Fortune's Dragon (Fortunes of Fate Book 5)

by Meara Platt

  He glanced down at her hand, relieved when she finally drew it away. There was something wonderful in her touch. Lord Hawley was a fortunate man.

  He turned the topic away from war and to more mundane matters, finding little resistance in Faith, who seemed to understand that he’d had his fill of war and was eager to speak of anything else.

  She told him about the town of Scarborough. “Do stop me if I bore you.”

  “I’m not in the least bored,” he assured her, grinning as he glanced at her uncle, who had fallen asleep in his wing chair by the time they’d finished their tea. “Although I cannot say the same for your uncle.”

  Faith went to her uncle’s side and placed a tender kiss on his forehead. “The dear man isn’t used to all this excitement. In truth, he detests it. He’d much rather be left alone with his books and letters.”

  “And you?”

  “I keep myself busy with charitable causes and entertaining the local gentry. But I’m looking forward to the fair and my party. And meeting your soldiers, of course. Will any of the wounded be with them?”

  “Yes, some of the ones whose injuries are not too severe are traveling with us.”

  “Do let me know if there is anything we can provide for their comfort.”

  “I will, thank you.”

  She smiled and motioned for him to follow her out. “Let’s walk to the beach, shall we? I’ll show you the best place to set up camp. You don’t want to be too close to the water or you’ll be soaked when the tide comes in.”

  The sun was shining as they left the manor house, but the breeze had picked up to make the afternoon jaunt quite pleasant. “We’ll cut through our deer park. The trees offer shade and the path through the woods makes for a shorter walk.”

  Caleb didn’t mind.

  He was in no rush to leave Faith’s company. She was all grown up now, but still as sweet as she had been as a little girl.

  He wanted to take her hand in his and feel the curl of her soft fingers around his, but knew better than to be so forward.

  Perhaps he would have, had she not been almost betrothed.

  She inhaled deeply. “I love the scent of the salty air. It mingles with the pine scent of the woods and dewy meadow grass. I shall miss everything about this town once I marry and move to London.”

  “It is pretty,” he remarked. “The sand beach. The gentle hills. The green meadows and seaside town. But I’m sure you also have your share of stormy weather. The North Sea is rarely calm. And certain parts of town must reek of rotted fish.”

  “I love that scent as well.” She laughed, but it wasn’t a merry laugh. He caught the wistfulness in her light trill. “I know, it’s strange. But it’s all part of Scarborough, a place I’ve grown to love.”

  “Have you lived here all your life?” He knew she hadn’t, for she’d only gone to live in her uncle’s home a short while before he’d met her as a little girl.

  “No. My parents died when I was just shy of my eighth birthday. We’d lived in London, quite elegantly I’m told. They caught a lung fever that took both of them within the span of a week. I was brought here to live with Uncle Winslow.”

  “That must have been a difficult time for you.”

  “It was at first, for my uncle is a cantankerous old goat, at times. But I’ve come to love him dearly.” They walked slowly through the woods, neither one in any particular hurry. From time to time he took her hand to assist her over a fallen log or around a puddle of mud left over from a recent rain, but each time, he quickly let go.

  Her touch affected him so that he had to turn away on occasion and pretend to study the scenery while he calmed his hammering heart. She easily believed his fascination with their surroundings, for the sun gloriously filtered through the lush summer leaves and the hedgerows were bursting with color, their deep green dotted with pink, gold, and purple wildflowers. “Are summers always this lovely here?”

  “They are. I know England’s southwest coast is supposed to be warm and pleasant, but I think Scarborough is just perfect.”

  So was she.

  Caleb noticed everything about her.

  Faith was of average height and slender. She moved gracefully, her steps light and lithe, as though she was used to skipping through faerie glens. Nor was she averse to climbing rocks or jumping over fallen trees, and managed both with graceful ease.

  Her hair was a little darker than he remembered, but he liked its honey-gold silkiness.

  And then there were her eyes.

