Lonesome Rider and Wilde Imaginings

by Heather Graham

  “Oh, I’ve seen you before,” he said.

  “There! Now you admit—”

  “I admit that you were the most willful three-year-old I ever met!” he told her, his eyes flashing. He pushed back a wayward lock of his ebony hair, but it stubbornly fell over his eyes, again creating the image of a handsome rake. He pointed a finger at her. “You led us all a merry chase. A pretty child grown into a fetching woman. Still collecting and breaking hearts, I wager.”

  “What can you possibly know about me?” she cried furiously.

  His eyes swept over her again. “They broke Paddy’s heart when they took you away, that’s what I know.”

  “I was a child! I wasn’t given a choice!”

  He took a step toward her. A menacing step. “Ah, yes, but you’ve been grown up a few years now, eh, my girl? And Paddy’s dead and buried, and here you come.”

  “I didn’t know—”

  “Didn’t you?” he demanded.

  She stared at him, astonished. He was judging her without knowing a single thing about her life since she’d been three years old. And his manner had changed. Incredibly so. Why hadn’t he gone through this tirade last night?

  “No, I didn’t know!” she snapped. Furious, she took a quick step toward him, then lashed out swiftly, slapping him hard across the cheek. “That was for last night!” she told him, spinning around to leave.

  “Allyssa!” he hissed. Her heart pounded. For a moment she was certain that she had behaved not only impulsively, because of her temper, but dangerously, as well. He was going to follow her, spin her around and strike her.

  But he didn’t. Compelled, she paused and turned.

  He was staring at her from his regal height with his gold eyes flashing.

  “I’m telling you for the last time. You’ve gone daft, girl. I didn’t see you last night. And you can play with Darryl all you like, but strike me again, Miss Evigan, and you’ll pay the price.” He leaped on his horse with a swift, sure move, collecting the reins. Then he edged the animal closer, looking down at her. “I promise you that!” he vowed.

  And then, to her astonishment, he rode away.

  Chapter Three

  Darryl spent a large part of the morning with Allyssa, but by afternoon, he excused himself, saying that he had work to do, but she should make herself at home.

  Allyssa thought about telling him that she would feel more at home if he would let her share a little of the work that went with the place, but she decided it would be tactful to wait—and not appear as if she was attempting to take over the castle. Darryl had old-world ways, some of which were very nice. He never sat until she was seated, and he never failed to open a door, but sometimes his courtesy reached the point that he seemed to be treating her like a hothouse flower. When she had first returned to the castle after her argument with Brian Wilde, she tried to find out what the two men had been fighting about. But no matter how tactfully persistent she became, he was more so—he was determined not to tell her what the fierce argument had been over.

  She was going to have to find out on her own.

  Several times when they spoke casually, when he walked her out to the garden, when he pointed out a piece of furniture he thought she might remember for some reason, she thought about blurting out the fact that Brian had picked her up at the station—and that he had draped himself all over her bedroom. Except that Brian had denied it so vehemently.…

  What was going on? Just a matter of old rivalries?

  If so, Mr. Brian Wilde certainly deserved a swift kick for keeping her in the dark about their old fights, playing disappearing tricks on her the way he did, and then denying it all!

  She never did say anything about Brian to Darryl. And that afternoon, once he had gone off to do whatever it was that he had to do, Gregory suggested that she might like to ride around the estate. There were six horses in the stables, from old Betty, who could scarcely outrun a turtle, to Cignet Sam, who came quite close to being extraordinary stock.

  The idea of riding around the estate appealed to her very much, and since Gregory had brought the rest of her things from the train station early that morning, she quickly donned a cotton shirt and a pair of jeans and headed out to the stables. A young man named Liam was working there with the horses and the tack, and he suggested that Lady Luck might be the best mount for her—she was surefooted over the somewhat rocky terrains Allyssa would find in places; she could jump hedges and hurdles like a champion; she could definitely beat a turtle in a race, but she was no wild, galloping killer. Allyssa thanked him and agreed with his choice. While she watched the red-haired, freckle-faced youth head into the barn, she stared out across the property. The stables were set to the rear of the castle. Fields rolled and stretched in every direction. On a distant hill she could see a flock of white sheep. Closer to where she stood were paddocks with neat fences.

  “Where the shearing goes on,” Liam told her, grinning, as he returned. He gave her a rueful smile. “Ye’ve really got to work to keep a castle up, these days. We’ve chickens, too, in the back barn there. And don’t tell no one now, but we’ve been known to raise a pig or two, even in the twentieth century. The castle is really a very fancy farm, Miss Evigan.”

  “Allyssa,” she told him, smiling. Gregory could be so stiff and correct, and she had scarcely seen any of the other help in the castle, so she was glad of Liam, who seemed not only friendly, but normal, too!

