In a stall? Her husband must have come over as a horse. He must be one of these pucas, too. "And your father? How did he get here?"
"He hired a private yacht," Imogen said with a roll of her eyes. "Mostly wood, I believe. Came over in fine style."
That sounded about right for Finn. "Imogen, what can you tell me?"
Imogen touched one hand to the stone woman's bare feet. "Our Lady of the Snows is another name for the Virgin Mary. Names are important. When people pray to her, they give her power, but…she's not the first to use that name. There are those who have been here longer."
'Those who have been here longer' meant fairies, Lourdes assumed, as they were supposedly immortal. Or at least the great ones were. The book had been unclear about the mortality of the Lesser Folk.
There was a statue of the Virgin in the garden, and Imogen O'Donnell was offering bread to it. It was blasphemous, almost pagan, but there had to be a reason for it. "She shares the name," Lourdes guessed. "Your father's mother. The fairy."
Imogen nodded. "Names are important. When people pray to her, they give her power."
Given that Imogen had repeated herself, that fact must be very important. Names are important. People prayed to the Virgin, of course…
…but many prayed to her as Our Lady of the Snows, particularly near her holy day in August. And if Lourdes understood what Imogen was implying, then all those thousands of people had been giving power, unintentionally, to Finn's mother. She herself had prayed to Our Lady of the Snows back in August, seeking guidance.
Lourdes laid a hand over her mouth, suddenly aghast. That had to be a theological problem of some sort, but one she would never discuss with a priest. He would never believe her. "She's very powerful, then," Lourdes hazarded when she found her voice.
Imogen didn't answer.
What did it mean for a fairy to be powerful? "Enough that her son must do what she wants, even marry whom she says?"
Imogen shook her head again. "Finn must marry."
"But not necessarily the woman his mother picked. Is it wise to defy her?"
Imogen folded her arms over her chest. "Lourdes, I like you better than Miss Doherty. I think my father likes you better."
Now that was an announcement to whoever dwelled in this garden, Lourdes decided. "Who is Miss Doherty? Is she like…her?" she asked, pointing at the statue.
Imogen nodded, but said nothing.
She fingered the loose knot in her shawl. "Why would Finn's mother want him to marry?"
Imogen laughed and tucked a loose strand of white hair behind one ear. "Why does any mother?"
"Because she wants him out of her house?" She'd heard her mother say that about Chuy.
Imogen took Lourdes' hand and drew her over to another rosemary bush. A spider had set up a web between some upper branches. She touched one of the strands lightly, and dewdrops fell into the green branches. The spider began crawling along the strands toward the movement. "See how many places the web is attached. The more there are, the stronger the web."
She didn't need any help interpreting that. "This is about children."
"A way to strengthen her ties to this world," Imogen said.
She was being asked to take part in a dynastic marriage, one that had more to do with the progeny than the principals involved. She was clearly not barren; perhaps that had been one of Finn's reasons for seeking out her company. No, he hadn't known that at the time. And while she wouldn't mind having more children, was that enough to make a decent marriage? Lourdes sighed. What a tangle she'd gotten herself into.
"Oh, dear!" Imogen's attention shifted away when little Patrick came running into the garden, completely naked. Imogen grabbed his hand, sparing an apologetic glance at Lourdes. "We're still having trouble convincing him he should wear clothing. Now where did you leave your clothes, Patrick?"
After a moment's wrangling, she sent the boy packing with stiff orders to go find his garments, don them again, and return to show he'd done so. He sulked, but marched back toward the house. "I don't remember doing it myself," Imogen said once the boy had gone, "but children like Patrick have a knack for unbinding things, so one thing they're very good at is removing their clothes."
That was an odd word to choose. "Unbinding?"
"The ability to unbind, unweave, unbutton, unbraid. A way to make mischief," Imogen said. "Unfortunately, I don't always have my gift under control, as you saw with the fence rail yesterday."
She'd forgotten the broken fence rail. Had Imogen done that? She did recall that the book claimed pucas loved to cause mischief. "I simply thought it a coincidence."