  And her dimpled smile.

  He silently chided himself. What was he thinking? He was here for a couple of days at most. Who knew where his regiment would be in another month?

  And Faith would soon marry Lord Hawley. He knew of the man. He was heir to the elderly Marquis of Crichton.

  Faith would soon be a marchioness.

  “What about you, General Brayden? Tell me about your family.” She smiled up at him as they walked. He’d slowed his pace to accommodate her. Otherwise, she’d be taking two steps for each of his strides. “Are they all as big as you?”

  “Yes, even the women. I’m the runt of the litter.”

  “The runt?” She shook her head and laughed merrily. “Oh, my goodness. I suppose you must have Viking blood in your family line. You have the look of one of those fierce Norsemen.”

  “Not Vikings. Gladiators.”

  She nibbled her lip in thought. “Yes, I can see that as well.”

  “We Braydens are a close family,” he found himself saying, wondering why he felt it important to talk to her about them. “My older brother is also a general. A real one, not merely elevated on the field of battle as I was. Indeed, I’m certain to be demoted to colonel now that the war is finally over. My brother is Marcus Brayden. My cousin James is Earl of Exmoor. He came home badly wounded.”

  “I’m so sorry. I can see you’re worried about him.”

  He nodded. “Injuries aren’t always physical. Some wounds pierce deep into a man’s soul.”

  “At least he has the support of loving relations.”

  Caleb cast her a wry smile. “Sometimes, that is worse.”

  The path led out of the woods toward the meadow where the gypsy wagons stood and the workers were putting up the tents. “Are you all right, Lady Faith?”

  Her lips were now pursed in tension and her step was hesitant.

  She nodded. “It’s silly, really. The last time the fair was here, I had a bad encounter with a fortune teller. I’ve told myself to be brave and confront her. But I think I’m making too much of it. She won’t remember me.”

  “Those fortunes are made up nonsense. You shouldn’t dwell on it.”

  “You’re right, I shouldn’t. Especially since it ended well. I was crying and feeling quite sorry for myself. A lovely young man came up to me and took care of me until I was reunited with my governess. Miss Crandall was her name. My goodness, she had a sour disposition. Quite cynical. She trusted no one, but I think she became very fond of me and my uncle. She died several years ago.” Faith wiped away a tear that fell onto her cheek. “I grew to love her. She was alone in the world and I’m glad we took her in as part of our family.”

  “You have a soft heart, my lady.”

  “I’ve been treated with love, General Brayden. The least I can do is give a little in return, help those in need. There are so many who are desperate and downtrodden. And now we’ll have all the soldiers returning from war.”

  “As marchioness, you’ll be in a position to do much good for them.”

  “I hope so.” She took his arm as they started down the steep path toward the beach. What was it about her touch? It heated his blood and shot straight to his heart.

  He closed his eyes a moment to absorb it.

  To remember it.

  And now to try to forget it before her memory was burned into his heart.

  He’d come here merely curious to see her.

  He hadn’t expected this…whatever this feeling
was.

  CHAPTER THREE

  “GENERAL BRAYDEN, TURN around and close your eyes.” Faith knew she was about to shock this upright young man, but she couldn’t very well ruin her slippers in the wet sand. Nor could she walk along the beach in her delicate stockings without ruining them.

  She settled on a rock at the edge of the beach and kicked off her slippers.

  “Lady Faith, I don’t think you ought to–”

  “The gypsies won’t care. They often walk barefoot through town. I merely intend to walk barefoot on the beach. Have you ever done it?”

  “Yes,” he said with a groan. “But this isn’t at all the same.”

  “Turn around. I’m about to remove my stockings. This is the shocking part and not something a gentleman ought to see.”

  “What makes you think I’m a gentleman?” But he turned away and stepped closer to the water, proving that he was.

  Too bad.

  The wicked notion took her by surprise. What was wrong with her? “I should have thought to put on my walking shoes, but I was vain and wanted to wear these pretty slippers to match my gown. Now I shall have blisters on my feet to remind me always to be practical.”