  He gave her general directions. “The castle property runs to the north and the west, and there’re some beautiful trails through the woods along the way. If you were to head due south, ye’d come upon the village, such as she is. The inn is a right fine place, though, for a pint of ale, if ye’ve a mind to stop. Mrs. McKenzie runs the place, and she’s right friendly, though she’ll be curious as a cat’s meow, if ye can imagine!”

  Allyssa thanked him and started out, noting from his look that he seemed just as curious as Mrs. McKenzie could possibly be, but she liked him anyway: everything about him seemed so open and honest and friendly.

  Lady Luck handled like a dream. She was spirited but obedient, and Allyssa soon gave in to the temptation to canter her across one of the beautiful open fields. This morning, the landscape didn’t seem so green. Oh, the emerald shades were there, but they were interspersed with glorious lilacs and earth tones, more beautiful than ever.

  Running through the field was a wonderful sensation. Lady Luck raced along smoothly, her gait as graceful and easy as Allyssa could have hoped. The air was cool, blowing through her hair, whipping cold and refreshing against her cheeks. She reined the mare in as soon as she saw the forest looming before her. As Liam had told her, she saw an enchanting little trail that led into the green canopy of the trees.

  Lady Luck seemed to dance into the trees at first, reluctant to give up her run. But Allyssa loved the scenery she discovered, broad branches that met over her head, parting just enough to allow a dazzle of sunlight on her here and there. The ground seemed to be carpeted in softness, with a layer of moss stretched over it.

  She was startled when the trees suddenly broke and she found herself in a huge clearing. A sprawling, thatched-roof house sat in the midst of the clearing, surrounded by rose gardens. Behind the house and to the left were stables nearly as large as the dwelling itself. Smoke puffed cozily from the chimney that stood high atop the golden thatch on the roof of the house. It was so charming that it had a fairy-tale quality about it, almost as if it weren’t real. The house resembled many of the smaller, Shakespearean-style dwellings she had seen in the village, but this one was much larger. It was nearly the same size as the castle, yet so secluded here in the forest that it was modest rather than grandiose.

  As she sat on Lady Luck, staring at the house, she nearly jumped, startled to hear a voice behind her.

  “Ah, what do we have here? Our American cousin. Spying for the Yanks, Miss Evigan?”

  She must have nudged Lady Luck in her surprise, because the mare leaped forw
ard. “Whoa!” she cried, reining the mare in. She patted Lady Luck, calming her, then whirled the horse around.

  It was Brian Wilde.

  He hadn’t been riding. He came out of the forest as if he had materialized from it, from the mossy, green magic of the trees and the softly carpeted ground.

  But he walked toward her in very modern jeans and a cotton work shirt, his hands on his hips, his eyes, as always, gold and assessing.

  He stopped before her horse and grinned at her. “Slumming, Miss Evigan?”

  “I don’t even know where I am,” she told him curtly. “And if these are English slums, you have it all over us poor Yankees.”

  He lowered his lashes briefly, then smiled at her again, patting Lady Luck’s neck. “Well, I deserved that one. I’m sorry to say that we have atrocious English slums. I meant, Wilde Cottage must be a letdown after Fairhaven Castle.”

  “It’s not a letdown at all,” Allyssa said honestly, studying the house again. “It’s enchanting.”

  “Mmm,” he murmured, watching her. “Well, the history of the place is interesting, at least. It seems that the lord of the castle during Henry the Eighth’s day was in love with a nobleman’s daughter. For various reasons—such as the fact that they both already had spouses—they were unable to wed. He was a very wealthy man, having helped to get Henry’s dear dad, Henry the Seventh, on the throne, so he built this house in the woods for his beloved mistress. It was very convenient, I imagine. He would just tell his wife, ‘Honey, I’m going hunting with the boys,’ and ride right through the forest from the manor to his cottage.”

  “You’re making that up for shock value,” Allyssa said coolly.

  He started to laugh. “No, Miss Evigan, I’m not.”

  “It doesn’t matter. It’s beautiful.”

  “In a way,” he murmured, “it does matter. And it should be beautiful, more beautiful than the castle. The castle was begun as a defensive stronghold by the Normans—they wanted to protect their rumps from the Saxons. While the house was built with love in mind. Illicit or not, it tends toward greater beauty, don’t you think?”

  She didn’t know what to think; he was never the same from one minute to the next. He was watching her now with that familiar golden glitter in his eyes. Amusement? She could never be sure.

  “What were you and Darryl fighting about this morning?” she asked him.

  “Why don’t you ask Darryl?”

  “I did. He won’t tell me.”

  He reached up suddenly, his hands fastening around her waist, and lifted her to the ground before she could protest. For a moment she was pressed tight to his body again. He felt so hot and tense that she nearly jumped. A fire seemed kindled in her own flesh by the glitter in his eyes.

  Then he eased her down until her feet at last touched the ground. “Come in, come in. I’ll show you the place, and I’ll try to answer your question.”

  He caught hold of her elbow and started to lead her toward the house.

