, horrid—” Bess started.
He laughed. “Which ends in a moral somewhere if ye want to look.”
“Which moral?” Bess smiled.
“The one about mindin’ one’s business,” he answered glibly.
“Oh!” Bess laughed in spite of herself and said, “How can you say so, you odious man? If Mary Margaret had not helped, or tried to, she and your grandfather would not have made a match of it, and Carmen would still have been unhappy dreaming of a life with her minister. Seems to me it was Carmen with the problem and Mary Margaret that had her head on straight.”
He smiled and touched her nose before he could stop himself. “Wise little lass, and when ye talk like so, ye do so remind me of m’very own dear grams. Aye, ye do, for it was precisely what she concluded when she had told me her story.”
“Tell me more about Mary Margaret,” Bess said, satisfied with this.
He laughed and took her hand. Why did he feel like a boy? A charge too thrilling to endure shot up his arm, through his heart, and into his lungs, stealing his breath. Air, he needed air.
He managed to say, “Not today. Yer father, is, I am certain, wondering what I have done with his daughter.” He led her to the library door, where he immediately dropped her hand and edged her before him. “In with ye, lass,” he said softly.
Their eyes locked, and he realized he wanted to remain alone with her, wanted to have her speak only to him, look only at him. What was wrong with him? He was being fanciful, and he was not a fanciful man.
And then he looked into those green pools of hers and wondered if she cared for him at all or if it was just youthful interest. Why should he care? He had no right.
~ Six ~
“OH!” BESS EXCLAIMED, putting her hands together and stepping back to better view him as he pranced in his stall. “He is a beauty!”
Bold Tim made a sound and nodded his head, which set the assembled party laughing, as he seemed to agree with this compliment.
Bess went to him and rubbed his nose and the white star at the top of his head. Seeing the small wound just over his left eye, she asked, “Oh, but, however did he do that?”
Patty, a small, thin man who obviously took his role at Searington with great pride, shook his head. “The crazy beast got it into his brain to climb out of his stall yesterday. Thrashed and fussed, and what a time of it we had.”
“But why? He seems so quiet for a stud,” Bess remarked, playing with the horse’s nose and finding his bottom lip loose and relaxed.
“Aye, he is quiet, but one of the mares managed to get out of her stall while we were graining up, ye see. What must she do but prance about and catch Tim’s full attention. Well, no need to tell ye what went on then.” He coughed and looked away from her for a moment. “Scratched himself then, but we got her under control and took her away, and he settled right down.”
Patty hooked a lead line to the stallion and led him out of the stall onto the wide aisle of the exquisite barn, which was made of rich woods and highly polished brass. “Mayhap ye would like to see him run in his paddock?”
“Oh yes,” both Bess and Donna said at once.
Robby stuck in, “A prime one—what does he stand, seventeen hands? Must be—he is huge.”
Patty nodded. “Aye, seventeen hands he is.”
Bess cast a quick look over her shoulder as they left. Her mind raced as she followed the groom, who led the stallion down the wide aisle to the back of the stables and across a short grassy walkway to the open gate of a large pasture.
Her father smiled at her but appeared to be engrossed in a deep conversation with the earl. She knew they were arranging for his prized brood mare to be brought over for breeding as soon as she came into season, and she smiled at her father’s bright face. It was good to see her father so animated.
Patty turned Bold Tim around to face him, undid the lead line, and stepped back as he set him free.
Bold Tim raised his head and snorted before he kicked up his heels and ran, head and tail up high.
Bess’s father had arrived at her back, put a hand on her shoulder, and exclaimed with excitement, “My lord, your Bold Tim is one in a million. We should produce a winner between us.”
“Aye, I think I have one already—a colt, a three-year-old, racing at Newmarket tomorrow.” The earl made a bit of a face and said, “My man took him to race, wanted me to join him, but it will be a madhouse this time of year, and I am rather enjoying myself here. I like the breeding end of it much more than the racing.”
“Well, well, even so, congratulations are in order,” Lord Saunders returned, his face alight with excitement. “Who is the dam?”
“Sweet Breeze, from Grantham Grange.”
“Good horse people, the Granthams. Some very fine horses over there.” He sighed happily. “I can’t tell you how excited I am about this stud of yours.”
Bold Tim had trotted back to the gathered crowd, and as though understanding he was the center of attention, reared and pawed the air with his fores.
