Lonesome Rider and Wilde Imaginings

by Heather Graham

  When they got down the small brick steps that led to the back of the station and the platform, she narrowed her eyes against the darkness, looking for a car. She didn’t see one. She heard a shuffling sound and looked quickly in the direction from which it had come.

  A massive black horse stood there. Very tall, nearly seventeen hands high, and beautifully lean and muscled.

  She looked at the man at her side, thinking that the two were very similar, both very tall, both tightly muscled. Both lean and sleek.

  “A horse?” she murmured. Well, of course, he was wearing riding attire. She had thought, when she had first seen him, that he must have been riding.

  “The roads are mire. It would have been impossible for anyone to get a car through tonight Do you ride, Allyssa Evigan?”

  She nodded. If he was waiting for her to become upset about his mode of transportation, he was going to be disappointed. “Yes, I ride. My father taught me, when I was very small.”

  “Ah, yes, he would do so! Evigans always know and love their horses! Come on, then.”

  He whistled softly, and the beautiful black horse came right to him. Allyssa had never seen anything quite like it.

  “I’ll give you a hand,” she heard, and before she knew it, strong arms were around her and powerful hands were lifting her by her waist, swinging her upward. When she was seated in the saddle, he tied her overnight bag behind it, then leaped up behind her. He kneed the horse lightly, and they started away from the station.

  She could see very little in the darkness. The storm clouds seemed to have covered the world. All that she could feel was the warmth of the man behind her, the force of his arms around her. It was a pleasant feeling.

  I don’t even know him, she thought. He’s rude, and thinks himself some great lord, to the manor born!

  And still …

  Still, there was something about him. Something that had made her feel things she hadn’t felt in years. Stirrings of excitement. Warmth …

  She wasn’t welcome here; he had said as much to her. He had probably come for her because she did have her legal rights and he was trying to deal with the situation properly. She really didn’t mean to infringe; she had come to find out about her parents. What had made her father so determined to move away? And what had been so terrible that it had haunted her mother’s last moments of life?

  “There, see?” The soft, husky tone of his voice was stirring as he spoke to her, just behind her ear, his breath teasing her senses. “See there? The clouds are lifting just a bit.”

  And they were. The two of them were moving through a fairy-tale village, a beautiful, charming little thatched-roof place where Shakespeare would have felt completely at home. The houses were set well apart, most of them on little rises or knolls in the rolling landscape. She imagined the color of the grass again, so endlessly green. The natural beauty of the landscape, combined with these quaint houses. They were passing through the center of the small village now. There was the Rose and Thistle pub, a haberdashery, a tobacco shop, an inn and a large restaurant. No loud, large signs proclaimed each place of business, just very small placards set in the windows, except for the pub. A sign with a coat of arms hung from the eaves.

  Yet even the pub was quiet as they rode through the streets. There truly was nothing here this night.

  “And there,” he told her. “There now, look up.”

  She did so. There was Fairhaven Castle. It rose majestically out of the landscape, tall, turreted stone, gray in the night and mist. Ramparts stretched from tower to tower. Light gleamed from windows that were little more than narrow slits. It was harsh; it was wonderful. She felt the most curious rush of emotion as she stared at it. Yes! It was her heritage, incredible and magnificent.…

  Sweet Lord, she’d never even seen it before! And here she was coveting a pile of stone in the darkness!

  “Yes, you feel it!” he whispered. “I can feel it in you, the rush of desire! It does that to all of us, doesn’t it? It’s in the blood.”

  She gritted her teeth, twisting within his hold. “This is extremely diluted blood, don’t you think? What could we still have in common? I’ve been told our great-grandfathers were cousins. I could be more closely related to anyone on a London street!” Maybe that was an exaggeration, but she didn’t like the way he had read her emotions so quickly.

  He laughed, a husky and seductive sound. “I would have been disappointed if you hadn’t felt it!” he assured her.

