In Love by Christmas: A Paranormal Romance (24 page)

30

War Chief

W
ill wouldn’t let
Leroy see Cass or know where she was, but he wasn’t done in England, anyway. His royal marmalade, Lord Ballentyne, had invited him to play polo and go fox hunting at his country estate in two months, right before Christmas.

“That’s when you wanted to come, wasn’t it, Leroy?” Ballentyne called to reconfirm his invitation. He was polite as ever, but Leroy could feel that every door to his heart was closed. “We’re redoing the grounds and house ‘til then. Redecorating. Won’t be presentable until December, old fellow, so we can’t have guests. We can get up an exhibition match once we’re done.

“If the weather holds. Could be a monsoon then. Or snowing like the North Pole. But if we can get decent weather, we should have a good game. Private game, of course. The club will be finished for the season. But we’ll get you a horse to ride.”

“Thank you, Your Lordship.” He had no intention of playing a part in Ballentyne’s show on a borrowed horse.

Leroy called Tom into the room. “Tom, why are you working as a valet? You’re smart and can do anything. I heard you had a university degree.”

Tom blushed to the roots of his dark red hair. “Uh. I …”

“Tell me the truth, Tom.”

“Well, Leroy,” he dropped the “Sir” that once, “I’m Catholic and I’m from Scotland. There’s a bit of tension between Scotland and the English. Has been for ever. I have a Scots’ accent.” Leroy had noticed his accent was different from the other Brits, but they all had accents.

“That keeps you from getting a good job?”

“Sir, I like working for Numenon at the London manse. I like working for you. I’m not complaining.”

“I got that. Would you like to come to the United States with me, some day?”

“Oh, yes. What would I do?”

“Don’t know yet, Tom. I’ve got a ranch, but maybe I’ll start a company too, something like that. That may take time. But I’ve got something that needs doing real fast. Any of your Scottish friends play polo?”

“Oh, yes, sir. Like demons.” Leroy blanched at the word. “We love polo. Only ones like it more than us are the Irish.”

“You have any friends in Ireland?”

“Yes, sir.”

“They feel about the English like the Scots do, don’t they?”

“Yes. Worse, most likely.”

“Tell me about polo. How many players on a team, Tom?”

“Four, sir.”

“How many horses do they need to play a game?”

“Six or more each, sir.”

“Do you know any Irish and Scottish polo players who’d like to beat the shit out of Lord Ballentyne’s team just before Christmas?”

“I know dozens who’d like to do that, but you can’t play then.”

“Why?”

“The estate will be frozen tight.”

“Don’t worry about the weather. I’ll take care of that. Call your friends. And get grooms for the horses. Whatever they need. I’ll get the horses. We have two months to become a champion team. Also, we’re moving. Can you find me a place up in Scotland where we can all stay? With a polo field and stables? Cheap?”

Leroy would have made the kindest and most conciliatory war chief in history, until something happened that pushed his buttons. Finding out that Arabella’s father would reject him because of the color of his skin pushed almost all of his buttons. What Will had said pushed the rest.

He thought he’d push back—as hard as he could. There were two more things he wanted to do in England; he’d do them and leave. He didn’t need his dad to buy a plane ticket for him. He’d buy his own. He had enough money to buy pretty near anything, even though it was Will Duane’s money. He hadn’t spent but the tiniest fraction of his stipend. He could finance the polo team himself. He wouldn’t fly back in Will’s stinking jet, nor would he have anything to do with the man.

“It’s great, Tom. You did
good
.” Leroy knew he was messing with the English language, just like he was messing with everything else. They had just arrived at Glamisdale Castle in Scotland, his new headquarters.

“It’s been on the market for ages. I got it for a super price for the two months. Polo field is in great shape, and so is the hunt field. Castle’s pretty good, except for the part where the roof fell in. Rains back in ‘93 nearly did the place in. Snow on the roof froze and then melted. Flooded the galleries.

“His Lordship—he’s a Scottish laird, not an English one—fixed what he cared about and lived with the rest. He died just a month ago. Plenty of room for the team to stay. Sir Glamis’s cook an’ housekeeper ‘r’ here, but that’s all.”

“Let’s see the stables.”