Donna and Bess clapped with pleasure, and Robby said, “I say, he knows his own worth, doesn’t he?”
This done, Bold Tim turned in a circle, put his nose to the grass, went first to his knees and then completely down with a heavy thud and a grunt, and rolled to his and everyone’s pleasure.
Saunders took his leav
e of his daughter and the assembled company before turning to the earl, who smiled and shook his hand heartily to say, “Well met, then.”
“Indeed, John, well met.” He sighed and added, “Now I am late and must hurry off. Sorry to leave these youngsters with you …”
“Youngsters!” objected Robby and Bess in one voice.
Both Bess’s father and the earl laughed, and a few moments later they escorted the viscount back into the stables, where he took up his horse.
They walked him to the front drive and waved him off before Bess looked across to the small holding paddock and saw her mare.
She made a distressed clucking sound. “Oh no … Missy … what have you done to your leg?” Her mare had pulled up lame.
“Right front, I think,” the earl said thoughtfully, as Bess took her halter and walked her a bit.
The earl joined her in the paddock and said, “Hold her still, lass, and we’ll see …” He bent and ran experienced hands up and down Missy’s two front legs. He frowned, and though Bess worried at his expression, she waited.
He shook his head and said, “No heat, no swelling. Let’s see about her shoulder.” He then palpitated the horse’s shoulder muscles, which caused the mare to flicker distressfully. “Och aye, ’tis the shoulder, then.” The earl patted the mare and turned to Bess. “Zounds then, lassie, it is a long way from her heart. Doona look like that. She’ll do.”
“Yes, but how did this happen? It was an easy ride over here.”
“It was that dashed last fence your papa told us not to take. She twisted over it. You held your seat, but she did not take it well—I’d wager that was when she did it,” Robby stuck in with a shake of his head.
“Robby!” objected his wife.
“He is quite right. Papa said to leave it, and I didn’t. Oh, I feel dreadful. This is all my fault. My poor Missy.”
The earl put a comforting arm around her shoulders. “Never mind—ye couldn’t have known it would happen. Where was this fence?”
“The last stretch of wood just before you hit the open wheat field,” she answered with a heavy sigh.
“Aye, I know that trail. The blasted thing cuts out a good two miles of winding road. Indeed, I think I know the fence you must be talking about. Split rail, not high, but odd in color. Your mare probably backed off it just at the last minute.”
“Yes, exactly,” she answered, feeling blue-deviled about the entire incident.
“Only one good thing has come out of this,” remarked Robby, whose face had suddenly brightened. “Your horse needs rest, so there will be no traveling to Stonehenge!”
“Horrid man,” snapped his wife.
The earl laughed and said, “I am sorry, Robby, my friend, but I promised the ladies that we would escort them to Stonehenge, and Stonehenge they shall get.” He turned back to Bess. “I have a stable full of horses that need exercising, sweet lassie. Ye have but to pick one that ye think ye might be able to handle.” The tease was full in his blue eyes and on his face, and it suspended all chance at regular breathing. This was insane. Women were supposed to stun men, not the other way around.
“Oh, but I couldn’t …” Bess answered with a shake of her head.
“Oh, but ye can, and ye shall. Applejack is one of m’favorites. He is a sweet and honest goer and hasn’t had enough exercise this past month while I was in London.” He eyed her thoughtfully. “Try him out and see if you like his paces.” Again the tease came back to his voice. “Or mayhap ye think he might be too much horse for ye?”
“Oh—well then, we’ll just have to wait and see!” was all Lady Bess could respond without appearing immodest.
He laughed and then turned to walk in search of his groom, calling out, “Patty?”
Bess chased after him and said, “But Missy—I should stay and give her a liniment rub.”
“Patty will see to it.” He turned to her and smiled. “Trust her to Patty—there isn’t a better horseman in all the county.”
The earl found his groom and after a few moments conversation turned and took Lady Bess’s hand. “Coom then, one of the boys will saddle up Applejack for ye.”
It wasn’t long afterwards that they found themselves on the road to Stonehenge, which was about an hour’s ride north of Searington. Bess was cooing to Applejack and patting her new ride on his smooth chestnut neck when the earl leaned and smiled to ask, “How do you like him? A good fit?”
“He is wonderful. Sweet-natured and so willing. Responds to the lightest touch,” she answered enthusiastically.
