When the Splendor Falls (11 page)

Sadly, he watched as the other two pulled on their petticoats and then their gowns, which, not surprisingly, were far less elegant than the fair-haired one’s. Soon, they had hooked themselves inside the concealing folds of linen and muslin and propriety, their carefree abandon seeming to disappear along with their tender flesh. For several minutes, they seemed to be searching for the remaining articles of their clothing, because the dark-haired girl, who had disappeared somewhere behind the cart, held up a slipper with a cry of triumph.

Suddenly a shrill cry of terror reverberated across the meadow. The man instinctively reached for the rifle at his knee. Pulling it from the holster and cocking it, he had already taken aim, ready to pull the trigger, when he suddenly began to laugh softly.

The fair-haired young woman’s screams had turned into shrill, angry words. Out of one of the baskets, a harmless garden snake had slithered across the quilt, causing the fair one’s initial fright. When the dark-haired girl, who was obviously far more stouthearted than the others, had captured the snake and held it up for their perusal, the fair one’s voice had become piercing with her objections.

He was surprised to hear the laughter of the other two, who seemed interested in taking a closer look at the snake, but the fair-haired one refused, preferring to maintain a safe distance.

The danger past, especially when the dark-haired one had freed the frightened snake, the rider uncocked the rifle and slid it back into the leather scabbard hanging from his saddle. Far too quickly, they had loaded the baskets into the cart and folded up the quilt. With the pony hitched to the cart, and the fair-haired one and the dark-haired one settled inside, they began to cross the meadow, the mare and colt walking docilely beside their mistress as she guided the pony with a gentle yet firm hand. The shadows were lengthening and the shafts of sunlight slanting down through the trees had deepened to a burnished gold as the afternoon fled.

The rider’s gaze never left the cart’s progress across the meadow—or the beautiful young woman walking barefoot through the tall grasses, her unbound hair fiery with the touch of the sun, and crowned by a wreath of wildflowers. In the afternoon light, she was warm and golden, and he longed to reach out and touch her and know that she was real.

Far too soon for his peace of mind, the little caravan disappeared into the trees on the far side of the meadow. Leaving the shadowy confines of the glade where he’d remained hidden from view, the rider, with a packhorse following on a lead behind, crossed the meadow—silent and empty now that the three young belles had left. Despite himself, the rider began to wonder if it had all been an illusion, especially as he reached the place where the vision of loveliness had stood brushing her hair.

“Thirsty, boy?” the rider asked softly, patting the big bay as they neared the stream that had first attracted him to this enchanted meadow.

Suddenly, the rider grinned, for his hawkish search of the area had rewarded him. Within arm’s reach, caught on a bramble bush was a single stocking, the finely spun silk of the palest shade of blue. Holding it to his face, he breathed deeply of the sweet scent of lavender and roses, careful not to snag the delicate material on the rough leather of his gloves.

Hers.
She was real, he thought, remembering her walking barefoot across the meadow. He stared down at the prize with as much pleasure as any conqueror of old would have when claiming the spoils of victory.

Dismounting, he walked beneath the canopy of branches, the bay following close behind. The rider moved quickly, and silently, his steps light as he crossed the bank where the three young women had waded into the stream. His gaze missed nothing of his surroundings: not the footprints in the muddied bank, the grass still matted down where the quilt had been spread beneath the tree, the wheel tracks from the cart, or on the far bank, the underbrush and trees that crowded close and would offer cover to someone.

Remaining on the bank for a moment longer, he stared down at the blue stocking he still held gently in his gloved hands. As if becoming aware of his own attire, and the dirt and sweat clinging to him, he eyed the cool waters that only a short while ago had lapped so sensuously around his vision’s hips.

“Come on, fellas, drink up,” the rider said, allowing his horses onto the bank.

Throwing the blue silk stocking over his shoulder, he began to unsaddle the bay, tossing his gear near the base of the tree, but keeping the rifle close at hand. The mounds of supplies followed, relieving the packhorse of his load as the rider allowed the two to graze on the tender, sweet grass of the meadow.