  She was about to turn and tell him that he was imagining things, but he chose that moment to set his knees to his horse once again, and suddenly they seemed to be sailing through the night. She leaned low against the horse, her fingers entwined in thatches of mane. He was reckless, wild, she thought.

  No, he was just an expert. And he knew that she was a capable rider. Knew that they would be all right, racing through the darkness …

  The cool, damp air caressed her cheeks as they rode hard, climbing the mound to the castle. She closed her eyes momentarily, then opened them.

  It loomed before her. Fairhaven Castle. Huge, stark, forbidding. No—it was forbidding only to those who did not belong! she thought whimsically.

  Ah, but she did not belong. She was not welcome here. He had told her so.

  Perhaps it had been a moated castle at one time, but it was moated no more. A bridge sat over dry land, surrounded by brush and flowers. The bridge was lit and led into a courtyard that also seemed to be a bastion of light against the night.

  He brought her only to the bridge, dismounting from the horse in an agile leap and reaching up to her. She could have dismounted on her own, and she should have done so, but his eyes seemed to glitter with gold. She felt their pull again and marveled at it.

  Then, to her surprise, she accepted the arms reaching for her. She slid slowly against his body as he lowered her to the ground.

  “Go on in, Allyssa,” he told her. “Just inside the courtyard, take the massive door to the first tower. There’s a fire burning in the hearth. Warm yourself.”

  “But where—”

  “I’ve the horse to see to for the night,” he said, handing her her overnight bag. “Go on in. Be warmed. And, my dear …”

  “Yes?” She had turned toward the castle, but now she turned back to him. His eyes seemed like fire, he was studying her so intently, so passionately. She nearly stepped back, afraid.

  But even afraid, she felt his power too keenly. She remained where she was, watching him.

  “Be warmed, but be wary!” he warned her. He reached for her once again, drawing her near. She felt the quick heat of his kiss against her forehead. Then he released her, thrusting her toward the castle.

  “Go!”

  She started toward the tower door, then gasped as the wind suddenly picked up with ferocity. She hugged her coat around her, clutching her bag, and ran for the door. Despite his instructions to enter, she started to knock.

  The massive door swung inward.

  Tentatively, she entered the tower.

  There was a beautifully carved stairway almost in front of her, leading to the upper levels. She turned from it and saw a large, octangular room. A massive hearth covered all of the far wall, and a fire was burning brightly and beautifully against the night. She set her bag down and hurried toward it. She warmed her hands, then turned. There was a large table in the center of the hall. It would easily seat twenty. The feet were composed of carved lions. It was a wonderful piece, but the hall seemed strewn with equally magnificent antiques. There were large Queen Anne wing chairs in front of the fire, with marble-topped tables before them. Ancient draperies covered the three window seats far across the room from the hearth. Coats of arms and crossed swords covered the walls.

  Allyssa slowly slipped off her trench coat. There was a small cherry table with a decanter and glasses around it. She walked to the table and lifted the decanter, uncorking it, sniffing thoughtfully. Brandy. She could use a swallow against the chill.

&n
bsp; She poured herself a glass, then walked slowly to the fire. A sheepskin rug lay directly before it. She sank down on it, fluffing out her wet hair, sipping the brandy.

  Yes, this was beautiful! She had to be glad that she had come, if only for the chance to see this room! She stared into the flames. They were hypnotic, and she felt very warmed and comfortable, ridiculously at ease.

  “May the saints preserve us!” she heard suddenly, along with a loud clattering and the sound of shattered glass.

  She leaped up quickly, her sense of security and comfort as shattered as the glass. She stared across the room. A very proper butler in white gloves and black tails had come into the room. He had been carrying a tray.

  The tray now lay on the floor. Brown liquid oozed over the stone. Glass lay in chunks and slivers.

  The man, tall, blue-eyed, white-haired and very dignified, was staring at her as if she were a ghost.

  “Who—who …? How did you get in here?” he demanded.

  Puzzled, Allyssa frowned. Surely, if someone had taken the time and made the effort to come and get her, he would have warned the household.

