The Willows (10 page)

A horse ran on the path up ahead.
Startled, Gwen turned in the direction of the sound. Was someone
already living here? Giving no thought to her isolated position, or
to the facts that no one knew where she’d gone, she ran forward.
What an accomplishment it would be, should she returned to the
Willows is not only a plan to save it, but with the first tenant,
signed and ready to farm.

She stopped, though, at the site of the
huge, black stallion.

It was a magnificent beast, its sleek
coats glistening in the waning son, as it waited outside the last
of the cabins, the one backed up to the Bayou. No rope tethered the
animal; it just stood there, stopping the ground, as if to summon
someone from inside the ramshackle, vine-covered shack. As the
horse stomped again, this time in greeting, a dark-clad man in her
from the door.

With alarm, she recognized the stranger
from the docks. Everywhere she went of late, seem to put in an
appearance. “What are you doing here?” She was startled into saying
as she marched towards them.

He paused on the battered porch, as if
he found her presence no less unsettling. “We really must stop
meeting like this, my lady, “he said with a half-grin., “Or people
will begin to talk.”

“
Meeting?” How dare he
suggest that go anywhere to see him. “Coming upon you was not my
design, sir. Indeed, I’m sure the local authorities want to know
what the likes of you are doing on my land.

The grin vanished; scowled as he
descended steps. “That, Miss McCloud, is none of your
business.”

“
It most certainly is my
business,” she said to his back as followed him to his horse. “I
demand to know why you are following me.”

“
Following you?” He turned,
eyeing her with disdain. “I’ve always known you were selfish and
shallow, but your vanity, milady, quite astounds me.”

Her chest heaved with indignation.
“What does a man like you know anything about me, unless you were
playing my shadow?”

“
Sorry to disappoint you,
but even the likes of me has a past, Princess.” He gestured back at
the cabin. “You obviously forgotten, but once I lived in that
building.”

It was not on her tongue to call him a
liar, but a memory intruded. As children, there had always been a
dark-haired boy, a sharecropper’s child, who watch them as they
played. Even then, something in his intensity had touched her,
stirring up questions she dared not face.

“
You’re that boy,” she half-
whispered. “You’re Michael Williams.”

He dipped down into a mock bow. “In the
flesh. How gracious of you to finally remember.”

She blushed, not missing the emphasis
on “finally.’ He was right, of course; she should have recognized
him, and probably would have, had he not always left her feeling so
flustered. “Now that you’re done wallowing in nostalgia,” he told
him stiffly, “you’d best be off our land, for I tell my daddy. He’s
not overly partial to trespassers. Nor is he particularly kind to
them.”

“
As I recall, your father
isn’t particularly kind to anyone.” He turned back to his horse and
mounted. “But then, there is really no need to go running to him,
Gwen, I’ve no intention, and even less desire, spend a moment more
than necessary on sacred McCloud land.”

“
Then what are you here?
What do you mean to do?”

“
Do I make you nervous?” He
looked down from the saddle, and with an awful tingle, she thought
of his kiss. “Sorry, my lady, but my being here has nothing to do
with you. I learned my lesson years ago. As you and your friends
pointed out, my kind must never reach too high.”

Gwen winced. “You can’t hold me
responsible for some hasty words spoken as a child,” said stiffly.
“I never meant it the way it sounded.”

He gazed at her for a moment, then
shook his head. “Maybe, I can’t blame the child, but aren’t you
still looking down your nose at me?”

“
I am not-I I would
not-“realizing she was beginning to sputter, Gwen set her lips into
a tight line. “You have no rights thus. You owe me-that is, I
expect-don’t look at me like that. I am entitled to more
respect.”

He towered over her, gazing down with
an anger of his own. “No one is entitled my respect unless they
earn it. Search in your conscience, Miss McCloud. If there is any
debt here, you should find that you are the one who owes
me.”

“
You’re talking about a
childhood incident-“

“
You made a promise,” he
said harshly, “and you broke it. So stop yelling out accusations
and making demands, or you might provoke me into collecting on that
debt.”

Spurring the horse, he rode off,
leaving Gwen stare after him.

Frowning as she turned back to the
house, she tried to bury the unpleasant memory of that childhood
promise in her mind, but like all the other pleasantries she’d
faced since returning to the Willows, it’s would not easily go
away.

Was it merely a silly broken promise
that brought Michael Williams back here? She cannot help but
wonder.

And worse, just how did he expect to be
repaid?

Chapter 5

Pacing across the room, Gwen waited for
dinner. With neither wardrobe nor maid, her toilette had been quick
and simple she’d pulled back her hair in a bun and donned an old,
childish frock she did found in the armoire. The effect was on
stylish, snug, smelling faintly of camphor, but she had little
thoughts spare for her appearance, not while her mind wondered with
unwelcome memories of the stranger.

No, no longer a stranger-she knew now
his name.

She wonder why she’d taken so long to
recognize him; she should have known him instantly by his
intensity, his hostility. “Search in your conscience” he had said,
as if expecting her to recall every last detail. For pity’s sake,
it was a childhood incident; was it time to forgive and
forget?

Yet Gwen found herself remembering the
striking boy he had been, the dark angel who had watched from a
distance as she and the neighboring children played Camelot.
Perhaps it had been more than merely noticing the quiet Creole,
with his sculpted features and arrogant stance-even then, as young
as they were, she’d felt drawn to him some indefinable
way.

Ignore him, Lance had urged the first
time he’d caught her staring at Michael; he is just the insolent
offspring of a poor farmer.

Gwen had been disappointed, for however
intriguing she might find him, Michael was what daddy would call
common trash. A man was worth nothing, John maintained, if he did
not have land of his own. As Lance pointed out, she would risk
angering her father if she did not ignore the boy.