Spying several blackberries that had spilled from the pails, the man picked them up. They were sweet and juicy. The delicate scent of lavender reminded him of the stocking and he carefully folded it up and placed it in one of the canvas-covered bundles. Quickly shedding his clothes beneath the tree, he walked to the stream and waded into the cool waters.

The man began to feel the tired ache of his muscles fade as the water soothed his flesh. Lying on his back, he allowed himself to drift as he stared up at the blue sky, his thoughts on the young woman with the unbound chestnut hair, of her floating beside him, her soft body touching his as her lips came close…

The chestnut-haired beauty of his dreams, the long strands of her unbound hair now twisted into a prim braid that hung down her back, was riding back through the glade toward the meadow, the retrieval of her blue silk stocking the only thing on her mind.

Leigh lightly touched her bare heel to the mare’s flank to hurry her along the shadow-dappled path, thinking of Blythe and Julia waiting impatiently for her back on the road. She had only discovered her stocking missing after they’d reached the road and she had stopped to put on her stockings and slippers.

It was Adam Merton Braedon’s fault, Leigh thought, a glint in her eye as she thought of evening the score with him. If he hadn’t planted that snake in their picnic basket, she wouldn’t have scattered her clothing, losing her blue silk stocking when Julia had screamed. And that he was behind the prank, she had no doubts, although Blythe had seemed a bit too innocently shocked, for seldom had she seen a snake with a ribbon tied around its middle. And Adam had returned to Royal Bay just last evening, well in time to try his hand at mischief. Adam could not have borne the disappointment had they thought the snake had accidentally slithered into their picnic basket. He took great pride in his pranks—and in taking credit for them. Indeed, he might even have been hiding in the trees during the whole episode, and laughing uproariously, just as Julia had predicted earlier, Leigh realized, glancing around.

It was then that Leigh became aware of the strange horses grazing in the meadow. Halting Damascena beneath the trees, she hopped down, leaving the mare waiting patiently beneath the branches.

Moving cautiously, Leigh approached the two horses. Although the one horse, the bay, was unknown to her, its bloodlines were not. It was from the stables at Royal Bay. She would recognize one of their bays anywhere. And from its color and blaze on its forehead, she’d bet its dam was Royal Blaze.

Curious, a suspicion gaining strength in her mind, Leigh kept to the edge of the meadow, just within cover of the trees, as she approached the stream. Reaching the blackberry brambles, where only an hour earlier she’d been picking berries, she halted, staring in amazement at the stream, where not more than half an hour past, she’d been swimming.

As she watched, a dark golden head disappeared beneath the surface of the deep pool near the opposite bank. Reappearing, the man gave a shake to his longish hair and flexed his wide shoulders, as if banishing the tiredness from his body.

With a widening smile on her face, Leigh carefully backed away, moving stealthily along the outside of the brambles, where she wouldn’t be seen from the stream.

She had recognized that golden head, and Adam was in for a big surprise, she vowed as she neared the tree where they’d had their picnic. Beneath the tree, in an untidy pile, were Adam’s clothes. Cupping her hand across her mouth to smother her laughter, Leigh hurried over and quickly gathered up his clothing. Keeping watch on the stream, where Adam was still bathing with his back to her, Leigh carefully backed away, hurrying back to her hiding place in the blackberry brambles.

Glancing down at the clothing held close against her rapidly beating breast, Leigh knew an instant of surprise as she stared at the buckskin. Odd, she’d never seen Adam wearing anything so strange. In fact, it was hard to imagine Adam looking anything but the well-dressed gentleman. He had always taken pleasure in the fashionable cut of his trousers and the mother-of-pearl studs for his fine linen shirts. And the last time she’d seen Adam, he’d played continually with the fancy fob chain dangling from his silk waistcoat. No, this did not seem like Adam at all, Leigh began to doubt, looking down at the rough buckskin beneath her hand. Of course, Adam had been away, and now fancied himself a seafaring man, so she should not be surprised to find Adam wearing such clothing, she reassured herself.

