Chase the Wind

by Cindy Holby - Wind 01 - Chase the Wind

  “I agree, it would not be a good way to start out.” Faith sat up to look at him. “You know that we will have to steal away. My father has hopes I will make a good marriage.” Ian frowned at this. “I mean he wants me to marry a rich man so he will have no worries. I’m actually surprised that I’ve reached the age of twenty without being promised to someone.”

  “I am so glad you have. It would be much more difficult for me to steal you away from some rich old man who would totter after us with his cane.” Faith smacked him with a pillow. He flipped the weapon out of her hand and pulled her back down on his chest. “We could leave right after Christmas,” he mused. “Everyone should be busy enough that they will not immediately notice our going, and perhaps the weather will discourage any chase.”

  “I don’t know if I can wait that long.” Faith sighed. The rain had indeed made her sleepy, and the combination of the pounding on the tin roof and Ian’s heartbeat was lulling her into dreamland. She yawned against his chest, and he kissed the top of her head.

  “The Masons are having a big gathering soon to celebrate their son’s homecoming. Maybe we can spend some time alone together then.”

  Faith nodded in agreement. She felt so at peace. Ian slid down on the bed a bit and rolled over on his side. She fit up against him in spoon fashion, and he reached down to the foot of the bed and pulled the quilt over both of them. His arm went over her and slid under her waist. Faith nestled down in the pillows and felt his soft breath in her ear.

  “I love you,” he whispered.

  Faith nodded her head in perfect agreement. “I love you.”

  He barely heard her.

  When Faith woke up later that afternoon, Ian was gone. For a moment she wasn’t sure that he had actually been there, but the towel was still hanging where he had left it and her window was not quite closed. She wrapped her quilt around her and went to the window. She realized that it was no easy feat for Ian to have climbed the oak tree and opened her window. If not for his height it could not have been done. She decided to make it easier for him next time by leaving the window open.

  She twirled away from the window and flung the quilt on the bed. Christmas was just six weeks away, and then they would be leaving. Oddly, she felt no sadness at the thought of leaving her home. Actually, it hadn’t felt like home since her mother died. She felt absolutely no connection to the man who was her father. He had never treated her with affection, she was just another responsibility to him, someone to be clothed, schooled and married off. Even her looks did not connect her to him. She had her mother’s eyes and nose, but the rest of her bore no resemblance to her sire. Maybe her height came from him, but upon reflection, she remembered her mother had been petite, too. His hair was brown, his eyes brown, his legs and arms were short, and he had a paunch. There was nothing of Melvin Taylor in Faith, certainly none of his personality. Why had her mother married the man?

  A knock at the door interrupted her musings. It was Miriam.

  “Did you have a nice nap?” she asked as Faith opened the door.

  “Yes, I did.” Faith looked in confusion at the back of Miriam’s head as she came into her room. Miriam never came to her room; no one did.

  “Your father and I have some good news.” Miriam smiled, an expression that never quite reached her eyes. “The Masons are having a ball to celebrate Randolph’s return from Europe and we’ve been invited. Your father has even decided that you will have a new dress.”

  “A new dress?” Faith couldn’t believe her ears. The only new dresses she’d had recently were ones she had made over from her mother’s wardrobe.

  Miriam examined the towel that was hanging over the dressing screen. “Yes, a new dress. How did this get so wet?” She held the towel out with the question.

  “I left the window open a bit and the rain came in. I cleaned it up with the towel.” Miriam gave Faith a piercing look and dropped the towel in the chair.

  “Tomorrow morning we shall visit the dressmakers and see what we can find,” Miriam said and made her way back to the door. She paused and looked around the room as if seeing it for the first time. The bedspread was rumpled and the pillows flattened. The quilt was hanging off the end of the bed where Faith had dropped it in her celebration spin. “Clean up this mess,” Miriam ordered and left the room.

