That simple gesture made her look exquisite in Tray’s dark gray eyes. He slanted a glance toward Thomas, realizing the old man was just as taken with Alyssa’s natural beauty as he was. What man wouldn’t be? he thought dourly, reaching out to take her gloved hand. Maura made a small curtsy and walked quickly back to the manor.
“My lady, you shame the very beauty of the land surrounding you,” Tray murmured.
Alyssa smiled, lifting her chin, giving Tray’s hand a small squeeze of welcome. Nothing could ruin this day for them. “Tell me, are Welshmen as tripping with their tongues as Irishmen?”
Tray smiled and gestured for Thomas to bring the small gray Welsh cob gelding to them. “I don’t know. You tell me. I’m sure many young men praised your unparalleled beauty. Now, if you’ll be patient with me, I’m going to lift you into the sidesaddle.”
“Sidesaddle?” Alyssa asked, disappointment in her voice.
“Of course.”
“But—I mean, I usually rode bareback…like a man,” she admitted hesitantly.
Tray threw back his head and laughed deeply. “I might have known! You wear a man’s pants and ride like one, too, I’ll wager.” He tried to swallow his mirth, realizing she was embarrassed. “Have you ever ridden sidesaddle?”
“A few times, my lord. Enough to know I won’t make a spectacle of myself by falling off,” she charged coolly, a glimmer of feistiness in her eyes.
Tray slid his hands around her narrow waist and her hands instinctively came to rest on his powerful forearms. As he lifted her into the awaiting saddle, Tray caught the faint scent of her sweet fragrance, his senses reeling with the closeness to her. He gently settled her into the saddle, keeping a hand on her hip until he was satisfied she would not fall.
“Very good,” he praised, admiring how straight Alyssa sat, her small shoulders proudly squared. She possessed a natural horseman’s posture, he thought, placing the leather reins in her hands. Tray mounted the mettlesome Rasheed, who now danced beneath him. He spoke quietly to his Arab, and instantly the blood bay arched his magnificent neck, head perpendicular to the ground, and became still. “I’ve attached a halter lead to Old Ned, just in case he decides to take charge.”
Alyssa leaned down, patting the small gray horse with obvious affection. “Old Ned and I will become the best of friends,” she promised. “He won’t run away with me.”
But I might, Tray thought, feeling that dazzling smile of hers nearly make his heart explode within his chest. “Be patient with me this one time, Aly. Being blind may cause some problems you’ve not been challenged with as yet. If you’re going to get dizzy, I want to be an arm’s reach away to stop you from falling.”
Alyssa nodded, prepared to begin their ride. “I’m ready, my lord.”
He warmed to the way she teasingly called him by his title. “Very well, let’s start off at an easy walk, shall we?”
Just the movement of a horse beneath her once again brought a flush of joy to Alyssa’s cheeks. As Tray guided the spirited Rasheed toward the snow-dotted upper pastures that gently climbed up toward the rocky mountains in the distance, he saw another new and intoxicating facet to Alyssa. From the moment they had begun the ride, she had opened up to him, spinning story after story of her youthful days in Ireland. He discovered a great deal about the young Alyssa, which only made the woman now riding scant inches from him, occasionally touching his highly polished boot with her own, enthrall him that much more. Her laughter was like the sweet summer wind; her eyes the color of the forests he loved so much. She rode in graceful concert with the horse she was astride. Tray had never laughed so much or so often as he did in that one hour. And, Alyssa shyly admitted on their way back to Shadowhawk, neither had she.
“Please, Tray, can we trot? I yearn to go at more than just a walk! Haven’t I proven to be good as my word? No dizzy spells, no loss of balance?” She reached out, her fingers coming in contact with his muscular thigh and brushing the fabric of his buckskin riding breeches. She instantly withdrew her hand, mortified by her blunder.
Her touch had been anything but embarrassing to Tray. The lightness of her fingertips grazing his hard, muscled thigh tightened his entire body into painful longing for her. He savagely quelled his desires, responding to her request as if nothing had happened.
“We’re about five minutes away from the stable. Think you can trot that far?”
“Of course!” she cried, nudging Old Ned with her heel.
