Surrender the Stars (46 page)

Slowly, the mare turned toward him and finally stopped a few feet away. The young groom fairly toppled from the horse's back.

"Are you all right?" Ryan bent to see the boy's face, but the darkness and his broad-brimmed hat made a good look impossible. Tired, hungry, and impatient, he turned the reins over to Ian and said gruffly, "I'll go inside and bespeak rooms for us. You can wash up then, and we'll have a hot meal before bed."

"I'd rather sleep in the stable, sir," the groom replied in a husky monotone.

"Don't be an ass. You'll need a bath, a decent bed, and a good night's sleep, or you'll be even more worthless tomorrow than you've been today." With that, Coleraine turned and strode off toward the cheerily lit inn, unaware of the fact that his young groom was sticking a pink tongue out at him from the shadows.

* * *

Craving a drink, Ryan paced back and forth in the spartan room. Finally, he decided he couldn't wait any longer for Ian and opened the door to the hallway. The boy was standing there, fist raised as if he'd been about to knock.

"What're you doing, lad? Come on in! Good God, but you are a sad sight! I've already put on other clothes so that I won't cover the taproom with dirt, and the innkeeper's wife has offered to wash them for me. Strip yours off and I'll pass them along as well."

Ian stared at the floor and mumbled, "I couldn't share a room with you, sir. I didn't know you meant—"

"I can assure you, I didn't! This was the last room. I for one will sleep far too soundly to notice you." His black brows arched in exasperation. "Give me your clothes, Ian! I haven't all night! I'm starving and Mrs. Craddock has promised us pork stew with boiled potatoes. I saw a joint of mutton and fresh-baked bread in the kitchen as well."

The groom continued to stare at the floor for another long minute, until Coleraine, out of patience, reached out to grasp the wide brim of his hat.

"No!" A slim, pale hand came up involuntarily to keep the hat in place, brushing the Ryan's strong fingers in the process.

He stepped backward as if he'd been burned. A sick sensation washed over him as realization dawned. "No. Please, God, no. I'm imagining things..."

The groom sighed, then slowly straightened and lifted a delicate chin. Huge gray eyes met Ryan's disbelieving gaze.

Lindsay attempted what she hoped was an engaging smile. When she pulled off the hat, lustrous golden-rose curls spilled over her shoulders. "Hello, darling. It's me!"

Chapter 32

June 26-27, 1814

Ryan's face was a portrait of pale shock, incredulous disbelief, and impotent rage. He spoke not a word. Lindsay's smile faded as she studied her beloved's expression and saw the way his lean brown hands clenched and unclenched at his sides.

"Aren't you glad to see me?" she tried again in more cautious tones.

His eyes were nearly black and flashing menacingly. Lindsay imagined that she could see smoke escaping from his flared nostrils.

"Ryan?" She backed toward the door. "Won't you say something?"

He opened his mouth, breathing with an obvious effort at control, and the first sound that he uttered was a low growl. Finally, in cold, measured tones, he said, "I don't trust myself!"

"Darling, aren't you overreacting just a bit?"

"Overreacting?" Coleraine looked around as if searching for something to smash. "Miss Raveneau, if I were you, I'd count myself fortunate to be
alive
right now!"

The frigid anger in his voice sent a chill down her spine, and for the first time it occurred to Lindsay that she might have gone too far. Was it possible that her attempt to share this adventure with Ryan might have cost her his love? Her eyes swam with tears.

"For God's sake, don't cry!" he shouted, pacing across the room. "It will only make matters worse. I can't believe this is happening! After we just discussed this very subject less than twenty-four hours ago!"

