Taffeta & Hotspur

by Claudy Conn

  She led her favorite riding horse outside and mounted him with ease. Her loose hair blew freely about her face as the wind picked up. She walked her gelding onto the bridle path and then put him into an easy trot, telling him all the while she was very happy he was in a chipper mood for she was not.

  His ears pricked to her voice as he listened, and she reached over and patted his neck affectionately, “There, never mind me.”

  She wanted to keep to the fields and wooded trails, and in order to accomplish this, she was forced to skirt the lands dividing Watson Halls from Grantham. The gate was closed. With a silent oath, she set her pace, went into position with her heels well down, and her body neatly poised. Her gelding’s ears flickered alertly as he looked ahead at the jump.

  “I know, Red Moose. You don’t like the high jumps … truth, I don’t much either, but the gate is closed, and I don’t feel much like getting down and up. Let’s just take it. Right then … here we go.”

  She knew her horse loved her and he told her so then with a soft sound, something between a snort and a whinny. She laughed and encouraged, “I love you, Moose … come on … pick up the pace … and we’ll do fine. Just think of it as only a few feet higher than a log. Honestly, you could step over it … nothing to worry about Moosey.”

  She legged him on, and he obediently went for the jump, changed his mind at the very last moment, and made as though to duck out and refuse. Taffy screamed irritably, “No sir, no… You know better.”

  She went into position and drove him, but his sharp movements shifted her position in the saddle and sent her off balance. Her gelding did finally accede to her demand and took the gate flying, landing heavily on the other side, which sent her sideways in her saddle when he planted his fores on the ground.

  She nearly lost her seat completely, and with no dignity whatsoever, she scrambled, grabbed his neck and mane, and managed to right herself. As she settled back into her saddle, she told him, “Odious brute, you almost lost me there.” Taffy however was so relieved she was still in the saddle, she released a nervous laugh and added ruefully, “You certainly are well named, Moose.”

  “Damn if you didn’t make him do it. Didn’t think he would for a moment there…” She heard the chuckle of a male rider making his way along side of her. “I thought for a moment I might be picking you up off the ground. Well done, Lady Taffeta,” said the rakehell Hotspur.

  She had been nearly surprised enough to lose her seat again, and blew out a whiff of air as she spun around and discovered of all people, the Hotspur seated on his horse, grinning broadly.

  She knew what she must look like—a complete mess. As she started to speak, she discovered she was hindered by a long tress between her teeth. She removed her hair from her mouth, but the wind would not cooperate and blew it right back, and she wished she had at least pinned it back. However, she managed to draw herself up and regain her composure. She eyed him coldly and thought, Of all people to witness a clumsy jump—it had to be him. Grrr. She could have cried right then, but instead, she said with an edge of haughtiness, “My lord. I thank you, but I must admit it to have been my fault. I should have stopped Moose and brought him back in for a better line to the gate.”

  “Agreed, but nevertheless, you made him take it, which he did like a rocket, and you managed to stay put when he landed badly.”

  His grin made her want to throw mud at his face.

  She grimaced. “He doesn’t like jumping; I don’t know why I made him…” She patted the horse’s neck and managed an amiable laugh. “Poor Moose, the big jumps frighten him.” She sighed. It was over and done. He had seen her at her worst. So be it. Brush herself off and move on. “What brings you out? I had thought you would be packed and off for London by now.”

  Tarrant’s black stallion pranced beneath him, and he took a moment to bring his horse under him. She could not help but admire his horsemanship. He was strong of leg and quiet of hand.

  The two horses touched noses, and the stallion seemed pleased to find Moose submissive so they fell easily into step beside each other, leaving Tarrant free once more to converse.

  He eyed her and said, “As to that, it was my intention, but my aunt wishes me to stay for dinner, and I have dutifully accepted. She is the favorite of my aunts, and I don’t see enough of her.” The stallion snorted for an unknown reason, and pranced a bit until he quieted him again.