  The following Sunday there was a slight dusting of snow on the ground. Ian rode by the carriage as Faith was getting in after church and tipped his hat. He had left a note under her pillow the previous Sunday that said he would meet her in the loft of the barn. That was easy enough; she had only to wait until her father and Miriam retired for their afternoon nap. Then she would pay a visit to the necessary. With luck, they wouldn’t notice when she didn’t come back right away.

  She found Ian sitting on a bale, looking out a small window that had been left ajar. He seemed tired. There was no wide grin, just a slight smile as he held out his arms to her.

  “What’s wrong?” she asked when she was safely in the circle of his arms.

  “The young prince has returned,” he said into her hair.

  “Randolph?”

  “Yes, the royal Mason heir, returned from his education and his world tour. The man is a brute.”

  “What happened?” Faith leaned back on her heels to better see his face. He rose from the bale and ran his hands through his hair.

  “He came into the stables with his stud,” he began. “He doesn’t know a thing about horses; he’s brought this big black war horse from England, calls him Armageddon.” His movements became agitated. “He wants to use him for breeding with my mares—I mean his mares.” His face was anguished, and Faith’s heart hurt for him. She knew how much he loved his charges, how he nurtured them. “He decided to ride Katrina yesterday. I told him she was too young and he was too big for her, but he wouldn’t hear anything but he was going to ride her.” He scrubbed his hands through his hair again. “The man near ruined her wind, and she’s lame in the foreleg.” Ian dropped back down on the bale and put his head in his hands. Faith rose up and put her arms around him. He wrapped his arms around her waist and put his head to her breast. She sensed the anger and frustration coursing through him and felt it too. Katrina was the bay that she had ridden. The mare was long-legged and delicate, made for a woman to ride, not a burly man like Randolph Mason.

  “Perhaps you could talk to his father?” she suggested.

  “I’ve tried, but in his father’s eyes he can do no wrong. He’s like the prodigal son come back. Everyone’s all atwitter with the ball, and nothing else matters. It seems that they’ve invited all the eligible young maidens for his perusal. They want him to pick a wife.”

  Faith felt a chill run down her spine. A thousand coincidences came flooding into her head. Her father and Miriam suddenly being so friendly to the Masons at church, Miriam’s constant perusal of her, the ball gown that was cut much too low in front. She recalled now the many conferences her father and Miriam had held in her father’s study. Surely they were not planning to marry her off to Randolph Mason. She shook her head to clear away the horrible thought. Ian was looking up at her.

  “He won’t have you,” he said, and Faith shivered again. For the first time since she had met him, Ian scared her. His eyes had gone black in the shadows of the winter day, and his face was hard and closed.

  Faith put her hand to her mouth to press back a sob that threatened to erupt. She noticed that her hand was trembling. “Ian, what are we to do?”

  “We’ll bide our time. Surely they can’t marry you off before Christmas.”

  She shook her head. No, they couldn’t make this happen, and she wouldn’t let it happen. Maybe she and Ian were being foolish; there were plenty of young ladies around who would happily marry Randolph. She knew deep inside, though, that he would choose her. He had always watched her with his black eyes, and she had always made sure that she kept plenty of distance between them.

  Ian pulled her down on his lap, and she laid her
head on his shoulder. “Tell me about Richmond, and the ocean.” He had told her all about it before, but she loved to hear his voice and she wanted to take his mind off Randolph. Soon he was talking about swimming in the waters of the Atlantic, but she knew his rival was ever present in his mind. They tried to come up with a plan to meet the following Saturday evening at the ball, but decided they would just have to see what happened. Ian promised to stay close to her and left it at that.

  The breeze that had caressed Faith earlier strengthened, bringing a hint of moisture. She roused from her sleep enough to pull the quilt over her and settled back to her dreams.

  It was the night of the Masons’ ball and she had just gotten out of the carriage. She held her satin wrap up under her chin as she surveyed the grounds, searching for a glimpse of Ian. The stables were down the drive to the left and seemed to be the center of some activity. The area was well lit, and there seemed to be a conference of some sort going on in the opening of the wide double doors. No one in the group gathered there towered above the rest, so Faith assumed that Ian was elsewhere, probably inside the huge building. He had promised to be close, and she knew he would be.

