Sattler, Veronica (75 page)

Behind
her she could hear Brett shouting, but couldn't focus on what he said as she
concentrated on holding on and not thinking about the ground flying by under
the filly's pounding hooves. The loose saddle was bumping against her belly and
thighs, and the muscles of her shoulders began to burn with a searing pain, her
arms feeling as if they were about to be torn from their sockets, but still,
she managed to cling to the filly's neck, and to life itself.

She
thought she sensed, on her left, her husband drawing alongside her on the
stallion, thought she heard him shouting some instructions, but before she
could assimilate this, the sidesaddle gave way completely, dropping to the
ground that reverberated with beating hooves. She felt Irish Night's powerful
neck pull sharply to the right and heard the filly's shriek of fright as she
veered to escape the falling saddle. Ashleigh screamed as her arms were
wrenched loose from the lathered neck, and then, suddenly, there was nothing at
all as blackness wiped out the day.

* * * * *

Ashleigh
floated aimlessly in a black void, unable to comprehend where she was, or why
she was there, but all around her she sensed imminent danger. Then a flood of moonlight
pushed the shadows away, and she was on the little balcony at the dowager's
cottage. Something seemed to be pushing her toward the railing, and as she
moved toward it, it broke away, leaving a gaping hole. She screamed and drew
backward, only to find herself thrown onto the saddle of a racing horse.
Knowing she must somehow not trust the safety of her perch, she leaned over her
mount's neck, intent upon grasping it, but suddenly the horse dissolved beneath
her, saddle and all, leaving her once again in the black void, and this time
she was falling, falling....

"Ashleigh,
don't!"
Brett's
voice came to her out of the darkness, and she struggled to open her eyes.

"Dear
God, sweetheart, please don't scream! It's all right. You're here, with me, my
darling, and you're
safe!
I have you, and you're
safe!"

Ashleigh
opened her eyes to find Brett bending over her with an anxious look on his
face. Behind him, above his head, she saw leafy green branches interspersed
with small patches of blue sky and the air about them was filled with the
friendly chirping of birds.

"Brett...?"

She
saw him close his eyes briefly, as if to shut out some unbearable image, and
then open them again as he smiled down at her.

"Thank
God you're back," he whispered.

"Back?"

"You
blacked out just as I was able to pull you to safety when that damned saddle
fell." Brett forced his words past grimly tightened lips and paled visibly
before continuing. "You've been unconscious for a good ten minutes or so.
Oh God, Ashleigh, I've been so worried!" Turquoise eyes searched her face.
"How do you feel, love?"

Ashleigh
managed to summon a smile. She was here, and she was alive, and Brett's strong,
comforting presence chased the ghosts of her nightmare away. "I—I feel
surprisingly fine, actually... now." Her eyes darkened as she recalled the
images in her dream, and she realized it was these, more than the narrow escape
she'd had, that had the power to frighten her. "Did... did I really scream
before, Brett? I mean, if I did, I'm terribly sorry. I know it must have
sounded aw—"

Strong
arms lifted her upward as Brett drew her to him in a tight embrace.
"Hush!" he whispered hoarsely. "And don't ever apologize for
showing me your emotions, sweetheart," he murmured into her hair, "no
matter what form they take! You were unspeakably frightened and had every
reason in the world to
be
frightened. I won't have you denying your
right to voice such feelings—not now, not ever!"

Ashleigh
closed her eyes and tightened her arms about Brett's waist, basking in the utter
comfort and security she felt in his arms. There was a time when, despite the
presence of friends such as Dorcas and Megan, she'd forced herself to hide her
fears, dragging them out to face alone when she was able, burying them in
forgotten places when she was not. But now, because of the presence of this man
she loved, she realized she'd never have to do that again. Oh, life was such a
miracle when it was shared!