  Taffy laughed appreciatively as she indicated with a flick of her chin. “He suits you—restless.”

  His eyes stared into hers, and once again he was the man in her vision. Feral with desire … coming for her, and she was oh, so willing. She had to stop this. She couldn’t think of him like this. Maids were not supposed to…

  Tarrant jarred these thoughts when he laughed and said, “Let’s call a truce, you and I, shall we?”

  “A truce, my lord? Were we at war?”

  He smiled, and she was all too aware of his magnetism. This one was dangerous. He had a killer smile and a singular charm to go with it, and when he used it, a woman could forget he was a scoundrel.

  He inclined his head. “I don’t know why it was, but I think lunch was a sparring contest.”

  She eyed him warily. The devil was actually flirting with her. Does he think I would be an easy conquest? Ha! “A truce, then. I shall not throw my handkerchief … or cap, your way, and you won’t try to seduce me.” She watched the devil glitter in his eyes, and it was most definitely intriguing. She had to keep him at arm’s length for certain.

  He laughed again and answered easily, his eyes full with his amusement, “I shall have to consider this…” Without warning, he leaned over and lightly, easily managed to kiss her lips, parting them, and expertly found refuge there for his tongue.

  She was startled by the unexpectedness of it. She was shocked by her reaction both in her body and mind. She felt the blood race through her veins, calling all her nerve endings into action. She felt her heart begin to purr with anticipation. She felt a spot between her thighs tickle her with heat and an itch to be touch…

  His kiss was everything she had expected the rakehell Hotspur’s kiss to be and more, it was what she wanted it to be.

  She went to war with herself and somehow found the ability to pull away abruptly. She put up her chin, “Am I to assume then, we have not negotiated a truce?”

  His laughter resonated on the breeze, and she found herself smiling in spite of the frown she tried to maintain. He said, “Must it be one or the other?”

  “One or the other…” she answered firmly.

  “Then I think not,” he said brightly. “War it is, my lady, and to the victor go the spoils.”

  She made a show of sighing heavily, “Well, you still needn’t worry I shall aim my cap your way. You are not at all the sort of man I am after.”

  His pique set his jaw, and she had an urge to giggle, but managed to control herself.

  “Oh, really? What sort of man are you after?”

  She beamed mischievously. “What every girl wants, of course. A knight of the Realm, a hero, a man of principles and romance—a man who will always take her side…”

  “He doesn’t exist,” retorted Tarrant harshly.

  She looked at him sideways. “Then I am destined to be a spinster.” With this, she clicked her horse and took off into a heady canter.

  He caught up to her in a moment, for she could see his black did not mean to be left behind, and they collected their horses and moved along head in head. They slowed as the field ebbed and the wooded path opened before them.

  Taffy brought her horse to a stop and allowed him to graze on some nearby tall grass. “Oh, that was lovely,” she said breathlessly. “What a fine animal you have, my lord. But never say you ride him tamely in Hyde Park.”

  “I’ve schooled Demon myself. He will go as sedately or as wildly as I ask of him.”

  Again, she saw the arrogance, the self-confidence, the high opinion he seemed to have of himself. She bristled.
“Of course, how foolish of me to doubt you,” she said in mock meekness.

  He looked at her sharply. When he did not remark on it, she was sure he thought she was poking fun at him.

  “Tell me why it is that both your uncle, young though he is, and your brother allow you to go off alone like this … without even a groom in attendance?”

  She took umbrage. “I suppose that is my business and theirs.”

  He laughed. “It certainly would have been theirs had you fallen back there and been injured, fledgling.”

  “Well, they are off to a cockfight, and I am quite used to riding about unattended.”

  He smiled, and there was a tease in his voice as he admonished lightly, “In addition to the fact you could take a tumble, riding freely as you do, it is not at all the thing for a lady to ride astride and without the protection of at least her groom.”