Imogen laughed. "Most people do, which makes it easier to hide."
Lourdes pressed her lips together, recalling how her braid had come undone in her hotel room, along with her wrapper and the buttons of her nightdress. Finn had done that. All things considered, she should be grateful he hadn't done worse. And that made her wonder…
"What is it?" Imogen asked.
Lourdes shrugged it off, not wanting to air her suspicions in front of Finn's daughter, who had enough reason to argue with her father. But after a comfortable breakfast, she returned to her borrowed room. From the chest of drawers, she drew out the only shredded item left from the hotel room--the rose-colored scarf that Imogen had shown Finn the day before.
Lourdes carried the scarf over to the window and pushed aside the curtains for better light. When she peered down at one of the rents in the fabric, she saw that the threads hadn't been cut neatly with scissors or a blade. Yes, she was sure of it. The threads had unraveled, the weave simply coming apart.
It was Finn's work. Finn had been the one to destroy most of her clothing. They were definitely going to discuss this before they talked about anything else.
***
The easiest way to ride to Finn's house was straight across the main paddock and through a young stand of trees, so Lourdes set off on the bay gelding she'd borrowed--a gentle old fellow named Captain. She easily found the place where a stream crossed the property line. A clever gate allowed her to lead the horse through, and then she headed through the copse of young trees. When she reached the ridge, she could see Finn's house and stables. It was a lovely prospect. She wouldn't mind living there at all.
That was a terribly mercenary thought, she chided herself. She rode on toward the house, resolving not to simply give in to the man's urging. A man so long unmarried didn't easily change his ways. She didn't want to step into anything foolishly.
Finn came out to greet her, making her suspect he'd been waiting. Fortunately he wore riding clothes, buff trousers and a brown tweed jacket, so she wasn't terribly underdressed. He held her reins as she dismounted, a smile tugging at the corner of his lips.
"Am I late?" she asked.
"You had two minutes to spare." He handed Captain's reins off to a stable hand, and offered Lourdes his arm. She shook out her skirts, set her gloved hand on his sleeve, and walked with him toward the house. "So," he said, leaning closer, "has Imogen talked you out of marrying me?"
"How interesting that you think she would," Lourdes said.
They'd reached the old house and walked up the steps onto the porch. Finn turned the brass latch and held the door open for her. "She's a woman of strong feelings, Mrs. Medina. In her eyes, I have many failings."
"As it turned out, she has mixed feelings on the topic." Lourdes stepped over the threshold and into the foyer. Like the O'Donnell home, the house wasn't grand. The furnishings weren't new, so she suspected he'd purchased them along with the house rather than choosing them himself. They were masculine in style, but they would do. Lourdes felt guilty for viewing his house with a proprietary bent, but it did matter to her. She would have to live here if she accepted him. She surveyed the front sitting room with its dark chairs and leather sofa, then turned back to Finn. "Her husband is your partisan, though."
His dark brows shot up. He directed her to a wing chair upholstered in burgundy brocade, then se
ttled in a leather chair set across from it before a stone hearth. "Truly? What did Gorey say?"
"Merely that he would prefer me as a neighbor over Miss Doherty." Lourdes tugged the tattered rose-colored scarf out of her handbag. "Now, I want an answer. No evasion. Why did you destroy my possessions at the hotel?"
His eyes met hers, neither surprise nor remorse on his features. "Brighid had noticed you. I couldn't stay there and guard your room forever, so I needed to get you out of the hotel. If Imogen hadn't shown up when she did, I would have taken you out to stay with her anyway."
Well, now she knew why he'd been lingering at the hotel that morning; he'd been guarding against an attack by Miss Doherty. But that didn't make up for his later actions. "You could have told me," Lourdes said.
He gave her a direct look. "You're far too polite to foist yourself on a stranger without the pretext of a cataclysm, my dear."