"I haven't forgotten," she replied. "I promised you that I would consider carefully—"

"This is insane!" Ryan interrupted, his eyes blazing. "What good does such a promise do me if you turn around, dress as a boy, and follow me that very night? I might as well conduct these discussions with a chair for all the progress I make with you! I can only imagine the little scene that ensued after you went to bed last night, knowing that I planned to leave for Falmouth. Did you pause momentarily and have a dialogue with yourself?" He mimicked her: " 'Hmm. Ryan's off to Ireland! I can't bear to think of him having an adventure that I cannot share. He probably wouldn't want me to come, but I can surely calm him down. I'll shed a few tears, then kiss him, and before we know it, he'll be thanking me for practicing yet another deception!' "

Lindsay's mouth tightened. "It wasn't that way at all."

"Frankly, I don't care. Your total disregard for my thoughts and feelings can only make me reconsider the notion of marrying you." His eyes were like blue ice; his voice was without emotion. "If I had the time, I'd tie you up, take you back home, and lock you in your room! As it is, I need some food. I'm going downstairs to eat—and to think. You may do as you wish."

As he glanced back over one broad shoulder, his eyebrow curved upward sarcastically. "You always do."

* * *

The taproom was filled with villagers who were relaxing and conversing over mugs of ale, a dozen or so guests discharged from a stage, and Ryan and Lindsay. The stage passengers filled every settle and table except one. It was occupied by a distinctly unfriendly-looking Ryan Coleraine. He ate his pork stew, hot bread, and potatoes without lifting his eyes more than two or three times. Mrs. Craddock refilled his ale without being asked. Passing Lindsay, who sat on a stick-backed chair in the corner, plate on lap, the large old woman merely flicked her brows upward.

Lindsay pushed the aromatic pieces of pork and vegetables around her plate, but she was far too upset to eat. Finally, she returned her dishes to the kitchen and went back to the room. She wished that she might douse the lights and pretend to be asleep before Ryan returned, but she wasn't certain he would even deign to share a bed with her.

After removing all her clothing except a thin linen shirt, Lindsay washed carefully with soap and water, scrubbed her teeth, then emptied the basin and poured fresh water for Ryan. She was sitting on the edge of the bed, bathed in the glow of one candle, when the door opened and he appeared.

Coleraine stared for a moment, then muttered, "Why aren't you asleep?"

"I wasn't sure you wanted me here," she whispered. Her palms were wet.

"I don't." Ryan stared out the window, moonlight silvering his chiseled profile, and added, "But then you haven't left me a choice, have you?"

"Ryan, I—"

"I'm too angry to discuss this any further. Go to sleep."

Tears filled her throat as she watched him strip off his jacket, shirt, and boots. Finally, she was able to say, "I could sleep somewhere else."

He let out a short bark of sarcastic laughter. "You've put yourself in enough danger as it is. I don't intend to let you out of my sight again!"

She stared at the play of muscles in his wide, tapering back as he washed, her stomach churning. When Coleraine approached the bed and bent to pull off his buckskin breeches, Lindsay said, sobbing, "Ryan, I'm sorry. I didn't realize—"

A muscle moved in his jaw as he blew out the candle and got into bed next to her. "Spare me your penitence, Lindsay. It's too late."

Pressing a hand to her mouth, she swallowed tears that tasted like acid and turned away from him, drawing her knees up. Ryan lay far away on the clean but lumpy bed. He might not have been there at all except that she could sense his potent anger.

Through the windows, the night sky was stunning. Clear and black, it made a perfect backdrop for a dazzling display of stars and a huge, luminous full moon. Lindsay's lower lip trembled as she found Cassiopeia, and then the North Star, the constellation of Cygnus, and the glowing light orange star called Arcturus.

The night on board
La Mouette
when Ryan had shown her the stars seemed months rather than weeks ago. How far they had come since then... until she undid it all with her folly. Wishing that she could go back to the moment when Ryan had asked her parents for her hand in marriage, Lindsay glimpsed the arc of a falling star. The voice of her grandmother returned to warn that shooting stars were the smoke of sin, and she felt more frightened than ever.

What if Ryan never forgave her?

