Dominic bit into his wedge of pineapple. It was the finest he’d ever eaten, tart and sweet and luscious with juice. If he were ten years old, he would have moaned with pleasure. He barely refrained from doing so even at his advanced age. “Superb, Kamal.”
Apart from that comment, the three of them consumed the pineapple in silence. Dominic’s London friends would have laughed at the sight of him eating in a glass house with a foreign servant and a beautiful mad girl. Yet though it was hardly a normal luncheon, he enjoyed it immensely.
After finishing her portion, Meriel turned and headed toward the far end of the glass house. Dominic asked, “Do you know what she plans on doing this afternoon?”
Kamal swallowed his last bite of pineapple. “No, my lord, though often she prefers a different kind of task from what she did in the morning.”
So probably no more pruning today. Dominic went after Meriel, who had halted by the pump in the far corner of the glass house. Seeing that it was awkward to work the handle and wash at the same time, Dominic took over the pumping, his hands bracketing her much smaller one.
Accepting his help, Meriel washed and dried her hands on a shabby but clean towel that hung from a nail. She started to turn away, then hesitated as if a thought had struck her. Taking hold of the handle, she began to pump. He realized that she was returning the favor so he could wash his own hands. Oddly touched, he held them under the water and rinsed away juice and yew stains. “Thank you, Meriel.”
When he pulled his clean hands from the stream of water, she walked away with her customary lack of ceremony. Like a cat, she never looked back.
Her first stop was in the shed that her hedgehog called home. As she knelt beside the pile of burlap sacks, Snowball woke up and rolled onto his back so she could stroke his tender stomach. Dominic watched with amusement from the doorway. He hadn’t known that hedgehogs could smile. Well, he would himself if those strong, well-shaped hands were stroking his belly.
The thought was a disturbing one, made more so when a lock of her glossy blond hair fell forward across the little animal. The pale strands were almost the same shade as Snowball’s albino spines. Would Kyle enjoy watching her play with a pet? Probably not. His twin was too restless, too impatient, for such small pleasures.
Meriel gave the hedgehog a last caress and rose gracefully from her kneeling position. Brushing by Dominic in the doorway as if he were invisible, she left the shed and headed toward the house.
Falling into step beside her, he observed, “You have a gift for dealing with animals. Rather like Saint Francis of Assisi. I don’t suppose anyone ever told you about him, Francis being a Catholic saint, but I’ve always thought he’d be an interesting fellow to meet. They say wild creatures came to his hand, as tame as Roxana. He called them his brothers and sisters.”
Dominic had a sudden memory of a painting he’d once seen that showed Saint Francis sitting in a clearing, birds on his shoulder, foxes and deer and other beasts gathered around him. On the saint’s face was an expression as unworldly as Meriel’s. Maybe saints and madmen were close kin?
He continued his idle talk, telling his companion everything he knew about St. Francis. Though she never turned her head, he sensed that she was listening, though perhaps only to the rhythm of his voice rather than his words.
As they neared the stable block, he realized that he ought to exercise Kyle’s horse. “Would you like to meet Pegasus, Meriel?”
He touched her elbow to guide her into the open stable doors. She balked and almost pulled away. Guessing that she was afraid of horses, he said coaxingly, “He’s a splendid beast, named for a winged horse of Greek legend.”
With dragging feet, she accompanied him into the dim stable. Keeping a close eye on her, he asked, “Do you ride?” He scanned the unimpressive Warfield horses. “No, I don’t suppose so. There isn’t a decent riding hack here. Watch your step, now. Stables can be hazardous for bare feet.”
Pegasus stuck his head out of a box stall and whinnied for attention. As Meriel stopped beyond biting distance, Dominic greeted the horse, stroking the silky nose and promising a ride. He glanced at his companion. “He won’t harm you.”
The low light made it hard to read her expression, but her posture indicated that she was on the verge of bolting. “You love animals, and they love you,” he said softly. “Pegasus is a fine fellow, and he’d like to meet you.”