  “I should hope not,” he replied, still studying the water. “Life would be quite dull if we didn’t occasionally have fanciful dreams.”

  Faith quickly removed her stockings, rolled them up, and stuck them in her shoes. She left them safely on the rock and made her way to where General Brayden was standing. The sand felt warm between her toes but cooled as she neared the lapping water.

  He really was a big man and the scarlet red of his uniform coat made him appear quite brawny and daunting.

  Handsome, too.

  She wasn’t certain why she felt so comfortable in his company.

  He had his back to her and she took a moment to study him. Muscled shoulders. Trim torso. The sun shone on his hair, bringing out its golden highlights. He turned to her when she came up beside him. His eyes were a deep mahogany brown.

  Mercy.

  The young woman he chose to court would be fortunate indeed.

  “Shall we?” he asked.

  The waves began to pound upon the shore. Perhaps it was her heart suddenly pounding. Were she not within a few days of her betrothal, she’d be making a fool of herself over this man. “Shall we what?”

  “Choose a campsite.”

  “Yes, of course. How many tents will you have?”

  “At least ten. Six soldiers to a tent. My three officers will share one. I’ll have my own, one of the few privileges of being in command. Then a supply tent. A dining tent. That should be sufficient to accommodate forty-six men.”

  She pursed her lips in confusion. “Only forty-six in your regiment?”

  He fixed his gaze on the sea and said nothing for a long moment. “We lost half of our men in battle. Another quarter survived but are too seriously injured to travel. They are now settled in a Belgian abbey and looked after by the sisters. The able men were ordered home. Forty-six of us, more or less, in good enough health to return on the first ship. Our current orders are to ride to Newcastle. When the Scottish regiments begin to arrive, we’ll likely move up with them to Edinburgh.”

  “I’m so sorry. Forgive my impertinence. I…” She sighed. “War is awful. I’m glad you weren’t injured.” She studied him closer. His stride had been strong and confident. He seemed to have no trouble raising his arms. “You weren’t hurt. Were you?”

  “No, my lady.”

  “Why don’t I believe that?” He’d said some wounds were not physical, and it appeared those were the wounds he had, the quiet, lethal ones enshrouding his soul.

  “A few cuts and scratches, nothing more.”

  She stood beside him and stared out to sea. The tide was coming in, causing the waves to hit the shore with greater force. But the sun still shone down upon the blue water that was dotted with white-capped waves. “I never tire of this view. The sea is constantly changing. Sometimes tranquil, often turbulent. It is so vast and powerful and unforgiving. A man can be swallowed up within a matter of moments, lost forever in its depths. I suppose war is like this North Sea, swallowing up men without mercy.”

  She put her arm through his as they began to walk down the beach. He appeared surprised, but made no remark about it. She didn’t understand her need to touch him. Perhaps it was partly to soothe him, for he seemed alone and searching for something.

  As for her, she felt safe and protected with this man. She supposed this is what made him a natural leader, the ability to rouse trust in those he led.

  If she weren’t careful, he might rouse more in her.

  There was no denying her heart beat a little faster when she was near him.

  Thankfully, he was only here for a few days. He seemed to be a good man and she would remember him, perhaps for a month or two. But the excitement of her wedding plans would soon take over and push him from her thoughts.

  Yet, he was here now and she was having ridiculously girlish flutters over him. It wasn’t because he was a handsome man in uniform. There was something more. Why did he seem so familiar?

  His smile. His touch. Even walking arm in arm with him felt natural and comfortable, as though they’d done this before. She shook out of the thought. Indeed, she shook out of the many unsuitable thoughts she was having about him and concentrated on surveying the strip of beach.

  “This appears to be the tide line,” General Brayden said, helping her over the row of flat rocks that formed a divider of a sort between the water and dry sand. Since the water was calm today, there were no waves crashing upon the rocks. Instead, all that could be heard was a quiet shush, shush of the tide as it ebbed and flowed, and a few gulls calling to each other in the distance.