  “I’m Allyssa Evigan,” she said. And she waved a hand in the air. “I’ve just arrived. I was told to come on in by the fire.”

  He continued to stare at her for a moment. “I’ll get the master,” he said, then turned swiftly and was gone. Allyssa turned to the fire and watched the flames. They danced in myriad colors, yellow, blue, magenta.

  “Yes?”

  She whirled around. A man was standing before her. Nicely tall, trimly built—his hands on his hips. Allyssa looked him over swiftly from head to foot. His hair was a deep sable brown, his eyes a light green. He was fairly young, certainly handsome.…

  And not the man who had picked her up at the station.

  She sighed softly, smoothing her hair. “I’m sorry I seem to have startled everyone. Darryl Evigan picked me up at the station. He told me to come on in, so I have. I am sorry if I’ve distressed anyone.”

  The man came closer, pausing on the way at the brandy decanter, where he poured himself a glass, still staring at her.

  Very perplexed.

  “Look, I’m sorry—” Allyssa said.

  “No, no, please!” he murmured. “I’m glad that you’re here, it’s just …”

  “What?” Allyssa asked.

  “Darryl Evigan did not pick you up from the station.”

  “But he did—”

  “No, no, Allyssa. I’m certain of that.”

  “But how?”

  “Because I’m Darryl Evigan.”

  Chapter Two

  “Oh, my God!” Allyssa gasped. “Then who—I’m sorry!”

  “No, please don’t be sorry,” he told her, frowning. He walked closer to her. “I had no idea you were coming. It seems, though, that someone did. This person who picked you up—did he say that he was Darryl Evigan?”

  Had he said that? No, never. She had assumed that he was because Darryl Evigan lived at the castle and would surely be the one to come for her.

  She shook her head slowly. “No, when I think back on it. I really am sorry.”

  “Well, you must stop being sorry,” he told her, quickly offering her his hand. “I suppose that I should just be grateful that someone did see you there and bring you home to us here.” His handclasp was warm and firm. She found herself studying this man in the firelight. His smile was charming, his manner warm. She felt a slight trembling, wondering how, after all this time, she had managed to meet the first two men in ages to make her feel alive in the same night. “Welcome to Fairhaven Castle!” he continued, his fingers lingering on hers. “Our little American cousin! Come home at last.”

  She smiled, but a curious sense of unease suddenly snaked its way down her spine. “Be warm, but be wary!” another man had warned her. She wasn’t welcome here.

  But she didn’t even know who the man who had picked her up from the station had been. And now that she was inside the castle, safe and warm and meeting this very normal man with his pleasant manner and easy, infectious smile, she felt a growing sense of anger. One of the villagers, feeling in a mischievous mood, had seen her, and in such a small place they had probably known that she was the American cousin, and it had seemed a fine joke to pick her up and deposit her at the castle doorway with no word of explanation.

  “I’m not so terribly sure that I’ve come home,” she told Darryl, extracting her hand from his at last. “Home is really a much smaller place on the outskirts of Baltimore. But I am glad to be here. The scenery has been spectacular. The castle is magnificent. It’s wonderful that I do have a relative—however distant—who lives here.”

  He smiled, suddenly seeming very close. “We’ll have to work on not being such distant relations!” he said huskily. He stepped back just a shade with a sigh of regret. “Let me call Gregory in here. I’m sure he’s already seen to it that Eleanor, our live-in maid, has prepared a room for you. He can escort you up, and you can have a nice long bath. Then we’ll meet again for supper, if you’re not too weary.”

  “No, that would be lovely. Thank you,” Allyssa murmured.

  He didn’t need to call Gregory—the butler was standing right behind him just seconds after he spoke. He assured Darryl that a room was indeed ready for Allyssa, then bowed his head and asked her to follow him.

  She picked up her overnight bag and did so, thanking Darryl and telling him that she would be down quickly.

  “At your convenience, please!”