  She put up her chin, “I am well enough known in our village and surrounding area. Who would accost me?” She shrugged this off. “And as to riding astride, I prefer it. Riding in a lady’s saddle is not always an easy or comfortable task. Why we should have to do so is outrageous. Taking a tumble? If I were missing, someone would come looking…”

  He raised a brow quizzically, “As to who would accost you—any man with eyes in his head, sunbeam.”

  “But any man with a brain in his head wouldn’t dare. There are consequences they would have to incur, and I am no easy prey.”

  He inclined his head, and she could see he had decided to change the subject. “Ah,” he said, looking into the distance, “Grantham looks quite lovely from this hill.”

  She eyed her home and smiled, “Yes, yes it does…”

  “And with it in sight, I am afraid I must leave you, sunbeam, as I am headed for the village.” He tipped his beaver hat. “Perhaps I may see you in London.”

  “Perhaps.” She noted black waves of hair fell across his forehead most fetchingly. She immediately banished the notion. He was a hell-bent rake. He was Hotspur, and she was not going to be just another one of his conquests.

  She watched as he left her and made for the village road only a short distance off. He turned to wave at her, and she felt a moment’s gratification, which she immediately chastised herself for feeling. In all probability, she would not see him again. His kiss had been a kiss goodbye, and his kiss was something she would remember forever, for she was fairly certain she would never receive another kiss quite like it from anyone else.

  Chapter Three

  Stars glittered in a dark velvet sky. A moon’s smile was partially shaded by scudding, shapeless clouds. It was a windless night but nipped at the skin with winter’s left over chill, and Nigel shuddered against the cold and the excitement.

  The country road had misted over, making visibility for him—and he was certain for all of them—a difficult task. The fog gave no sign of lifting as it meandered through the trees of Sherwood Forest, gaining substance as it made its way.

  He looked at his companions and noted grimly they were no more than three hooded, voluminous and darkly caped figures. He hurried to keep up and ahead of Seth who scurried before him through the church graveyard on foot.

  Seth tripped over a diminutive gravestone and released a soft curse, and then added, “Devil is in it! I’ve stubbed my toe!” the young Duke of Grantham groaned in pain as he bent to uselessly touch the booted area covering the injured extremity.

  “Shut up, ninny!” Nigel returned in as harsh a tone as he could muster in a whisper.

  “Bleater!” pronounced Lady Taffeta. “Working the night has its consequences.” His niece giggled.

  “You two will be m’death. Sneck up … both of you!” snapped Nigel. He pulled a knit dark wool scarf over his lower face. “And Taff, that ain’t no way for you to be speaking!”

  “If I can slink about at night with you, I can swear with you,” answered the lady.

  “Shh,” Nigel cautioned urgently.

  “What the deuce…” replied Seth.

  “Thought I heard something…” whispered Nigel.

  “So did I,” agreed Taffy. “Nigel, ‘tis a carriage … it would appear Dirty Barkins is going out after all!”

  “We don’t know it is Barkins’ coach,” Nigel said thoughtfully. “I mean, we have it on excellent authority he is home suffering with the gout.”

  “Aye, Nigel—but we had two possibilities—one that he feigned the gout to his wife so he could pay a visit to his mistress. If that is true, he would take the short cut through the Forest … wouldn’t he?” Seth stuck in looking thoughtful.

  Nigel rapped Seth’s shoulder as his nephew had said something inappropriate to Taffy.

  Seth coughed and hurriedly said, “I mean … er … well…”

  “Yes, yes, I know, married men have lovers on the side,” said Taff shaking her head. “I probably know more about these things than you do Seth. We girls talk you know.”

  “Sauce box!” Her brother chuckled, apparently recovered from his stubbed toe, and led them to their horses which they quietly mounted and walked slowly down a hidden wooded trail.

  The coach came into view, and for a short space, they took a parallel path, until the moment they needed to follow on the dirt road.