Leroy nodded as they walked around the U-shaped stone building that was the main barn. “He cared about his horses. This is kept up nice. I never liked box stalls, ‘cept in winter. Looks like it’s winter here a lot.”

They walked out behind the barns. Flat polo fields spread out, with rolling hunt fields beyond that. They were well-kept, but not summer green. The fall cold had burned the grass. It wasn’t optimal and would only get worse in the next two months.

“Do you think the weather will hold, sir,
Leroy
, sir, so we can practice?”

“I expect it will hold fine, Tom.” Leroy chuckled. “Yeah, the laird did take care of what mattered to him. Now, it matters to us.

“When does the team arrive, Tom?”

“About supper time. I got ‘em a lorry to get up here. It’s only a mile from the train, but with the saddles and all.”

“That’s the Rules. Nothin’ alcoholic on this place or at that game or near me ‘til this is over.” Leroy held forth in the large dining hall. He made sure he’d have enough riders and grooms for the rigorous training schedule he set out, plus Tom and himself. All Scottish nationalists cruising for a way to beat the British.

“No drinking? But man, this is
Scotland,”
one of them howled. His new team, their backups, and the associated grooms and barn boys, were horrified when he announced the Rules. They were the same as Grandfather’s Rules for the spirit warriors.

“No. This is
not
Scotland. This is …” He said the name of his tribal lands in his language. “This is Indian country and will be until I leave. I am the boss. We’re going to find out which of you are warriors and which of you are drunken cry-babies. I don’t think
any
of you, except Tom, could last a day under the rules I grew up with. Now eat your stew and get to bed. We start at dawn.”

“Start what, man? An’ where are the horses? Are none in the barns.”

“We’re going to begin getting them tomorrow. We’ll visit the local farms for prospects. I’ll start their training, and you’ll finish them.” He was a little short, budget-wise.

“Anybody breed race horses around here?” Leroy asked in the morning.

“Everyone who can afford a horse has a race horse, mate. Might be a racehorse only in the eyes of the ol’ codger who’s got him, but it’s a Derby winner, sure.” The evening’s lack of libation had not improved his crew’s temper.

“Then we’d better start looking everywhere …”

“Man, ninety percent of the game is the horse,” a rider said. “I could ride a mule, but it would still be a mule. I came up here to win.”

“I got a higher opinion of mules. What’s that grey horse out there in the pasture?”

“That’s Sir Glammis’s polo pony. Good horse, but seventeen years old and lame.”

Leroy continued to study the animal as it grazed. “I think that’s
my
polo pony.” He walked out to the field without a halter or a backward glance.

“The man’s daft. We’re wasting our time.” Three of them left right then, riders and grooms alike. Those that left didn’t get to see Leroy ride the old horse up to the castle without a saddle or bridle. The animal was sound and strong, pricking its ears like lances, and strutting like a warhorse.

“Holy Mother! What did you do to him?”

“I told him he’d get to kick some English butt if he let me ride him. Now, the rest of you are going to get around to the farms and tell folks what we got going here. We need horses. I can pay up to £1,000 pounds to rent or buy horses I approve. You go out and look, bring the good ones here.”

They went through a few more riders as the training progressed. Leroy ended up importing some from Ireland. They weren’t happy about the no-drinking clause, but when they saw Leroy lead out a rank, crabby Thoroughbred that had been standing in some old lady’s paddock for five years and turn it into a horse that could win in any reined stock horse class in the planet, they were impressed.

“Sure’n he can ride like St. Eligius, the patron saint of horses and horsemen. But how’re we gonna play polo with that horse?”

“I don’t know how to play polo, but I can set a horse up to work cows.
You
have to make polo ponies out of them.” Leroy said. He swung off and approached another unbroken horse about sixteen and a half hands high.

“Too big.”

“If this horse has the heart I think he does, he wouldn’t be too big if he was an elephant.”

Scotland was a strange place, and they were discovering that Leroy was a stranger man.

“Ah, feel hooched,” He heard one of his team say. “Jus’ being near him, I feel like I did on St. Bride’s day four years past, when I slept for three days after. But no headache w’ Leroy.”

“Aye. An’ ye noticed it hasn’t rained here more ‘n’ necessary to wet the lawns? Nor has it gotten cold?”