She
proceeded to tell him, then, of the dream she'd had before regaining
consciousness; her voice was steady as she spoke, reflecting none of the terror
of her first recollection. When she finished, Brett loosened his embrace,
holding her gently in the circle of his arms as he looked down at her.

"Brett,
what is it?" she questioned, for there was a clouded look in his eyes that
hadn't been there before.

Brett
wrestled with himself, debating whether to tell her what he'd learned—and what
was foremost on his mind now that she'd underscored it with the story of her
dream.

After
he'd miraculously been able to pull her off Irish Night, and once he'd pulled
both horses to a halt, he'd circled back to inspect the sidesaddle as it lay on
the ground. Even at the distance afforded by his perch on horseback, he clearly
saw the evidence he'd feared: the saddle's cinch belt had been tampered with!
Someone had sawed at its underside with a sharp instrument, not enough to sever
it completely, just enough to weaken it so that it would give way at a critical
moment—in all probability, when the filly was being ridden hard!

What
Brett had suspected the morning after Ashleigh's close call on the balcony was
now confirmed:
Someone was trying to kill his wife!
And whoever it was,
wasn't even being very subtle about it at this point—it would have stood to
reason that any saddle accident would have warranted an inspection of the tack
of Ashleigh's mount. The would-be killer hadn't even cared!

But
now, in the split second that all these thoughts replayed themselves in Brett's
mind, he focused on an additional problem: How much should he tell Ashleigh?
Would warning her of the danger she was in help make her safer? Would it really
offset the hazard of instilling her with the worst kind of fear— a fear for her
life—that she'd be forced to live with until the villain was found out? Praying
he was right, and vowing to catch the would-be murderer before he could strike
again, Brett made his choice.

"It's
nothing, love," he told her. "I merely took a moment to reflect on
what happened—on what
might
have happened if I hadn't been in time
to—"

"Shh!"
Ashleigh
interrupted as she threw her arms about his neck and hugged him fiercely.
"You
were
in time! That's all that matters!"

Brett
held her close, and prayed she was right—that he'd be there to protect her
until the evildoer was caught. His brain tripped with ideas on how to go about
catching whoever the scum was, while he silently vowed not to let Ashleigh out
of his sight—or that of some discreet guards he would appoint—until this
happened.

Ashleigh
again succumbed to his soothing embrace, her fears truly behind her now. She
opened her eyes and noted for the first time that they were in a small clearing
in a heavily wooded glen of sorts, and she reflected that he must have carried
her into the wooded area she'd spotted in the distance as they'd raced. Nearby,
Irish Night and Raven cropped calmly at some lush grasses that lined a
half-hidden brook of bright, clear water.

Withdrawing
a bit, she smiled brightly at her husband. "Oh, Brett, what a lovely place
this is! How did you ever find it?"

Glad
to see her acting more herself, Brett smiled. "I used to come here often
when I was a lad. Sometimes it was because I needed a respite from the
strictures of my daily schedule." He reached out to finger a shining lock
of the raven hair that had come undone from its ribbon. "Sometimes,
because I needed to think." He bent to brush his lips tantalizingly across
hers. "And sometimes it was to have a picnic—by myself, of course, on food
coaxed out of cook or Mrs. Busby—I've never brought anyone else here—until
now." His eyes met hers and held.

A
delicious shiver rippled the length of Ashleigh's frame as she allowed him to
press her gently down upon the soft green grass. "This place has meant
something special to you over the years, hasn't it?" she whispered.
"This beautiful little glen in the woods. I feel honored that you're
sharing it with me."

Brett
shook his head slowly as his fingers undid the buttons of her bodice, his gaze
never leaving her face. "Oh, no, my love," he whispered throatily,
"the honor is mine... but the pleasure, ah, the pleasure shall be
yours...."

A
mischievous twinkle danced in Ashleigh's sapphire eyes as his hands cupped the
fullness of her breasts.
Not "yours alone," my lusty husband,
she
thought as she felt herself capitulate to the magic of his knowing hands,
for
this time I mean to pleasure
you
as much as you do
me!

