A Man For All Seasons (5 page)

“I'll deal with Dad, if there's an issue.” Without waiting for a reply she scampered off to the tack room and gathered together Pollyanna's gear.

As she humped back to the stable, she felt the surprised gaze of several staff upon her. Somehow, it felt good.

Inside the stable the big Irish hunter stood rock solid as she stripped off her rugs and tacked her up. She struggled with the girth a little, but managed. Very pleased with herself she picked up the reins and led the mare out.

Spotting Chad and Dresden, she felt a stirring of guilt and not a little misgiving. Actually, they were hard to miss. Man and beast stood centre of the yard, face-to-face, both eerily still.

Bodies scurried for shelter as the big horse struck out at his jockey. Sparks spat off the stone surface. Chad stood quite still, apparently ignoring the horse's tantrum. For a moment the horse stilled. Then Dresden squealed and reared up onto his back legs, front legs flailing viciously.

Seraphim felt faint with horror. Dresden was going to kill him. She was a murderer.

Five

Eventually gravity had its inevitable effect and the great beast crashed back to earth. Utterly focused on the job in hand, Chad was only vaguely aware of the interest he'd unwittingly created.

He eyed Dresden, who eyeballed him back. Then Chad grinned. He'd met horses like this before, but it had been a while. Adrenaline pumped through his veins and tingled down his spine. The old rush hit him. Without thinking he reached out and took a firm hold of one long ear. Before the horse knew what was happening, he pulled its head around, almost to the girth, and vaulted into the saddle.

Dresden froze. Then Chad felt the massive muscles of his back contract. As he released the ear, the outraged animal let rip.

The first two initial bucks were huge. The third sent the animal's hind feet so high into the sky, he was practically vertical. Then he lost steam and Chad could feel Dresden's confidence ooze out of him. He knew he had the big devil. As the horse humped around half-heartedly, Chad knew it was over. He felt a small prick of disappointment.

Dresden stopped. His head hung to his knees, steam drifted off his hot skin as he puffed through flared nostrils. Chad gathered up the reins and looked around. A dozen or so staff observed him; abject surprise, amusement and not a little awe written on their faces.

There was a ripple of applause. “No one's ever sat on that horse when he's turned it on before,” said Gordon. “Usually he has 'em off third buck.”

Chad was not surprised. He spotted Seraphim, a set of reins clutched in her hands, standing behind the crowd. She looked very pale. Chad grinned to himself. Served him right really. He shouldn't have wound her up about the dressage stuff. It was only because he fancied her so rotten. Nodding at her politely, he enjoyed the flush of embarrassment on her cheeks. “Good horse.”

Her mouth fell open and she appeared to have lost the powers of speech.

“Are we going out then?” he asked easily.

She nodded and turned away.

Jeff Adams stepped forward, a colorful poster in his hand. “Chad, when you come back, will you sign this for my lad?”

A little embarrassed Chad nodded. “Sure.”

Seraphim, aboard the nice bay mare, looked over. She maneuvered herself and her mount close to the headman. Chad was taken by just how good she looked astride a horse. What a pity she wasted her time with all those pointless circles and fancy footwork.

Leaning over, Seraphim looked at the poster and then sat up and looked at Chad. “Why, it's you,” she said accusingly.

He nodded in agreement. “Taken three years ago in the US.”

“You're a rodeo rider?”

Bloody hell, she made it sound as if he had some sort of exotic disease. “No,” he corrected, “I
was
a rodeo rider.”

Jeff Adams looked at her, his astonishment undisguised. “Didn't you know?”

The lush mouth set in a thin line. “Well… no.”

“Young Cherub here was the undisputed World Champion three years in a row.” Adams grinned. “He was known amongst the fairer sex as The Heavenly Body.”

The full mouth twitched. Seraphim's dark eyes sparkled wickedly. “Was he indeed?”

Chad groaned inwardly. Terrific. A wave of laughter rippled through the yard and, as if on cue, bodies drifted away, back to their labour.

Chad looked at Seraphim, and she looked at him. She broke first, her dark head drooping a little. Then he heard her take a deep breath.

“I'm sorry,” she said.

He was touched. “Serves me right.”

She looked up again and burst into laughter, showing two rows of delicate pearls. A dark ringlet of hair curled from beneath her helmet, a velvet question mark against the smooth white brow. He wanted to wrap it around his finger, to feel its texture.

But he didn't. “Best be off then.”

Without a word she set her legs lightly to her horses sides and together they clip clopped loudly out of the gate and into a tiny lane, hedged thickly either side.

He was content to follow, which was just as well since it would have been quite a squeeze to go two abreast. Intrigued, he observed the novel new world in which he found himself as they passed tiny little cottages with wavy tiled roofs and crooked chimneys.

At one place there was a cavernous barn filled with Fresian cows waiting patiently for their turn at milking. In gently undulating paddocks sheep grazed wrapped in white, shaggy coats. Despite the leafless trees, the landscape seemed incredibly green to Chad. He could barely imagine how it would look in spring.

Dresden shied violently as a bird broke cover from a large bramble. Chad gave him a swift kick in the ribs and the horse subsided with a long pained sigh.

“That was pheasant. Daddy breeds them for the shooting season.”

Chad thought this seemed pretty unsporting but refrained from saying so. In a small tree a tiny brown bird with a bright red breast tilted its head and observed them. “What's that then?”

Seraphim smiled. “That's a robin. Friendly little birds.”