  The room Eleanor had chosen for her was in the same tower, just above the place where they had been talking before. It had the same exquisite old charm as the grand hallway below. There were window seats, although she couldn’t tell what the windows looked out on as yet; the night was too dark. There was a massive old four-poster bed with a canopy and heavy brocade curtains. There were heavy Tudor chairs before the lit fire, huge old mirrored armoires and a cherry table set before still more windows. The windows were small—original arrow slits, she imagined—but even so, they must let in the morning light, and it was probably beautiful at daybreak.

  As she looked around, Gregory cleared his throat. “There’s a modern bath added, Miss Evigan, to your right. Eleanor assures me that whatever amenities you might require are there. If there’s anything else …”

  “No, no, I’m quite fine, thank you, Gregory,” she told him. She could see the bathroom; the door to it was slightly ajar. There was a massive claw-footed tub, and she was dying to crawl into it. If she could just be lucky enough for the castle to have steaming hot water …

  The minute Gregory was gone she hurried into the bathroom and turned the hot water tap. For a second nothing happened, and she was ready to say that the devil could take intriguing old castles. Then there was a sudden rush of water, deliciously hot and steaming. She gave a glad cry of satisfaction, then added just a touch of cold, so she wouldn’t scald herself.

  While the tub filled she dumped the meager contents of her overnight bag on the bed, finding her makeup case and toiletries and taking them into the bathroom, then shaking out the one other set of clothing she had in the bag, a denim skirt and cotton blouse. The cotton had wrinkled, but she had a travel steamer with her. She found padded hangers in one of the armoires and quickly hung up her blouse and steamed out the wrinkles while she waited for the tub.

  Finally it was filled, and she got into it. The heat of the water was heavenly. She sank down, dousing her hair as well as her body, deliciously glad of the heat after the chill and the rain. She scrubbed her hair and her flesh, then leaned back, loath to leave such wonderful comfort.

  How strange the evening had been! she mused. It had seemed so horrible at first. She had imagined that she might well be sleeping beneath the eaves of a train station, through no one’s fault but her own. Then the mysterious stranger had appeared, bringing her here. And then Darryl Evigan had proven himself to be a very charming gentleman. And now this heavenly bath …

  S
he started suddenly, thinking she had heard a movement in the bedroom. She tensed, her fingers curling around the edge of the tub. “Who’s there?” she called out.

  No one answered, and she heard nothing more. Slowly the tension eased from her. She was hearing things. Maybe she was still dealing with jet lag, or maybe she just had an overactive imagination.

  She leaned back again. It still seemed so incredible that she was here. She had always known, of course, that she had been born in England. But when she had been very young, she had been led to believe that her parents had come to America as the great land of opportunity. They had never even mentioned that they still had relatives back home.

  She had lost her father when she was ten. Not quite fifty, he had succumbed to a heart attack. She and her mother had become very close, dealing with the painful blow together.

  She had never really thought about England. Even when she had been in college, ready to spend a summer abroad with friends, they had all opted for Paris, maybe because it was the City of Lights, maybe because it seemed such an appropriate place for students, and maybe because it had just seemed so romantic. She had never realized that her mother had been incredibly relieved about her choice, not until a year or two later, when she had caught that terrible fever. Nothing the doctors had been able to do had made any difference. Jane Evigan had died of pneumonia, but not until the fever had brought on delirium and she had whispered hauntingly of England over and over again. “I wasn’t guilty, I wasn’t!” she had cried.

  And Allyssa had tried to reassure her. “Of course not, Mother, of course not!” she had said fiercely. No one had ever been a kinder, more caring person than her mother, and Allyssa had loved her fiercely.

  “Guilty of what, Mother?” she had said later, when the words had poured out again. “Guilty of what?”

  But Jane had never said. Later, the doctors had told Allyssa that in Jane’s state of mind, she might have been talking about stealing a cookie when she was a child. “But she is at rest now, safe and serene,” they had said.

  And that was true. No pain, no fear, no worry, would touch either of her parents again.