Yet Lance could be entirely too full of
himself, and she saw how her looking at Michael annoyed him.
Returning his stairs became a game, until she grew so bold she
began smiling at him. He never smiled back, but she was aware of
how his eyes followed them as they played.

Then one day she and Lance had an
argument, and to spite him, she invited Michael to join their game.
Outraged, insisting the newcomer must we a lesser vassal, Lance
proceeded to give Michael all the least popular tasks. Michael
accomplished them, and so well, when announced that her new vassal
could compete for his spurs on the following day.

Spite the impossible obstacles Lance
set in his way, wrapped the past each new test with athletic grace.
Furious, Lance demanded that she refuse to knight this stranger,
but she quickly reminded him that she was Queen. When she turned to
go, he’d pushed her from behind, knocking her to the
ground.

A hand was offered to help her up, but
to her surprise, it was Michael, who had come to her rescue.
Michael, who challenged Lance in defense of her honor.

Lance merely laughed in his face. He
was not, said scornfully, about to dirty his hands on the common
trash.

In his quiet, yet no less commanding
tone, Michael cited their rule that Lance must answer all
challenges. The winner, by Royal decree, would be named
King.

Michael turn to Gwen then, his dark
eyes questioning. She could hear Lance sputtering, demanding she
refuse, but she stubbornly nodded her approval. She wanted to
punish Lance for pushing her, to teach him cannot always have his
way. Then, too. She rather like the thought of two men fighting for
her favor.

“
You promise that if I win,
I shall be named King?” Michael pressed, his gaze never leaving
hers. “On your word of honor?”

Seeing only how angry that made Lance,
she nodded again. It was the collective gasp from her friends that
snapped her back to her senses.

Too late. Michael and Lance were
already squaring off, brandishing sticks as swords. Her friends
gathered near to insist that she’d cheer for Lance. Consider the
consequences, they warned, should this intruder win. Crown some
nobody King, and their brave, noble Lancelot would go off in a
huff. Then, who would protect their kingdom? A former, this obvious
adventurer? Why, everything they had ever known would change, and
so drastically, it would no longer be Camelot at all.

Gwen had not considered this, for in
her heart, she had never dreamed Lance could lose. He had always
been her hero; Michael, with his dark close and looks, must
therefore be the villain, who had inevitably lose.

Yet it was Lance who had stick knocked
away as Michael tossed his aside and agreed to use fists as
weapons, her misgivings grew, became fear. If he won, what then?
She and Lance were meant to rule this kingdom and their future
could be destroyed.

Lance went down in a flurry of blows,
soundly defeated. Stunned, her friends shouted in instant denial.
Let some stranger-this peasant-be king? It was unheard of,
outrageous. Gwen must send the imposter away.

Michael strode over, going to one knee
before her, taking her hand as he offered his victory in her honor.
Knowing of her friends watching, Gwen thanked him for restoring her
good name and handed him a shiny apple in reward.

The Apple was not necessary, he told
her, his dark eyes clouding with confusion. Being around King was
all the reward he sought.

As the other children left, Michael
stiffened, his grasp tightening so on her hands that she had to
gate it free. Lance scrambled up from the dirt, bruised and
bloodied from the fight, spitting out that Michael must even lost
fantasy if he thought his kind could ever be more than a dirty
farmer.

Rising slowly, Michael returned that
Apple. “Is this your decision?” He asked quietly, his dark eyes
locked on hers. And when she nodded, he looked at her with such
disappointment that for it instead she seemed to shrivel. “A true
queen keeps her word,” he said, his gaze going cold with distaste.
“She never makes promises she does not intend to keep.”

He had marched off then, and that was
the last time she had seen of him. After a time, it became easier
to put the unpleasant scene out of her mind, for Michael never
again came to watch them play, and soon after, daddy had dismissed
all attendance from the Willows.

Only now here was Rafe again, stirring
up a pass she’d as soon put behind her, tossing out insults like
“spoiled” and “shallow.”

And don’t forget “vain,” he thought
with a blush.

Had it truly been vanity, thinking he
might be following her? For the life of her, she could think of no
legitimate reason for him to be on McCloud land. She might know
little about the man, but she’d bet her own share of the Willows
that Michael wasn’t the sort to mess in nostalgia.

Hearing the dinner bill, she rose from
the dusty window cushion, annoyed to find herself thinking about
the man again. Haven’t her homecoming been sending enough, without
letting some arrogance farmer spoil her dinner?

Going down the parlor, she managed to
endear that out of boring conversation only by imagining the food
packed in their servants’ gumbo. When needed at less ran out of
boring things to say, when Lance and uncle Jervis ran out of
alcohol, Homer announced dinner, Gwen rose quickly, her taste buds
already watering.

But as she entered the dining room on
Lance’s arm, the vision in mind did not match reality. Gone was the
elegant oak set her mother had installed-the server, the dry sink,
the huge china cabinet. In its place, the new pine table appeared
far smaller than its actual size. Its battered surface should had
been covered, but the linen, like the china and silver, must have
already made its way to the pawnshop.

Uncle Jervis headed towards the chair
at the foot of the table, leaving the one at the head empty, a
jarring reminder of her father’s absence. As they sat, Gwen could
hear the faint echo of chairs scraping the under carpet floor. In
this cavern of a room, she feared, conversation would prove even
more uncomfortable than it had in the parlor.

Although more determined to enjoy her
gumbo, she was appalled to find an inedible substance on her plate.
What seemed to be dried beef had been drowned in a week cream sauce
and smothered with peas, all of which had been dumped on a slice of
stiff bread. “What is this?” She asked, unable to keep the dismay
out of her tone.