They arrived at the stable breathless with laughter. Tray dismounted and came around to Alyssa. The laughter died on her lips as he spanned her waist with his large hands and lifted her free of the saddle. As he gently lowered her to the ground, her breasts lightly brushed against his chest. Old Ned sidled toward them unexpectedly when Rasheed turned, and to keep Alyssa out of the melee, Tray set her down between him and the stable wall, briefly pinning her body intimately against his. He saw the smile die in her eyes and her lips suddenly part in silent protest. Tray flushed beneath his tanned features. Unable to see what had occurred, Alyssa clearly thought he had done it on purpose.
“I—I think it’s time I go in,” she whispered, her hands resting flatly against his broad chest.
Tray cursed silently and stepped away, breaking contact with her. “Of course.” His voice was curt and cool. Damn!
Stablemaster Thomas appeared and he glowered at the man. “Take her inside, Thomas.”
“Yes, my lord.”
Tray stood there, watching Thomas guide Alyssa back toward the steps of Shadowhawk, seething with inner rage. Well? Hadn’t he wanted to press her body next to his? Of course he did. A hundred times before. It hurt him to see the sudden terror in Alyssa’s eyes as she had brushed against his chest. She was beginning to trust him, but not as a man. Just as some neutered friend who wouldn’t harm her. He raked his fingers through his dark hair, throwing the reins of the horses to the awaiting stable boy, and limped away, embroiled within his own fury. He wanted to be more than a friend to her; he wanted to become man to her woman, love her, care for her and cherish her as she so richly deserved.
* * *
Alyssa awoke alert and refreshed after her daily nap. Stretching languidly, she rummaged around and found her velvet dressing robe, then slipped it on. The melodic strains of a harp being lovingly played came from the blue drawing room. She sat on the bed, listening to the pleasant alto sounds. She quickly rose, tightening the sash at her waist, and began counting her steps toward the other chamber. As usual, the door was partially open and Alyssa quietly stepped around it.
Tray sensed Aly’s presence, his hand freezing on the strings of the medium-sized harp that rested against his shoulder. He gently placed the instrument aside and rose.
“Did I awaken you with my poor playing?”
Alyssa shook her head, a tentative smile on her lips. Her hair was unbound and soft, untamed tendrils framed her face. “No,” she whispered softly, “I had just awakened. That was beautiful, Tray. Why didn’t you tell me you played the Irish harp?”
He smiled at her, thinking how like a sleepy child she appeared; all her defenses were down and vulnerability showed in her drowsy features. He picked up her hand, placing it on his arm, and guided her to the settee near the fire.
“You never asked,” he told her, ringing for a servant.
Alyssa pouted, not realizing how provocative she appeared. “Must I tear all these wonderful talents from you? Why can’t you be like other men and brag about your accomplishments?”
Tray rested his arm against the mantel, leisurely exploring her with his eyes. “I may have been raised by an Irishwoman, but I didn’t take on all the traits of the Irish. At least not the gift of boasting,” he amended, smiling.
Alyssa pulled up her legs and tucked them beneath her, relaxing on the settee. “Humbleness is a Welsh trait?”
“We let our abilities tell others what we are and are not,” Tray agreed soberly. He lifted his head as Craddock appeared at the door.
Alyssa remembered her promise to Tray to try to regain her lost weight. “I’ll have whatever Tray had,” she told Craddock.
Craddock’s grizzled features looked stunned for a moment. “Miss Alyssa, he ate enough for a horse!”
“Then give her a cob’s portion,” Tray said, suppressing a smile.
She clapped her hands, collapsing into a fit of laughter after Craddock bowed and left. “Is that what I am to you? A lowly cob, useful only for working?”
“No. You’re small, barely one-third of me. Why do you think I call you little one?” he taunted.
Shrugging shyly, Alyssa folded her hands in her lap. “Is that also Welsh? Pet names for everyone? You name your horses. You give me names.”
“Be happy I’ve given you pleasant names.”
Her smile broadened. “I truly missed you, Tray.”