Reaching the blackberry brambles, Leigh suddenly froze, the sound of a twig snapping beneath her foot echoing like a gunshot in the quiet glade. Leigh crouched down, unwilling to have Adam discover the prank too soon. It would hardly be amusing to be caught in the act of stealing his clothes. How much more amusing to have him believe that a common thief had sneaked into the bushes with his finery, Leigh chuckled, determined to win the hand and have the pleasure of surprising Adam for once.

She would have her revenge against him for planting that snake in their basket, Leigh vowed, prepared to savor it as she peered through the leafy branches that effectively hid her from view—her gaze seeking the dark golden head of her enemy.

Leigh Alexandra Travers gasped. Never had she been so surprised in her life, for the man staring intently at her hiding place was
not
Adam Merton Braedon—the man was a complete stranger!

Leigh swallowed hard. She couldn’t understand her mistake, she thought in disbelief. She would have sworn it had been Adam swimming in the stream. The sun shining down on this stranger’s head had turned the dark gold of his hair to the same burnished shade as Adam’s, but it also made the hawkish-featured face all the more forbidding. Never had she seen such a harsh and unforgiving expression. With a sinking of her heart, Leigh wondered how she could ever explain her actions. He might even believe she was a thief who had been rummaging through his clothes in search of valuables.

Suddenly there seemed incredible strength and power in his muscular arms as he swam ever closer toward shore, his narrowed gaze seeming to penetrate through the brambles to capture her where she crouched like a frightened rabbit cowering beneath a hawk’s shadow.

Like that rabbit, Leigh was too frightened to move. If she did, then he would surely spot her, for she doubted he could really see through the thicket to where she remained safely hidden, she comforted herself with the thought. However, if he came out of the water…

Leigh closed her eyes in growing embarrassment before opening them again to look down at the buckskin breeches she clutched so tightly. Leigh risked another glance at the pool, her worst fears realized as she watched the stranger slowly wade from the pool. Water was dripping from his broad-shouldered frame, down the bronzed chest rippling with muscle, where the golden hairs were thickly matted, to trickle along the tapering leanness of his naked hips, before disappearing into the water that was now low enough on his body to reveal his bold maleness and thighs hard and sinewy.

Whether she revealed herself or not, she couldn’t remain where she was any longer, Leigh decided, suddenly determined not to wait another second before fleeing. Fearing more for her threatened modesty than her safety, she found the courage to move.

But before Leigh revealed herself to the searching gaze of the man, a loud crashing noise sounded directly behind her, causing her to glance around in fear. Losing her balance, Leigh fell to her knees as Capitaine raced out of the trees behind her, his playful neighing masking her cry of surprise. Intent on being naughty, he galloped past, his tail waving like a streamer, his hooves sending clumps of dirt flying. Breaking through the bushes, he startled the man as much as he had Leigh only seconds before.

But Leigh did not wait a second longer, and still under cover of the brambles, she crawled through them, then raced as fast as she could into the safety of the trees while Capitaine kept the man’s attention turned away. Praying the man was not in hot pursuit, she nevertheless ran faster than ever, oblivious of the branches and tangles slapping against her face and grabbing at her ankles, and forgetting about the buckskins she still held in her arms.

Reaching the tree where she’d left Damascena, Leigh’s skirt caught on a bramble; losing precious seconds, she freed the snagged material, then pulled Damascena after her through the trees. Halfway down the forest path, Leigh stopped and quickly mounted, the buckskins nearly dropping from her grasp as she pulled herself onto the mare’s back.

Only then did Leigh rather belatedly realize that she still had the man’s clothes. She could hardly ride up to Blythe and Julia with a pair of man’s buckskin breeches in her possession. With considerable reservation, she quickly stuffed the buckskin breeches and shirt beneath her skirts, tucking them securely between her legs and the mare. At least she wouldn’t have to answer any embarrassing questions from Blythe and Julia. She would return the clothes to the pool the first opportunity she had, Leigh promised herself. She was no thief, despite what the man might be thinking right now. Of course, from the condition of the buckskins, he did not look as if he were a man of great wealth. How could she possibly steal anything from him—except his clothes? He must be furious, especially if he had nothing else to wear, and it was beginning to grow chilly. With an uncontrollable smile beginning to curve her lips, Leigh sadly thought of the man’s predicament.