  They were ready. They were completely in line for what they were about to do, but something jarred in Taffy’s brain. Something wasn’t right.

  She stared at the sleek lines of the coach and doubts began to shake her resolve. She tried conjuring up her ability to sense, to ‘see’ the future, but it was as though something blocked her from doing so.

  Something was interfering with her ability to look into the future. Something like … the rakehell Hotspur. For when she tried to see the future, it was his face she saw. Absurd.

  “Doesn’t look like the Barkins’ coach…” she whispered.

  “It is probably new, bought out of the hides of his laborers,” said Nigel angrily as he led his nephew and niece forward.

  “I have a bad feeling…” Taffy told them as she shook her head. “I don’t like this… I just don’t think…” Her words stopped

  Nigel watched her for a moment and then shrugged as he and Seth moved forward armed and ready.

  Taffy reached out and called, “Stop…” But it was too late. They were already caught up in the moment, riding hard, guns drawn and raised.

  Nigel released a shot in the air, he and Seth took a stand in front of the coach, and as Taffy approached, Nigel saw she had closed her eyes.

  They shouted out in the accents they had perfected, “Out wit ye! Come on, flash covey … out!”

  ~*~

  The passenger within the elegant coach sat back leisurely. He was on his way to the Red Hart in Nottingham where he had been told there was sure to be a card game, and a fancy piece or two that could please. He wasn’t sure what he wanted, but he was restless, and this sounded better than a sedate evening by the fire.

  Suddenly he felt the carriage lurch to a halt. He caught himself from falling over, and with a soft curse, began to rise until he heard the shots echo breaking in on the quiet of the night.

  Imperceptibly, automatically, his hand found his hidden small, neat, and deadly hand pistol he always kept within his carriage. He prepared this even as he reached for his dagger, long and deadly and in a sheath within his cape. He always traveled prepared. He smiled to himself and waited.

  Ah, he thought as he heard the blackguard’s command. He shook his head, for the high toby sounded young. Nevertheless, he needed to be dealt with. He sat back against his squabs and disobeyed the command to get out of his carriage.

  He sat silently, cunningly waiting for the right opportunity. He heard a lad, a very young lad, with a high voice growl once again and waited still longer. He knew this game well and knew just how to best his opponent. He hung back and was well able to see their approach through the window.

  “Lookee, lads … Barkins is afraid to show his phiz…” crowed the young toby as he moved to p
ull open the carriage door from his seat on his horse.

  Within the carriage, the passenger thought this crew seemed hot-tempered and careless from the way they approached their target and the sound the high toby made was harsh, but touched with youth.

  The occupant of the carriage never allowed the toby to finish opening the door as he shoved it hard and wide, catching the highwayman’s horse head-on, sending the poor animal up into a high rear.

  Tarrant was quick as he jumped into place and roughly, harshly, tore the reins away from the toby struggling to keep his seat. As Tarrant struggled with the highwayman, he thought the lad must be younger than he even first realized for the boy had no strength at all.

  Tarrant studied the lad’s horse, nothing special. In fact, it looked to be an older cold blooded gelding not meant for distance or speed. Odd that.

  He moved into action quickly as he grabbed the toby’s gun, getting the lad’s glove as well. It allowed him a quick touch of fingers that couldn’t possibly belong to a man. They were small and delicate. He dropped the gun to the ground and kicked it away, before he held the toby’s horse near and pointed his gun at his captive’s hooded head.

  Tarrant was quick and deadly; he had done this before and with great success. He had been taken unprepared only once, and after that, never again. That was his standard. He allowed himself only one learning mistake.

  He held the horse’s reins in hand, putting his hostage and the horse between him and the toby’s cohorts. All this was like one fluid movement, horse reins, and then onto his captive’s arm…

  The toby struggled furiously, but he had the boy down and out of the saddle and onto the ground in front of him as he remarked in his ear, “Too young, too small, and too stupid to take on the life of a toby, lad.”