The admission caught him off guard and he sobered. Alyssa was so different from cultured Englishwomen, who were taught to coyly hide behind their fans and bat their kohl-lined eyes at men, playing conversational games that were supposed to ensnare them in their elegantly laid traps. In the past, Tray had coolly made the proper replies, the proper gestures, but never encouraged these flirtations. Yet he found Alyssa’s frankness dangerously alluring.
“Didn’t your father ever teach you never to be blatantly honest with a man?” he baited gently.
Her expression mirrored her bewilderment, artless in feminine wiles as she lifted her chin toward him. “My father taught us that truth and honesty were to be worshiped next to God. If I have offended you—”
“No, sweet Aly, you’ve not offended me. You’ve complimented me, and I feel a bit guilty for teasing you because of your forthrightness. Am I forgiven?”
She thought about it for a moment, puckering her lips. Then Alyssa’s face blossomed into a forgiving smile. “Only if you promise to take me riding again tomorrow!”
“If the weather remains mild,” Tray countered.
“And I have one more request of you, my lord.”
He raised one eyebrow. “I’d give you anything you wanted, little one. What is it?”
She was stunned by the sincerity in his voice. Making a small gesture with her hand she asked, “Will you play the harp once more? It brings back so many wonderful memories of Ireland. And of my family….”
Chapter Eight
Vaughn brooded as the gray stone of Shadowhawk came into view. The coach ride had been long and tiring. He could have stayed in London and taken up an invitation to several parties and a ball that would take place this coming weekend if it hadn’t been for Tray’s urgent request that he return to Shadowhawk with all possible speed.
He absently stroked his carefully groomed blond mustache between his manicured fingers. Today he was dressed like any well-bred gentleman, in highly polished black boots, fashionably tailored gray trousers and matching coat, with a white silk shirt underneath. It was a relief to get out of the itching, poorly fitting officer’s uniform he had to wear all the time. Well, soon his stint in the army would be up and he could return to his favorite pastimes. His brows drew together as Shadowhawk loomed ever closer before him. Let Tray play farmer. He would simply spend the money he made in the London gambling salons on ladies, the opera and his greatest joy, horse racing.
The coach came to a slow halt, the clatter of horses’ hooves sounding sharply against the cobblestones. The late morning was cloudless and exceedingly sunny, making Vaughn squint as he stepped lightly from the coach. Pursing his full, sensual lips, he hoped his stay at Shadowhawk would be brief. He couldn’t stomach Tray for long.
Craddock opened the door for him. “Welcome, Master Trayhern.”
“Where’s Tray? I don’t have much time and I want to get this over with.”
The Welsh butler bowed deeply, keeping his face expressionless. “Lord Trayhern is in the blue drawing room. I can show you—”
Vaughn flipped his gloves and hat to the butler. “That won’t be necessary. I’ll find my own way.”
“As you wish, Master Vaughn.”
It had been nearly a year since he had last been to Shadowhawk. Vaughn strode down the wide hallway, magnificent in his carriage, his broad shoulders drawn back in pride. Halfway down the carpeted hall, he slowed, listening. The soft strains of a harp being played brought him to a halt. He turned and gripped the brass doorknob and pushed the door open.
Alyssa looked up from playing the harp. Tray had encouraged her to try her hand at the instrument, giving her a lesson each morning. Thinking that he had returned from being called to the stable, she smiled.
“I don’t think my musical ability will ever match yours.” She gently set the harp back down.
Vaughn’s eyes narrowed. He shut the door, staring across the room at the woman who sat elegantly with the harp. She looked familiar, and yet…He cocked his head. Didn’t she see him? God knew, she had the most beautiful green eyes he’d ever encountered. Why did she look so familiar?
“Tray?”
Alyssa heard movement and tilted her head, puzzled. Tray always announced himself whenever he came into a room so he wouldn’t startle her, as did the servants. Again, she heard someone walking closer to her. She reached out, fingers clutching the harp for support, and rose. “Tray? Is that you?”
Vaughn halted, disbelief etched in his widening eyes. He stood frozen in the center of the room, staring at her. Staring at Alyssa Kyle, daughter of Colin Kyle, the traitor. His lips drew back from his teeth, his snarl coming out low and filled with hatred.
“You…I thought I’d gotten rid of you.”