That told her a great deal about how this man thought. He'd assumed certain things about her behavior--correctly, she had to admit--and acted as he thought best without any effort to determine her feelings on the matter. It was annoying. Then again, she had no idea what this woman Brighid might do out of spite. Perhaps his concern had been warranted. At least Finn had only destroyed things, and hadn't tried to lie when faced with her accusation. She would have to remember that a direct question worked best. "All the same, next time, I'd prefer to be asked before you shred my property."
"I'll keep that in mind," he said, which fell short of a promise. He touched the scarf she held. "I do regret that I can't fix this for you, my dear. That you kept it tells me it had sentimental value."
She'd never attached much sentimentality to things, although she regretted the loss of a few garments that had borne her abuela's needlework, like her wrapper. Aware that he'd erred, Finn redoubled his efforts to charm her. He kept their conversation light. He told her very little about himself, discussing the O'Donnells instead (during which time Lourdes learned that Gorey's name was not spelled in any way like it sounded.) During their luncheon--which was excellently prepared, she noted--he asked her questions about the hacienda, the way they'd trained their horses there, and her own upbringing. And after lunch, he offered her a leisurely tour of the farm and stables. Nothing could have pleased her more.
The stables were neatly cared for. The manager, Mr. Reid, proved to be a dutiful sort of man. A trainer was introducing a yearling to the saddle, which Lourdes watched with an interested eye. After they finished touring the stables, one of the hands brought up a pair of horses so they could tour the land. Instead of bringing Captain, Finn had directed that Nevada should be saddled for Lourdes instead. She was pleased to see they'd found an appropriate bridle for her mare, with a spade bit and split reins: Nevada only needed the lightest of touches to guide her. Finn had clearly listened to her comments about training the day before.
Finn rode a chestnut gelding, a horse up to his weight. When they reached the first gate on the path leading away from the paddocks, Finn leaned down and opened the latch with his leather-gloved hand. Despite the heavy glove, he shook his hand afterwards as if stung. Apparently he could work around his issues with iron so long as it didn't touch his bare skin or the contact wasn't prolonged. Lourdes mentally filed that away as she latched the gate behind them.
They rode up to the hill that afforded the best view of his land. "What do you think?" he asked when she drew Nevada up next to his mount. "Do you like it enough to stay here?"
Yes, she did. That didn't address the issue of whether she was interested in staying with him. "Patrick told me about your mother," she said. Best to get that out in the open. "That she's a fairy."
He snorted. "I wondered what Imogen would do to work around our bargain."
"It seems a foolish arrangement anyway, especially in your situation."
Finn just nodded.
"You still can't say anything to me about it, can you? I'd like to know what it means."
His eyes narrowed, but he didn't deny that. "Would you like to see?" he asked, a devilish smile lighting his features. "To ride the wind?"
What did that mean? Lourdes gathered her nerves. "Yes."
He gestured with his head, indicating that she should follow, and rode down from the hill and through a stand of trees into a clearing. Lourdes dismounted when he did and took the reins of his horse.
"Just leave them," he said. "They won't wander."
Lourdes let Nevada's reins fall and looped the gelding's over his neck. Very clearly she heard Finn's command in her head. Don't wander. Graze.
Both horses' ears pricked up and then they began grazing contentedly, as if they planned to stay there all afternoon. Finn came to stand next to her, tugging his cravat from about his throat. "Now, it's best I do this unclothed, Mrs. Medina."
Lourdes was certain her mouth was hanging open. She hadn't offered to lie with the man, had she? "What do you mean?"
"I can't say it," he told her.
So he was talking about a fairy thing. That was a relief, wasn't it? "What do I do?"
He tucked his cravat and gloves into his hat, tossed it onto the grass, and grinned down at her. "Turn around, if you're bashful."
Oh, dear. Lourdes turned and gazed into the trees, her heart pounding. The man was stripping down to his skin. No matter how curious she was, she didn't have any business gawking at him. A nervous giggle threatened to escape her throat. It wasn't as if she was eighteen and seeing a man unclothed for the first time. Stop being such a child, she told herself firmly.