  Her father took her arm and led her up the wide brick steps that led to the Masons’ mansion. The family was standing inside the drawing room receiving their guests, and the Taylors joined the line. Faith nervously clutched the wrap up over the expanse of breast that her dress revealed. She just knew that Miriam had had it altered after her last fitting. When it was her turn to greet Mrs. Mason, the woman made such a production over the butler’s failure to take Faith’s wrap that she had to surrender it to the chastised man so as not to draw further attention to herself. The next person in line was Randolph Mason. He took her hand and bent over it for a courtly kiss, but his black eyes never left the creamy expanse of skin that she knew was covered with goose bumps. She also knew, without a doubt, that the tip of his tongue had touched the back of her hand. She tried to snatch it away, but he held it in an iron grip.

  “I hope you will do me the honor of a dance tonight, Miss Taylor,” he said in an oily voice, and Faith’s hand curled into a fist within the folds of her dress.

  “I’m afraid I don’t dance very well,” she lied. “I wouldn’t want to cause you undo embarrassment at your party.”

  “A woman of your beauty needn’t worry about that.” Faith managed to wrestle her hand from his grip and massaged her wounded fingers with the other. Randolph just smiled at her as Faith looked around for the nearest escape route, but before she could find one, Miriam had her arm.

  “Good idea, Faith,” she hissed in her ear.

  “What?” Faith asked incredulously. Her stepmother was actually smiling at her.

  “Playing hard to get will just make a man like Randolph more interested.”

  Faith pulled Miriam into a comer, then jerked her arm out of her grasp. She had only been at the ball ten minutes and felt absolutely mauled. “I don’t know what you are plotting, Miriam, but I tell you now, I want no part of it, and I especially want no part of Randolph Mason.” Her teeth were clenched so tight, she had to grind out the words.

  “Don’t be ridiculous,” Miriam hissed back. “Why do you think you’re here?”

  “I did not come here to be pawed by the likes of him.” Faith indicated the man with her chin.

  “It is way past time for you to marry, and you will marry well. Do not think that you will spend the rest of your life up in your room waiting for some prince to come rescue you like your mother did.” Miriam was spitting the words out and her eyes were narrowed with anger. “I know you’ve been pining after someone, and I know that whoever it is has been snooping around. I saw tracks in the yard a few weeks ago under the tree by your window.” Faith prayed that the shock she was feeling didn’t show on her face. Miriam suddenly realized that people were watching them and she reached up a hand to smooth her hair. She smiled at Faith, a brittle smile that didn’t reach her eyes. “Let’s go view the buffet, dear.”

  “No thanks, I’ve lost my appetite.” Faith walked away. She could feel Miriam’s eyes on her as she went into the hall. She crossed her arms over her breasts and looked around to see if she could find her wrap, a coat, blanket, tablecloth, anything to cover herself with. The doors to the library were open, and she decided to take shelter there until she could find a way to get to Ian.

  Something stopped her in her tracks. Ian was here. He was standing behind Mr. Mason, talking into his ear. Mason was shaking a guest’s hand, but he had his head tilted back to catch Ian’s words. He asked a quick question, and Ian shook his head. Mason turned to the next guest, and Ian stood patiently behind him. His face was haggard, his hair nearly standing on end, the set of his broad shoulders showed how tired he was. Faith stood in the hall watching him while the guests eddied around her.

  Ian’s eyes found her. She could feel them burning into her. She stood in the middle of the crowd and felt them all disappear. The only other person in the world was Ian, and his deep blue eyes were devouring her soul.

  Mason turned to say something, and Ian tore his eyes away from Faith and nodded assent to the man. He looked at her again and Faith felt the impact of his pain; then he left.