  “Yes, the water rarely goes beyond it. Sometimes in a winter squall, but never in the summer. It’ll be a lovely spot to watch the sunrise. But you’ll want to light fires in the evening to keep away the gnats. They’ll swarm around you if there’s no wind to hold them off.”

  He nodded. “I’ll keep that in mind.”

  “What do you think? Will this beach suit you and your men?” Much as she enjoyed his company, she knew it was wiser to have him stay with his men. Her beau, Richard, Lord Hawley, was an elegant and refined man, but he would not like this handsome soldier to remain too close to her.

  “Yes, it’s perfect.” He grinned as he glanced at her wiggling toes.

  She blushed. “I suppose it’s time for me to put on my stockings and shoes. I really enjoyed this bit of freedom. You won’t mention it to my uncle, will you? He doesn’t think it is proper for a lady to behave in this wild fashion.” She rolled her eyes and smiled at him. “But I think the Good Lord will forgive me if the extent of my wickedness is to run around in my bare feet.”

  She’d placed her shoes on one of the larger rocks near the path that led up the hill and back toward the meadow. She settled on the rock and bent over slightly to wipe the sand off the soles of her feet.

  General Brayden surprised her by kneeling beside her. “Here, let me help. With your permission, of course.”

  He’d taken out his handkerchief and was going to use it to dust the sand off her toes. “Thank you.” She didn’t see the harm, for her gown would not be raised above her ankles. But an odd sensation swept through her as he knelt and took her foot into his hand. “General Brayden, what is your given name? I don’t believe I caught it when you mentioned it.”

  “Caleb.”

  “Caleb.” She repeated it softly. “It’s a lovely name. It suits you.”

  He said nothing, merely concentrated on wiping the sand from her feet. “It’s just a name.”

  “I knew a Caleb once,” she said with a chuckle. “Sir Caleb. I was a little girl and newly arrived at Scarborough and my uncle’s manor. There was a fair here and one of the fortune tellers frightened me. A boy by the name of Caleb came to my rescue. He knelt beside me as you are doing now. I called him my dragon slay
er.”

  He arched an eyebrow but didn’t look up as he responded. “I suppose there is a story in how you named him that.”

  She nodded. “There is, but it is silly. Do you wish to hear it?”

  “Without question.”

  “Very well. Let me put on my stockings and I shall tell you.” She motioned for him to rise and turn away.

  Perhaps she should not have brought up that memory. To his credit, he made her feel as though it was of genuine interest to him. He made her feel important and special. This was obviously one of his talents and one of the many reasons the men under his command respected him.

  He was young to be a general.

  But he had the wisdom of an old soul.

  As he turned away, his gaze scanned the hills above them. “You do realize that anyone can see you from up there.”

  She sighed. “Yes, but we’re far enough away that they won’t have all that much of a view of my legs, especially if you stand in front of me. Did they train you for this in the army?”

  He chuckled. “If they did, I think every man from six to sixty would enlist. Are you decent yet?”

  “I think so. Almost. Just slipping on my garter.”

  He groaned lightly and ran his hand across the back of his neck as though he did not need to know this information either. She silently rebuked herself for speaking to him as though she’d known him forever. He was a man, not a trusted friend. For all she knew, he could be plotting to seduce her.

  Yet, she knew he wasn’t. Everything about him spoke of valor. He inspired trust and confidence.

  Besides, she was a lady. If they were caught in a compromising position, Richard Hawley would never marry her and then Caleb would be honor bound to step forward and offer for her. She might be foolishly swept away by his good looks and dashing manner, but he was a disciplined soldier and not about to toss caution to the wind. Certainly not over her. He knew better than to dally with a lady and would seek his pleasures elsewhere. “I’ve put on my shoes. You may turn around now.”

  His smile was warm and endearing as he casually inspected her appearance and gave a curt nod of approval.