31

Damsels in Distress

W
ill picked up
the receiver. The English codes on the incoming call made him think it was Leroy. He could apologize; they could clean things up. “It’s Will.” Silence. “Hello? This is Will Duane. May I help you?”

“Oh, I was disconcerted when you answered, Mr. Duane. Leroy said that it was your personal number but I thought …”

“I’d have a secretary. Not when I’m home.”

“Oh, dear. I’m sorry to disturb you …”

“Don’t hang up.” The voice was that of a young, supremely upper class Englishwoman. That was enough to hook Will. “Leroy gave you my number?”

“Yes, at the Ball. He said that he didn’t know where he would be going and couldn’t give me his phone number, but he wanted me to be able to contact him.”

“He’s in Scotland somewhere, getting a polo team together.” Will had kept an eye on Leroy.

“Oh, yes. Everyone knows that. He’s got Scots and Irish getting ready to tear our team apart. I think he’d like to tear my father apart.” And me, thought Will. She sounded sweet and troubled. “But it’s you I’d like to talk to, if you have time. I’m in a bit of a pickle.”

Oh, shit. Leroy didn’t get her pregnant?

“You see, since Leroy left, things have changed terribly in our family. I didn’t introduce myself. I’m Arabella Faxmore, Lady Arabella. My father is Lord Ballentyne.”

Will recalled that Leroy had stayed with them. Lord Ballentyne had raved about him. Will had visited the family in London, but not when Arabella was there.

“It seems years ago since Leroy was with us. May I confide in you? Leroy said you were a very nice person and liked to help people. He spoke so highly of you, and, well, I’m in the most dreadful difficulty.”

“Certainly. Go ahead.”

“Well, when Leroy was here, my father saw what a rotter Dash—Dashiell Pondichury, the ninth Duke of Lancature—was. He almost hit my brother in the eye with a bolt from a crossbow. Papa threw him out. I thought all was well. Father has wanted me to marry Dash forever, but he saw the man’s true colors that day.

“Leroy went away, and Dash came slinking back. One evening, he and my father went into Papa’s study. When they came out, they were smoking cigars and smiling at each other. Papa wants me to marry Dash again, most insistently.” Her voice broke.

“I can’t marry him. He’s a really bad person. I can tell, and Leroy could tell too, but no one else. Since that evening, Dash practically has lived with us. He’s replaced most of the staff. He wanted to sack Fulton, our butler, but I said that the village would talk. Fulton has been with us forever. They’re already talking about all the Spaniards …”

“Spaniards?”

“Yes. Dash has vineyards in Spain. He’s been bringing staff in from there. His best friend is a nob who has a castle …”

“Is his name Enzo Donatore?” Will sat bolt upright at his desk. This was way worse than he thought.

“Yes, he lives in a castle and has parties all the time. We’re supposed to go there, all of us, Mama, Papa, my brother, and myself, as soon as the polo match is over. I don’t want to go. I have very bad feeling about it.”

“You should have the worst feeling you can possibly have, Lady Arabella. Do
not
go there.” Will’s body went to full alert.

“What am I to do? I’m watched day and night. I’m calling you from the coach house of my friend’s estate. I’m here to play bridge, supposedly, but it was really to call you on the way home. I said I had to use the loo in order to get the driver to stop. The phones at home are monitored. I’m not allowed to go anywhere.

“What I wanted to say is I think Dashiell is taking money from my parents. More than that—properties. Estates we own. I think he’s swindling them. It’s as though they’re bewitched. Whatever he wants is fine.

“I think Dash is taking everything. And then he’ll take me. Papa says I have to marry him. Papa grabbed my arm last night. He
hurt
me. I have bruises.” Will heard her voice tremble: a woman whose breeding would only allow her to sound composed was unraveling.

“He doesn’t have
all
our money. I have my own, gifted from my Grandmamma, in my own name. I’m afraid Papa and Dashiell will make me sign it over. I have quite a bit, Mr. Duane. It may be all that’s left.”

“He’s not getting it.
You need a very good lawyer and right now.” Will was enraged. Hurting a girl to make her marry a demon. Her father should be horsewhipped. Taking her money.