  Faith ducked into the library. The windows faced the front of the house, and she hid between one and a heavily lined drape to watch Ian’s progress down the drive. He turned once, but she knew he couldn’t see her in the dark window. She watched him disappear in the night, then reappear in the light of the barn door. There was a flash of copper from his hair and he was gone.

  She knew that in order to get to the barn she would have to disguise herself somehow. She was just considering the merits of ripping the draperies down when she heard someone come into the room. She ducked back to the side of the window and saw Randolph’s reflection in the glass. He stood there with a drink in his hand and carefully surveyed the area. Faith held her breath. Someone called to him from the hall, and he turned to leave. She realized that her legs were shaking and she slid to the floor, the satin of her dress pooling around her. She had to get a grip on herself. Her teeth were chattering. She needed a plan.

  The first order of business was to get to Ian. The best route would be through the back of the house. Perhaps the servants had left a cloak lying about she could make use of that. All she had to do was get past Randolph, Miriam, her father and the multitude of guests who would think it strange that she wanted to be in the stables instead of the house. She took a deep breath and readied herself for the charge.

  It was easier than she thought. She ducked out into the hall and made polite conversation with the first person she saw. She flitted from group to group, keeping a watchful eye out for the enemy. A maid came out of the kitchen, and she slid behind her. She pleaded a nervous stomach to the cook, who directed her to the outhouse and, as luck would have it, gave her a dark cape to wear. She was soon skimming over the frozen ground by the line of trees with her skirts bunched up in her arms. She cautiously peered through the rear door into the dim light of the stable. The place had been well lit earlier but now seemed dim and deserted. Ian’s chestnut was standing in the first stall to her left. His head was out over the door, and he was looking down the row. His ears were flicking and turning, picking up the soft murmur of Ian’s voice. The horse turned his head to her, and then turned back. Faith gently touched his forehead when she went by.

  She found Ian two stalls down. He was sitting in the straw with Katrina’s head cradled in his lap. He was speaking gentle words to her. The mare’s eyes were glazed over with pain, and her breathing was labored. Beside him there was a gun. Ian lovingly stroked the mare’s head and neck, and then stood, taking the gun in his hand. “Faith, wait for me outside,” he said without looking up. Faith turned and ran out the way she’d come. She waited in the corner of the fence and stable, her back pressed against the wall. The shot, when it came, made her jump. A few minutes passed, and she waited, trembling in the frosty air. Then he was there.
He wrapped his arms around the inside of the cape, and she drew the folds of it around his back. All he was wearing against the frigid night air was his shirt.

  “I must get you back to the house,” he finally said. Faith tried to search his eyes but could see nothing in the darkness. He took her hand and helped her back through the fence. He walked in front of her, pulling her along. He didn’t say a word, but when they got to the garden, he kissed her and faded back into the trees.

  Faith scampered breathlessly back into the kitchen. The cook gave her a once-over and shook her head. “Straighten your skirts, missy,” she said and pushed Faith into the back hall. “I’m sure they didn’t even miss you in that crowd.” Faith smiled her gratitude and went back in. She took a position by the window, where she hoped the soft pink of her dress would blend into the ivory drapes.

  Chapter Three

  Faith wearily climbed the stairs to her room. The ball was over, and she reminded herself to thank God in her nightly prayers that she had survived. She had been unable to find a graceful way to escape Randolph’s advances, so she had tolerated them, reminding herself that Ian would soon take her away. Randolph had pulled her out on the dance floor, leered down her dress, tried to get familiar with her behind by sliding his meaty hands down her back while escorting her to a chair. Her head was hurting, her feet were hurting, and her wrist was raw from the grip of his hand. She had in no way encouraged him, but he had hung on to the bitter end, even to the point of handing her into the carriage and calling her his “ice princess.” When they had finally driven home, the stable was quiet and dark. Her father commented that the stable hands had put a horse down that night. Faith had been too weary to reply.

  She gratefully shut her door and locked it. The pink satin gown slid to the floor, and she kicked the hated thing into a corner. She pulled the pins out of her hair and picked up her brush. That was when she caught his reflection in the mirror.