Step by hesitant step, she moved forward. Her face showed not exactly fear, but deep reluctance. He moved back, allowing her to approach her own way. Luckily, the horse was extremely good-tempered.
Pegasus whuffled curiously, stretching out his neck toward Meriel. She tensed, then slowly raised her left hand and touched the white diamond on the horse’s dark forehead. Against Pegasus’s massive bulk, she looked pale and terribly fragile.
The horse nudged her shoulder enthusiastically. Even though the force of the movement almost knocked Meriel over, the tension eased from her body. Her other hand lifted to stroke the satiny neck.
Dominic exhaled with relief. Horse and girl were going to be friends. Pegasus looked as happy under her touch as Snowball and Roxana did.
“Would you like to ride Pegasus?” When her hand stilled, he said, “With me, not on your own. I promise you’ll be safe.”
After a long, motionless interval, she closed her eyes and rested her forehead against the horse’s neck, the black mane mingling with her own pale hair. Deciding that was a yes, Dominic said, “Very well, we’ll take him out.”
She moved away as he led the horse from the stall and saddled up. Pegasus almost danced with anticipation as Dominic took him outdoors. Glancing at Meriel, he said, “Keep clear when I first mount him. He’ll be frisky from the lack of exercise.”
Frisky was an understatement. As soon as Dominic swung into the saddle, Pegasus leaped exuberantly into the air. Dominic barely managed to clamp his legs around the horse’s barrel in time to prevent himself from sailing across the stable yard. Perhaps that would have amused Meriel, but he had too much male pride to want that to happen in front of a pretty girl.
For several lively minutes, Pegasus worked off his high spirits in a series of bucks, twists, and kicks. Though there wasn’t a mean bone in his body, he wasn’t above testing his rider. Both of them enjoyed the process immensely until Dominic made it clear that it was time for the horse to behave.
Grinning, he brought Pegasus to a demure halt facing Meriel. It was going to be hard to return the horse to his brother. Maybe Kyle would be willing to sell? Probably not, and the price would surely be a year of Dominic’s allowance.
During his bout with the horse, Meriel flattened herself against the stone wall of the stable, Roxana protectively close. She probably expected Dominic to get his brains dashed out on the cobbles. He wondered if she would care.
Collecting himself as he had collected the horse, he said calmly, “He’s ready to accept a lady, Meriel. Come.” He extended his hand.
He wouldn’t have bet a ha’penny on his chances of luring her onto the horse, but she moved forward slowly, keeping a wary eye on Pegasus’s iron-shod feet.
She paused an arm’s length away, and her throat worked as she swallowed hard. Swiftly, as if wanting to act before she could change her mind, she took Dominic’s hand and set her bare foot on his boot just in front of the stirrup. Smoothly he lifted, and she swung up behind him like thistledown. She settled down astride, her legs gripping the horse just behind his, and locked her slim arms around his waist.
He glanced down and saw that her leg was bared to just above the knee. The sight combined with the warm pressure of her body sent a dangerously erotic charge through him. This position was entirely too intimate.
Damning himself for his thoughts, he said, “You’ll find that Warfield looks different from the back of a horse.”
He set Pegasus in motion, starting with a walk. Meriel was pressed against him so tensely that he could feel how little she wore under her tunic and skirt. A
nd she was definitely woman, not girl….
Keeping his gaze firmly ahead, he directed Pegasus around the house and into the long, grassy driveway, Roxana following. Pegasus’s paces were smooth as silk, so gradually Meriel’s grip eased. When he thought she was ready, he said, “We’re going to change to a trot, so prepare for a different motion.”
Did she understand and tighten her hold again? He wasn’t sure, but she stayed on easily enough. Since trotting wasn’t particularly comfortable for someone without stirrups, after a couple of minutes he warned, “We’re going into a canter now.”
He collected the horse, then shifted his weight forward and signaled the change of pace. Pegasus stretched gratefully into a long, smooth canter, flying across the green turf at a speed that matched the gallop of a lesser beast. They swept down the driveway, the trees blurring and the wind blowing Dominic’s hair back.