“Yes. Leroy said you had the best lawyers and liked to help people. Mr. Duane, I need help
so
badly. Would you please help me?”

“Yes. I’m going to call my London legal team now. Is there a way for you to get to London without suspicion?”

“Yes. I have a doctor appointment in the village tomorrow. I could go and tell everyone at home that I need to have a procedure in London. They wouldn’t suspect, if I made out it was serious.”

“All right. Give me your doctor’s number. My people will work through him. You’ll see a new doctor in his office, Dr. …
Beckham
.” Will made up a name. “Do you have your financial documents in your possession?”

“They’re in the bank.”

“Can you get to the bank safely?”

“No.”

“Then Dr. Beckham will need some signatures and permissions for the procedure. We’ll work it out.

“Lady Arabella …”

“Call me Arabella.”

“Arabella. You are in the worst danger you have ever faced. Is there any way of getting Leroy back to your estate?”

“Oh, no. Papa hates him now. Can’t say enough bad things about him. I don’t know why. He’ll be back for the polo match and then—I’ll never see him again.” Her voice caught.

She’s in love with him, Will thought. Shit. Where does this leave Cass? No matter.

“Arabella. We’ll get this done. Do
not
marry Dashiell or be alone with him and especially don’t have sex with him.” She gasped. “He’s a monster. You already know that.

“Dr. Beckham will be in touch.”

Will got off the phone trembling. He wouldn’t allow Enzo Donatore to ruin another young girl’s life. But what if Leroy loved her now, not Cass? What if he’d been such a jerk that he’d ruined Cass’s chances? No. First things first.

“She’s going to need airtight protection of her assets,” Will dialed his London legal team. “If it was here, I’d set up an untraceable trust and park it in the Caymans, but you know what to do on your side of the pond. She’s watched at home and can’t go out. Have a fake Dr. Beckham set up at the address of her current doctor.” Will gave his London legal team the doctor’s contact information. “All contact through him. She’s in physical danger—I’d have the cops or our Numenon guys, or one of Hannah’s English teams, ready to bust in.”

“Hey, Chet. Will Duane here.” Helping Arabella had warmed Will up to handle a problem closer to home. He dialed his friend Chester MacKay, the Chairman of the Board of the firm that had just acquired Havertin. “Just shooting the breeze. Actually, more than that. What do you know about the staff changes at the Havertin Institute that your group just acquired?”

“Normal in a takeover, Will. Our team can’t work with the old team. You know about that.” Will did. “We have to set up our guys and our culture as top dogs for the buy out to work.” Also true.

“What do you think of Havertin’s policy of not allowing family to speak with the patients?”

“I’m not a psychiatrist, but I understand that is one way of doing things, in the medium term at least. Parents and family are entitled to progress reports, but they want the patients to learn to toe the line. They can’t do that if the patients get to run to mommy and skip out.”

“What about emergencies?”

“I’m sure that in emergencies, the families would be allowed to speak to the patients and the patients can phone home. Why, Will?”

Will’s throat closed down a little. “Well, my daughter’s in Havertin now. You know that she’s had troubles before.” Cass had made national headlines when she stabbed a psych tech she said was making advances. The event became a women’s cause rather than a simple attack.

“Yes, I recall.”

“I admitted her to Havertin because I heard it was the best for very hard cases like hers. But I’m troubled by not being able to see or talk to her. I’ve always been able to do both, before. In other places.”

Chet’s voice was compassionate. “I understand. Maybe her not being able to talk to you is what will make the difference between successful treatment and failure. It may force her to get to work and face her problems.” Will couldn’t speak.

“I tell you what. I’m going to a meeting with the directors of the hospitals we own next week. What’s your daughter’s psychiatrist’s name? I’ll have him …”

“Her.”

“… put on the meeting list and talk to her. Get a clear picture of how Cass is doing. I’m not saying that the psychiatrist will let you have access to her, but we’ll get some personal interest going.”

“OK. Thank you so much. I’ll look forward to your call.”

“Absolutely, Will. I’m sorry about Cass.”

“Well, as you say, this may be the hospital stay that does it.” Will heaved a huge sigh when he got off the phone. Maybe of relief.