That voice! Alyssa gasped in terror, her clenched hands flying to her breasts. She took a step back, bumping the chair. All the horror that had taken place aboard the ship sprang to vivid life in her mind. This was the same man who had humiliated and raped her on the bloody deck of that wretched vessel. Her mind whirled in confusion. Who was he? How did he get here? Tray hadn’t told her they were expecting anyone, and yet she had heard the coach draw up outside. Lips parted, Alyssa took another half step back, knocking over the chair. “No!” she whispered rawly, holding out her hand. “No, stay away from me!”
Vaughn cursed loudly and moved with lightning-quick reflexes to cover the distance between them. Then, as he watched her flail awkwardly to escape him, he suddenly realized she was blind. A ribbon of satisfaction soared through him. Good! The Irish bitch deserved it.
As he reached out to capture her outstretched arm, his anger grew tenfold. What was this woman doing here, dressed in English finery, looking like the mistress of Shadowhawk? His fingers wrapped cruelly around Alyssa’s slender wrist and he jerked her toward him. Vaughn knew without a doubt that this was Tray’s doing. Damn the bastard! He was harboring a known traitor! A criminal to the Crown! Well, he had gone too far this time. Too far!
Alyssa whimpered as the bruising force of her assailant’s fingers gripped her wrist. She remembered his strength, the entire rape, the pain. Her unbound hair flew around her shoulders as he savagely yanked her to him, her breasts colliding against his solid chest. A strangled cry was choked from her as she fought to free herself.
“No, you don’t,” Vaughn breathed, a grin coming to his mouth. “Struggle all you want, whore, but you aren’t going to get away from me again. You’re going to Newgate, where you’ll hang alongside that bastard father of yours.”
The world exploded around her. Alyssa felt herself being wrenched away from her enemy and she lost her balance, falling to the carpeted floor. The growl of Tray’s voice broke through her terror.
“Get away from her.” Tray positioned himself between Vaughn and Alyssa, breathing hard.
Vaughn glared at him. “Harboring criminals now, brother?” he snarled.
Tray’s eyes narrowed dangerously. “The only criminal here is you.” He took
an ominous step forward. “Touch her, and I’ll make sure you won’t again.”
“You’re a traitor, a traitor to England.” Vaughn jabbed a finger down at Alyssa. “That’s Alyssa Kyle.”
“I know.”
Vaughn tensed. “Do you also know she’s the daughter of Colin Kyle, one of the three men responsible for the Irish rebellion that erupted in Wexford? Or are you conveniently forgetting that she was caught beside her father, firing pistols at our English soldiers! I saw her kill one of my own cavalrymen. She’s a hellion!” He straightened up, his blue eyes turning feral. “I gave orders to have her thrown on the death cart. And now I find her here.”
“Sit down,” Tray growled at Vaughn, his feelings torn between hurt over Alyssa’s deceit and hatred for his half brother.
He turned, devoting his attention to Alyssa. She was so pale that Tray thought she might faint, and the blue bruises around her left wrist sent a shudder of fury through him. A hundred thoughts and emotions careened through Tray. He had kept Vaughn’s visit a secret, wanting to surprise Alyssa. Vaughn had been the only person he could think of to help free her innocent father.
The instant his hands wrapped about her arms to help her rise, Alyssa cringed, holding her hands up against her face as if to ward off a coming blow.
“It’s Tray,” he said through clenched teeth.
As Tray brought her to her feet, Alyssa found she could barely stand. Gripping his soft chamois shirt, she fought back a sob.
“I’m sorry, Tray,” she whispered. “So sorry…”
Grimly, he led Alyssa back to her bedchamber and then rang for a maid to take care of her. His stomach knotted as he saw the same terror Alyssa had exhibited upon first coming to Shadowhawk. He laid a firm hand on her trembling shoulder.
“Maura will be here shortly,” he said, his voice clipped and hard.
Alyssa raised her chin, her cheeks wet with silent tears. “Tray…I tried to tell you so many times…I—I tried to tell you, but I didn’t have the heart to make you unhappy after all you had given us.” She sobbed, burying her face into her hands. “I didn’t mean to hurt you. I’m sorry…sorry….”
Lord of Shadowhawk Page 10