Between two small houses a muddy track appeared. “This is a bridleway,” Seraphim continued. “England is full of old tracks that are still held for the use of horses and pedestrians.” She grimaced. “As you can see, the motorbike riders use them too. Make a hell of a mess.”

The mud was loose and viscous. Chad listened fascinated as his horse's feet suctioned in and out. The track was fairly short and to his surprise it opened out onto a broad expanse of grazing and then to a river.

On the opposite bank, half hidden behind a screen of huge weeping willows, stood the most amazing house he'd ever seen. Long and low, its white face was crossed with black beams of wood. Its roof, a pale honey blonde, was made of some sort of reed or straw. Tiny dormered windows glittered through lead panes and a horse weathervane galloped over head. All the outbuildings, including a boathouse, boasted matching thatched wigs. It was something out of a fairy tale.

Chad realised he'd reined in Dresden and that Seraphim had stopped behind him. He felt her eyes upon him.

“Beautiful, isn't it?”

He gazed silently, trying to find the words. He gave up. “Ripper.”

“Come on, there's some great places further on.”

Somewhat reluctantly he followed. Seraphim pointed out to him an ancient bridge, built in the twelfth century, a pretty pub called the 'The Angel on the Bridge', and long, narrow canal boats, decked out in brass and brilliant colours.

Then she stopped abruptly and, taken by surprise, Chad couldn't avoid a collision. Dresden grazed up against Pollyanna's side. For one brief moment he felt the firm length of the young woman's thigh press softly into his own. Then she was gone.

“Sorry,” she mumbled, not quite meeting his eye.

“No worries,” he said, and spent several seconds placing Dresden at a respectful distance. He chanced a glance in her direction and was relieved to see she seemed quite composed. But then, he thought, why shouldn't she be? After all, he'd no reason to believe that she'd have felt the same violent volts of electricity that he himself experienced. After all, she was engaged to be married.

“Look,” she said, and pointed down to the water.

He spotted them immediately. A flock of swans, sailing in full white regalia down the Thames.

“Oh look at that!” Seraphim looked at him then.

Her eyes sparkled and her full lips parted slightly in her excitement. God but he wanted to kiss her.

“Look,” she said again.

Unable to do anything other than obey, he forced his eyes to the birds. They were impressive. And then he realised what it was that had so sparked her interest. Toward the back of the flock, dark as night beside their virgin white, swam a lone black swan.

“It's a black swan!” she cried.

Indeed it was. He thought how strange it was that the Australian bird was as foreign to her as the white ones were to him. It seemed like an omen. But whether good or bad he couldn't say.

“Wonder where he came from,” he mused aloud.

She shook her head. “I can't imagine. It must be from a private zoo or something.” She swung Pollyanna around and set off again.

He fell in beside her. The sun began to rise. Diamantés sparkled off the dew in the black branches of the trees. Crows rose ponderously from their roosts, cawing rudely to the world.

“We've got crows back home,” he said.

“Really? What's it like, you know, your home?”

Images blossomed in his mind's eye, but how to explain? “Well,” he finally said, “it's like this horse here.” He touched Dresden's short, thin mane. “You think you've got it licked. For a while it gives you what you need, but then one morning you wake up and it bucks up big time. It's a big, hard country. It's dry mostly. When the rain comes the galahs hang upside down on the power lines and spread out their wings to catch it.” He stopped, feeling a little foolish.

They rode silently; Chad thought he'd bored her.

“What's a galah?” she asked suddenly.

“It's a bird. A kind of parrot. They're sort of grey, with bright pink on their chests and pale pink on their heads. They live in big flocks and nick the grain. Cheeky buggers.”

She chuckled softly, a soft bubbling sound, like an underground spring. “That's the most I've heard you say.”

He grinned, infected by her amusement as she pushed up her right sleeve and inspected her watch. “Better be getting back. I've got to go into London for a fitting.” Perhaps she sensed his confusion for she glanced at him briefly before continuing. “For my wedding dress.”

Like a pair of synchronised swimmers the two horses circled and headed back. The pace increased significantly. Stretched out before them the long green strip of meadow seemed to beckon.

Chad grinned. “Fancy a bit of a spin?”

Her fine black eyebrows drew together for a moment. Then she shook her head adamantly. “Oh… no. I really shouldn't.”

“Why not?”

“I'm not supposed to. I told you, I had a heart condition as a child. Dad worries about me. I promised it would be just a quiet walk out.” Her words rushed out, tripping over themselves.

She looked as fit as a mallee bull to him. “So, do you always do as you're told?” He swayed a little toward her, so close he could almost taste her scent. He grinned. “Or are you just a chicken?”

Six

Seraphim drew in a giant breath of air. It rushed down her respiratory tract, sharp and exhilarating. She recognised the challenge for what it was. Or, at least, she thought she did. This man had an unwitting ability to make her mad. Did she always do as she was told? What a bloody nerve!

She opened her mouth to deal out the dressing down that he so thoroughly deserved, but then she faltered. A little voice begged to be heard. “Of course you always do as you're told,” it said. She realised then that her anger was misplaced. It was herself she should be mad at.

She looked into the wide set topaz eyes, with their black centre and thick black lashes. Secretly she couldn't help but admire the way he lounged in his saddle, reins loose, crisp black hair rippling in the breeze, utterly sure, utterly relaxed. What wouldn't she give to be so self-assured?

Fear clutched at her throat like a rabid dog. Her legs felt as if they'd been filled with custard. She sat up, her torso taut and wired, the pulse in her throat hammering like a pneumatic drill. Damn him. “Last one home's a rotten egg.”