Behind him, Meriel laughed with sheer exhilaration, a sound like singing bells. He’d never even seen her smile. His heart leaped in response. He wanted to sweep her into his arms, share the exuberance of speed and joy.
A good thing they were on horseback! She wasn’t his to hug. She wasn’t even Kyle’s, not yet. Perhaps she never would be. Yet her delight was perilously alluring.
They were nearing the iron gates of the estate. He slowed Pegasus a little and said over his shoulder, “Since the day is so fine, I’ll take you into the village….”
She gave a horrified cry, then released his waist and leaped from the moving horse.
Appalled, he reined in Pegasus and whirled around. She’d hit the ground and was rolling across the grass in a flurry of skirts and bare legs. He jumped from the horse, fearing she might have broken bones or worse. Before he could reach her, she scrambled up and darted through the trees that lined the drive.
Lashing his reins around a branch, he started after her. “Meriel, wait!”
Suddenly Roxana was growling in front of him, teeth bared. He stopped dead. The dog liked him, but it was clear she’d rip his throat out if he threatened her mistress.
He drew a deep breath, reminding himself that Meriel couldn’t move so fast if she were hurt. Already she’d vanished into the park, her grass-stained garments blending with the shrubs and trees.
Was it mad for her to panic at the thought of leaving Warfield? Perhaps not, since the estate had been her haven since she was a small child.
But he wished to hell that someone had warned him.
Chapter 8
Dominic woke at dawn the next morning, pulled from a dream of flying through the sky on a winged horse while clasped by a silver-haired maiden who laughed like singing bells. In real life, he’d had no such luck. After the unfortunate end to their ride, Meriel had vanished for the rest of the day.
So much for his suggestion that he read Greek legends to her in the evening. The idea conjured up pleasant domestic images of sitting by a fire, Meriel listening dreamily while he shared some of his favorite stories with her. Maybe poetry, too.
He’d be better off reading to her cat. At least Ginger enjoyed coming in from the rain and sleeping by a warm fire. Lord only knew where Meriel had spent the night. He hoped she hadn’t ended up in some damp, miserable hideaway.
The thought of her shivering and alone wrecked any chance of returning to sleep. He rose and went to the washstand to splash cold water on his face. As he dried himself, he glanced out the window. A thick, pearly mist covered the landscape. Though the sun must be up, he could barely see the patterns of the parterre below his window.
His eyes narrowed as he saw a human form moving through the parterre away from the house. Meriel. He was glad to see that she’d probably spent the night dry and warm inside. But where the devil was she going at this hour? He dragged on clothing with a carelessness that would have appalled Morrison, then raced downstairs and outside into the foggy dawn.
She’d already vanished, so he continued in the direction he’d seen her going. Within a couple of minutes, he spotted her slim form. He slowed to match her pace, wondering what he hoped to achieve by this pursuit. Forgiveness for having frightened her into panicked flight the day before? She might have already forgotten the incident.
Then again, she might have become so wary that she’d never come near him again, which would doom his arrangement with Kyle. He tried to visualize himself as master of Bradshaw Manor, but the image wouldn’t come. Maybe he’d botched this courtship beyond repair.
He felt oddly ambivalent about the possibility. Much as he wanted Bradshaw Manor, he was growing increasingly uncomfortable with his role. Meriel deserved better than a shabby deception. She deserved a man who cared about her, not one with so little interest in marriage that he wouldn’t even court his own bride. Oh, Kyle would never hurt an innocent. He would just ignore the girl. He’d never take the time to learn what was rare and special about her.
Dominic spent a minute thinking about everything he hated about his brother before he forced his mind into more useful channels. Meriel had seemed to enjoy riding. Might she be capable of managing a horse on her own? Though her mind wasn’t normal, she had her own kind of intelligence. Enough, perhaps, to master riding if she wished to.
He was beginning to suspect that she might be capable of doing far more than her guardians realized. In their desire to protect the girl, they had removed the challenges that might encourage growth.