Lourdes turned back around in time to see him removing his trousers and undergarment together. His legs were well-muscled. He was part horse, so how could he not have legs that splendid? Lourdes kept her chin up, mostly because that kept her from staring at his quite-attractive backside. His shoulders were deserving of attention, too.
Finn tossed the last of his garments onto a pile to one side and turned to face her, giving her even more not to stare at. "I was afraid you would be too shy to look," he said, eyes glittering. "Glad to see I was wrong."
She was sure she was beet-red but she wasn't going to flinch. "I've seen a man nude before, Mr. Finnegan."
He laughed. "Well, you've gone this far, Mrs. Medina. Perhaps now you can tell me your given name?"
She was surprised he hadn't bribed that out of someone at the hotel. "Lourdes."
He grinned, and then…
She didn't see it happen. A sudden rush of wind blew past her. It tugged at her scarf, blowing it up off her shoulders and sending a chill through her body. She had been looking directly at Finn, but now she was staring at the stallion she'd seen the day before, white mane and all.
Leaves settled at her feet as the wind died down. There was frost glittering in the grass all about the stallion, despite the warmth of the afternoon, as if somehow he'd frozen everything. How could he do that? She stepped closer, her boots crunching through the grass. The closer she got to where Finn had stood, the colder it was. The stallion's breath steamed in the air.
Finn--the horse--came toward her and surprised her by settling gracefully to his knees. Climb on my back.
Lourdes swallowed. Well, she'd gone this far. She laid one hand on his withers and settled astride his back, grateful she'd worn a divided skirt. She wrapped her fingers in his mane and held on as he rose smoothly to his feet.
Ready?
Lourdes shifted, trying to wrap her legs about him. The twill of her skirt proved slippery against his hide. This could end badly. "Yes," she said aloud anyway.
He took off at a full gallop, shocking her. She leaned into his motion, pressing her face toward his neck. His stride was surprisingly fluid. She couldn't recall ever riding a horse with so smooth a gait, and wondered if that had to be magic as well.
He approached the edge of the clearing and dove through the trees, coming out on the other side without earning her a scratch. Then he reached the open road and began to run at what must be his true speed.
She was riding the wind. This must be how jockeys felt during a race. Gravel sprayed up behind his unshod hooves as he ran toward the lake, but he veered off the road before reaching the lake railroad. He paralleled that and then turned back through a meadow, his pace slowing enough to let her catch her breath. He'd barely worked up a sweat.
"You don't cross the rail line, do you?" So much steel must cause him a problem.
The horse beneath her shook his head, dropping to a walk in the meadow's soft earth. No, he said. Too painful.
She wondered if he'd always wanted to travel, much as his daughter had. Of course, he'd managed to come all the way from Ireland, but she suspected that hadn't been as easy a journey as Imogen had made it sound.
I can jump it, his disembodied voice suddenly supplied. Not a good idea. Might lose this form and fall on the tracks.
"Not worth the risk," she said.
She was talking to her mount. Not the way she talked to Nevada or to other horses she'd worked with through the years. She was having a conversation with him. That was the odd part.
She felt a flush of mortification then. She was sitting astride Finn's back. How could she have simply climbed onto his back as if he were any other horse, as if he weren't aware of the familiarity and intimacy that implied? "We should go back," she said in a small voice.
The horse beneath her nickered, but she heard it as a chuckle. He was laughing at her.
Lourdes felt a flush creeping up her skin, not due at all to the warmth of the afternoon sun. How many women had ridden this horse? In either form? She suddenly wanted to get off his back, even if it meant walking a mile or more back to the farm. She wasn't even sure which way to go.
Don't be a fool, she told herself. You're an adult.
That didn't ease her embarrassment, but it did stiffen her resolve. She was not going to act like a child. If she was willing to consider marrying the man, she must live with the knowledge that there had been women before her. Given the way he'd kissed her back at the hotel, there had been a great number of women. She didn't need to know exactly how many. She didn't want to know, in all honesty.
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