The Wild Child (9 page)

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. And 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.

Then, as a voice shouted in horror behind her, she stepped into the air.

“Meriel! Meriel!” Heart pounding in terror, Dominic bolted up the stone steps three at a time, shouting as if his voice could halt her suicidal plunge from the wall.

He raced to the spot where she had jumped and peered over the battlements. The river was far, far below. Surely no one could survive such a fall, but still he scanned the waters, hoping for some sign of her. Nothing.

He swayed dizzily, wanting to vomit, as he fought the impulse to dive in after her. Not to save her—it was too late for that—but as penance for having driven an innocent to a horrific end. Meriel had lived here in peace for many years, until he arrived and destroyed whatever fragile restraints guarded her mind. He had begun to think of her as a fairly normal girl who merely had some odd quirks. Because of his stupidity, his lack of understanding, her broken body was being battered by the icy currents far below. Then a flicker of movement caught his eye to his right, at the far end of the castle wall. He turned his head and stared. Green fabric? Wondering if his imagination was playing tricks, he leaned out the embrasure and looked straight down.

He’d thought the castle wall stood right on the cliff edge, but in this area there were several feet of margin between wall and cliff. Directly below him, centuries of gentle decay had caused earth and greenery to accumulate into a narrow shelf that rose to within eight or ten feet of the bottom of the embrasure. If someone dropped down to that shelf, it would be easy to edge along the base of the castle wall to safety.

He squinted and saw a faint impression of small bare feet in the damp soil. She was safe. Safe. He sagged against the wall, weak with relief.

Relief was swiftly followed by outrage. The little witch had deliberately tried to scare him out of his wits!

He was as sure of that fact as he was of his own name. Maybe she was punishing him for his thoughtless attempt to take her outside Warfield.

Too angry for caution, he stepped from the wall and dropped onto the ledge. He landed hard, and the earth crumbled under his weight. He began to fall, and for a horrifying instant he knew he was doomed. A wild swing of his hand caught a stout, wind-shaped shrub barely in time to save him. He clung to the gnarled branches, shaking. Meriel had probably landed more lightly, and she must know this castle like the back of her hand. Even so her trick had been damned dangerous. Maybe she didn’t understand the peril of what she had done. He simply had no idea how that crooked little mind worked. When his nerves had recovered, he flattened his back against the wall and began to inch his way along the cliff after Meriel. She’d had her fun, but by God, if she thought she’d lost him, she had better think again.

Chapter 9

Concealed in a clump of shrubs by the faint depression of the old moat, Meriel waited without impatience for Renbourne to appear. With most of her attention on the main gate, she almost missed seeing him emerge from behind the castle wall by the same route she had used. Foolish man! He could have got himself killed trying to follow her.

Still, he was clever to realize so quickly what she had done. Once she’d played the same trick on a disagreeable physician who had been dogging her steps to observe her madness. The dolt came tearing out of the castle, screaming that the river must be dredged. The ladies had sent him away after that incident.

Expression furious, Renbourne stormed down the hill toward her hiding place. Smiling, she slid away, taking care to stay out of his sight.

At the base of the hill she entered a broad belt of woodlands, since the fog wouldn’t offer concealment much longer. Eventually she’d work her way back to the house for some food, but for now she was content to follow a favorite path through the woods, enjoying the chorus of birdsong. She was in the most densely treed area when she heard another sound, low and filled with pain. She paused, frowning. The sound came again, a rough noise between a growl and a whimper. Somewhere nearby an animal was suffering.