“Patty found him somewhere nearly starving to death. Took it upon himself to rescue him. He was no more than a colt then. We had him gelded, and he has proved faithful to his training. Always wants to please, as though he knows …” The earl shook his head. “Do I sound sentimentally foolish?”
“Foolish? My word, don’t you know what a wonderful thing you and Patty did? Noble. Simply noble.”
He laughed. “Not so. When you get to know me, lass, ye will see I do what I want, when I want, and only for m’own reasons. Always.”
“I don’t believe that,” she said with a shake of her head. “What other than pure reasons could you have had to save Applejack from starving at the hands of others?”
“Och, but, lass, I wasn’t the one who saved him,” he answered.
“Yes, you were. Patty would not have felt confident that he could bring him home if he didn’t know you would approve.” She eyed him knowingly.
The earl returned her solemn glance before he laughed and said, “Brat of a lass.”
* * *
“Close your mouth, Robby,” Donna said teasingly as she linked her arm through her husband’s and turned to smile at Bess. “He is, as you can see, quite astounded.”
“Yes, and he should be,” said a grizzled man in a wool cap coming up behind her. He nodded and added, “I’m Mr. Harlan, and if you have any questions, I’d be happy to answer them for you.”
“I’d like to know about those holes.” Robby indicated the ones he meant with a movement of his chin. “My wife says that she read they were used as ritual pits?”
“Aye, she be in the right of it,” Mr. Harlan said with a tone of approval. “It is the belief of the qualified and learned that this entire place was used for rituals of some sort.”
Bess moved in closer to Dunkirk and whispered, “What does that mean, precisely? I didn’t think they ever found any bones.”
“Indeed, and yet they seem to believe that Stonehenge was perhaps some sort of memorial for the dead. Some even believe, in fact, that the Druids used these dolmens for their temple meetings. Stukeley wrote of it in his famous book and was certain that Stonehenge and the Druids were connected.”
“And what do you believe?”
He laughed and murmured low and for her ears only, “I believe that they are magical, perhaps a doorway to Faery.”
She opened her eyes wide. “No, do you really think so? Oh, how very exciting to think they might just have been that at one time.”
The earl pulled himself up and silently berated himself. He was enjoying this chit and her innocent eyes far too much. He shouldn’t dally with her so blatantly. What was wrong with him? He never overstepped with the untried maidens. Too much danger in that. Besides, when he married it would be to someone like Sally Sonhurst, who understood the rules and would go her own way. That was what he wanted, wasn’t it—to go his own way and continue to enjoy the freedoms of a bachelor?
He owed it to his name to marry and produce an heir, so he supposed marriage was something he would have to think about, but certainly not with an innocent.
The problem here was that he liked her—a great deal. Putting aside the fact that she was a beauty and that the sight of her nipples, plump and pert pushing at the material of the gowns she wore, gave him a never-ending discomfort in his breeches, indeed, putting that aside, he liked her, perhaps a touch too much. Flirting with her made him feel ridiculously free. How odd.
He did not, however, wish to hurt her, and from the way he saw her look at him, she was developing a bit of an infatuation. He shouldn’t encourage that, if he could help it. Yet he found it impossible to stop from teasing and chatting and laughing when he was with her.
They turned at that moment as Mr. Harlan was explaining that many believed the stones came from Wales. “Imagine that,” he said. “They traveled three hundred miles with these monoliths … ’tis really quite extraordinary. And some say they enjoyed pagan rituals here …” Mr. Harlan lowered his voice and then turned to Robby, who was standing beside him. “What say you, son?”
Startled, Robby shrieked, “Me?” He shook his head. “The dashed whole thing is spooky.” He turned to his wife. “Time to go for lunch.”
The earl chuckled as Lady Bess and Donna playfully slapped him and Bess remarked, “You are always hungry.”
Ignoring Robby’s mock outrage, Bess turned to the earl. “I still cannot fathom how they got these huge stones here.” She eyed him warningly. “And don’t say, magic.”
“Ah, ye don’t believe in magic?” he countered. For a moment, he did as he stared into her green eyes. It was as though no one else were present. It was as though the world had faded into darkness and only they stood, staring into one another’s eyes.
She seemed to him as though she were trying to catch her breath when she answered, “I, in fact, do believe in magic.”