Meriel had almost vanished, so he quickened his pace. Though she seemed unhurried, she covered the ground swiftly for someone so diminutive. It would be easy to lose her in the fog.
The mists reminded him of boyhood visits to Scotland, at his father’s hunting box. He and Kyle had learned to stalk deer across the moors with the earl’s ghillie, an ancient laconic Scot. Dominic had been a better tracker, with an ability to sense the deer’s movements that had impressed even Auld Donald. But he’d had no stomach for shooting. The deer had been too beautiful to destroy.
Kyle had taken no pleasure in killing, but unlike Dominic, he had never balked. A first-rate marksman, he would coolly drop his prey without a flicker of visible remorse. The Earl of Wrexham had been proud of his heir.
Today Auld Donald’s training stood Dominic in good stead, since Meriel was elusive even by the standards of shy Scottish deer. With her pale hair and flowing garments, he might have thought her a ghost if he hadn’t known better.
They’d long since left the cultivated gardens, and the thickening fog implied they were approaching the river. The path began to climb at an angle that became steeper and steeper. He had to watch his footing, but he looked up regularly to check that he hadn’t lost sight of his quarry.
He was starting to pant—how could a slip of a girl set such a pace on a hill this steep?—when he glanced up. He stopped dead, staring. The battlemented stone walls of a medieval castle loomed above, as ominous as a Gothic novel. An involuntary shiver spiked through him. The estate map had marked the site as “Norman ruins,” but there was no hint that so much of the castle was still standing. The place was downright eerie.
Meriel passed through a gateway in the high outer wall. Once massive wooden doors had filled the space, but now tendrils of mist curled around the stonework. He paused, unsure whether he should follow her into a confined space where she could probably spot him easily.
But he hadn’t come this far to stop now. Silent as the fog, he passed through the empty gateway into the ancient castle.
She’d known instantly who followed her. His energy was like a candle in the mist, vivid and distinctive. Her mouth tightened. She should have brought Roxana, who would have been happy to block his way. But Roxana was old and the damp hurt her bones, so Meriel had left her to sleep.
She loved the magic of the mist, the way it transformed the familiar landscape into something rare and strange. She might almost have been alone at the dawn of time—except for the persistent man behind her. Losing him would not be difficult. But a better idea struck when she thought how alarmed he’d been at her
escape from his horse. She would give him something to worry about!
As she climbed the familiar path to the old castle, her mind’s eye envisioned the moat full of water and home to swans. Prancing horses and ghostly pennons, ladies in flowing velvet and lords scarred in fierce, primitive battles. So vivid were the images that she wondered if she’d lived in the castle during its heyday. Hiral, her Hindu nurse, had said people were born again and again, learning lessons and growing in spirit through the ages. Meriel more than half believed her nurse’s words, for surely the ties that bound her to Warfield had not been forged in a single lifetime.
Silently she said a prayer for Hiral, who had died in the massacre at Alwari. Her gentle nurse deserved to be reborn into a life of kindness and comfort.
Ordinarily Meriel went first to the roofless, hollow shell of the keep, but today she cut across the sheep-grazed bailey to the stone steps that led to the battlements. As she began to climb, she raised her voice in an eerie, wordless funeral song that she’d heard in India. Her voice echoed from the stones, uncanny as the cry of a lost soul.
She reached the wall walk and gazed across the river. On a clear day the hills of Wales were easily visible. This morning she could barely see the rushing waters far below as the currents swirled around the sheer cliffs that surrounded the castle on three sides. Her ancestor, Adrian of Warfield, had chosen well when he built his fortress here. Though attacked on several occasions, Warfield Castle had never been conquered.
Still singing, she drifted along the wall walk, avoiding the occasional crumbling stones, until she reached her destination. As her song rose to a crescendo, she climbed up into an embrasure. A faint breeze curled around her, lifting strands of her hair. The rising wind and warming sun would soon dissolve the mist.
She looked straight down the cliff, her body swaying to the rhythm of her song, her loose garments billowing about her. The stone was cold beneath her bare feet.