Brett
caught the look in her eyes and wondered at it, then bent to give one saucy
nipple a playful nip through the fine cambric of her shift.

"All
right, wench!" he laughed as his attention drifted to her parted,
half-smiling lips, "What are you up to, hmm?" Bracing himself above
her with his hands on the grass on each side of her head, he gave her a wicked
grin, then rolled to the side, pulling her on top of him and drawing her hips
against his with hands that clasped the rounded curves of her buttocks.

"Oh!"
Ashleigh
gasped, feeling the bold stirring of his passion against the juncture of her
thighs, even through the linen of her riding skirt.

But
she had little time to say more, for Brett's hands moved upward, stroking the
length of her before gently cupping her head and bringing her mouth to his for
a kiss that robbed her of breath.

It
was an utterly sensual kiss, beginning with his warm lips moving over hers from
side to side, lazily, deliberately, his tongue gliding temptingly along the
seam between. His thumbs underscored this rhythm, tracing lazy circles along
her temples while his fingers laced through the thick hair behind her ears.

Then
his tongue gently sought and gained entrance, advancing ever so carefully
between her teeth, grazing them, then tempting the tip of her own with its
touch.

At
this, Ashleigh shuddered, feeling the rush of something familiarly warm and
moist at her core. Brett guessed at her reaction, his soft, knowing laughter
eclipsing her rapid intake of breath while his mouth moved to her ear and a
hand once again stroked and cupped her buttocks.

"Ah,
little one... sweet, beloved wife," he murmured as he turned them so they
were facing each other on their sides, and his free hand moved back to her
half-exposed breasts. "You're always so ready for me, darling. Here...
see?" he murmured as he undid the lacing of her shift and a pair of
hard-tipped, thrusting breasts spilled free. "See how you peak for me
here, love?" he questioned. "See how your lovely body tells me you
want me?"

Ashleigh
felt his questing fingers graze the thrusting peaks he spoke of and softly
moaned her passion against his lips, lips that nibbled and played with her own,
teasing, tantalizing even as his fingers did the same below.

But
then she forced herself to pause a moment while she pondered his words.
Yes,
my darling,
she thought,
you know how to tell when I want you, but I,
too, can read the signs of passion.

Carefully,
cautiously, not wanting to err in the execution of her plan, she trailed her
hands lightly down his muscled back and then around and between their two
bodies until at last she found her courage and placed one small palm over
Brett's hard, throbbing shaft.

"Wha—?"
her husband questioned, then groaned as nimble fingers traced the bulging
length of his maleness through the cloth of the riding breeches.
"Ashleigh,"
he rasped, "for God's sake,
Ashleigh!"

But
his wife only smiled deliciously, looking at him through half-closed lids as
she continued her experiment.

"You
little vixen!" Brett gasped, but as he would have said more, he felt her
fingers undoing the fastenings of his breeches, and with a groan more desperate
than before, he rolled with her until she lay beneath him.

"Witch!"
he murmured as he buried his face in her hair.

Ashleigh
twisted until she could see his face. "But Brett, I was only trying to see
if I could do to you, what you do to me," she explained, innocence evident
in her wide-eyed gaze.

Brett
managed a chuckle. "Oh, little one," he breathed, "if you only
knew what you do to me without even
trying!"

"But
if I don't experiment with something more, how will I ever keep you when I grow
old, when my beauty fades?"

With
gentle laughter, he cupped her face between his hands and bent to place on her
parted lips a kiss that was fraught with tenderness.

"Oh,
little love," he murmured as he raised his head and gazed deeply into her
eyes, "don't you know the way I feel about you has more to do with who you
are
than with how you
appear?
Always, even when I am an old, old
man, and you, a little snowy-haired angel, I shall want you... because it isn't
your perfect beauty I fell in love with—although, I'll admit, it did much to
open the door at first.