* * *

The dawn sky was streaked with peach and rose when Ryan's eyes opened. The first thing he saw were curls that matched the sunrise spilling across his chest. Lindsay's delicate nose was pressed to the hard curve of his shoulder, and her fingers were splayed in the crisp hair on his chest. Instinctive tender emotions were cut off, however, when he remembered where they were and the fact that Lindsay had gone too far with her latest masquerade.

Still, the sight of the dark smudges under her eyes and the tearstreaks on her cheeks made him sigh inwardly, if only for an instant. Then he steeled himself.

"Wake up."

Lindsay nuzzled closer, then opened her eyes suddenly and rolled away from him almost as if she were frightened. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean—"

"To touch me? Never mind." His tone was caustic. "That's the least of your transgressions, Miss Raveneau. Get up now and get dressed. We have a very long day ahead of us. I mean to reach Exeter, at the very least, and I expect you to keep pace."

* * *

Coleraine continued to treat Lindsay with an icy courtesy that bordered on rudeness. Today, he did not ride ahead, leaving her to guess his route and catch up, but whenever her mare began to lag behind, he shot her a look of darkest rage. Each time they stopped, she stayed in the yard to water and rest the horses while he went into the inn. Ryan always saw to it that Lindsay had access to the facilities and enough food and water, but his stormy expression indicated that he was counting every minute she cost him, and Lindsay was too proud to allow that tally to grow beyond what was absolutely necessary. Besides, she only pretended to eat, stuffing the food into her pockets when he wasn't looking. The mere thought of food turned her stomach.

Over and over again, as her fatigue and despair mounted apace, she wondered what had possessed her to try Ryan's patience so sorely. He had forgiven her so many escapades and loved her so unreservedly that she had begun to think that his capitulation would be inevitable. She saw now that she had acted far too rashly. When she'd heard him speak to Able Barker about needing a groom, the smell of adventure had whetted her appetite almost irrationally. Lindsay couldn't bear the thought of being separated from Ryan, and this seemed like the perfect opportunity for them to share not only a fabulous adventure but also long hours alone, away from the prying eyes of her family and London society.

Only now did she realize, all too painfully, that her decision to proceed without consulting Ryan had been dangerously foolish. Every time she dared to glance at his proud, angry profile, tears stung her eyes. With his raven hair blowing in the wind and his buckskin-sheathed thighs flexing against Simon's sides, Ryan had never looked more splendid—or less attainable. As her own body weakened from sheer exhaustion, she began to believe that he was lost to her forever.

Lindsay's despair was such that she barely noticed the unseasonable chill in the air. By late afternoon, when they were a few miles outside of the village of Combe St. Nicholas, soot-colored clouds were racing across the sky. Pulling up his coat collar, Ryan instinctively looked back at Lindsay.

"Are you warm enough?" he called gruffly.

Although she felt chilled, Lindsay nodded, afraid to speak. Then, as the clouds overhead seemed to pause, swelling and darkening, a deafening clap of thunder sent both horses rearing back fearfully.

"Damn," muttered Ryan, "this is all I need." He looked over at Lindsay almost as if he assumed that she must be responsible. "We'll have to ride like hell for the village to beat the storm."

She nodded obediently and dug her knees into the mare's sides, and the horses and riders galloped over the darkening, hilly road. Raindrops began to spatter them, but Lindsay barely noticed. All she cared about was keeping pace with Ryan and Simon. Even when her hat blew off, freeing her hair, and the rain gradually soaked each strand, plastering them to her head and face, Lindsay refused to think of it. The rain intensified until it took all her concentration to keep Ryan and Simon in sight. Her clothes were soaked, the raindrops felt like needles against her face, and she was shivering from head to toe as she rode, yet she would have rather died than call out to Ryan.

Long minutes later, Ryan reined Simon in before a tiny alehouse called the Plough and Sail. Wiping his face with his fingers, he turned in the saddle to check on Lindsay. The mare was trotting up to them while her mistress rode with both arms wrapped around the horse's dappled neck. Rainwater streamed from Lindsay's hair and her half-closed eyes were glazed with fatigue and cold.