  “Lady Luck—” she began.

  “That mare is very much at home here, don’t worry. She’ll eat up my lawn and be waiting for you whenever you’re ready. Right, Lady?” he called softly to the horse.

  The mare seemed to understand him. She lifted her head, throwing back her mane, and whinnied. Allyssa arched a brow to him.

  “I’ve a knack with animals,” he said with a shrug.

  “Especially those of the female sex?” she heard herself asking.

  His smile deepened slowly. “Maybe. Come on. I’ll show you the house.”

  She followed him along a beautiful garden path between the rows of roses. “Pete Tomason has been keeping them up as long as I can remember,” he commented as she gently touched a few petals. “Do you remember old Pete?” he asked, studying her eyes again.

  She shook her head. “I don’t remember anything at all about being here. I was a toddler when I left.”

  He shrugged. “Maybe a person doesn’t remember things from that age. I couldn’t possibly judge, could I? I’ve been here almost all my life.”

  Allyssa stopped short, so angry at his tone that she spun to face him, poking her finger into his chest. “Would you please quit that! It seems as if you’re always implying something, and I have simply had it with your rudeness! You have some nerve! Showing up in my room, making snide comments, then trying to pretend you were never even there! How dare you? How dare you—”

  The finger she had been thrusting suddenly curled back into her hand, and what she pounded against his chest became first one fist, then both. He quickly caught her wrists, jerking her swiftly against him.

  “What is it with you?” he demanded angrily. “I was never, never, in your room. Trust me, Miss Evigan, if I had been, we would both remember it—very well!”

  His eyes seemed like pure, hot metal. She opened her mouth to protest, to deny everything that he was saying, as she gathered her strength to break away from him.

  But before a single word could leave her mouth in her own defense, she saw that his head was suddenly, and fiercely, lowering toward her own. And then his lips were on hers.

  She knew she should fight him. She didn’t even know him, not really, and what she did know about him should have steered her completely away from him.

  But such thoughts meant nothing when the rough feel of his lips against her own was the most exciting thing she had ever known. He kissed her as if it was something he had wanted to do from the first moment he’d seen her, as if it was something he had been fighting, something he had been dying to do.…

  Hard. Forceful. His tongue wedged apart her lips and teeth. Hot, liquid, intimate, it seared into her mouth, into her soul, into her being. She should have been pounding her fists against him again, but instead her fingers were curling into the cotton of his shirt as she was assailed by delicious sensations. She was tantalizingly aware of the tremendous heat and energy emanating from him, keenly aware of the rippling muscles of his torso. His scent filled her nostrils, rich, masculine, a mingling of leather and aftershave and the subtle, individual scent of the man himself. But it was a kiss, just a kiss.…

  Never just a kiss. Never had a kiss made her feel so explicitly what she wanted to do. Never had she simply molded herself so swiftly and naturally against the body of a man. The force itself was exquisite.…

  As his fingers threaded through her hair she pressed closer and closer until she could feel the length of him, flesh and bone and sinew and more.

  Then suddenly, as swiftly as his touch had come, it was gone. His fingers were still tangled in her hair, but his face was high above hers, and he seemed angry, incredibly angry. “I told you—neither of us would have the least doubt that I had been there!” he snapped huskily.

  She wrenched herself away, spinning and heading almost blindly toward her horse. To upset her further, the mare spooked and ran several feet away from her when she moved to take the reins.

  Behind her, Brian whistled. Lady Luck turned as obediently as a lamb and trotted to him. “Miss Evigan?” he said politely.

  She walked over to him and snatched the reins from his hands. She would have mounted on her own power, but he was too swift. His hands were on her waist again, lifting her, setting her down. She gathered the reins quickly, staring at him, in a hurry to be gone.

  “You didn’t see the house,” he told her.

  “Get out of my way.”

  He arched a brow. “Running? I didn’t think you were the type to be easily scared.”

  “Move!” she snapped.

  “You still don’t know what the argument was about between Darryl and me.”

  “I don’t care—”

  “Oh, yes, you do. And I’ll tell you. The sheep just can’t cut it anymore. We can’t hold on to these places without changing our ways. The National Trust wants us to open them both to the public, two afternoons a week. It would give us all kinds of government credits and, quite bluntly, it would save our butts.”

  “Well, M
r. Wilde,” she suggested irritably, “why don’t you open your own house to the public and let Darryl do whatever he wishes with his?”

  He shook his head, still holding the reins so that she could not move, still studying her eyes. “You don’t know, do you?”

  “Don’t know what?”

  “They’re linked, you see. The way Paddy saw it, there were three heirs to his grandfather’s estate, those being Darryl, you and me. I loved the cottage from the time I was a child. You were gone—no one knew if we would ever see you again. The cottage came my way, the castle fell to Darryl. But there are numerous legal ties. Neither of us can sell without the other’s permission. Neither of us can make changes—like signing with the National Trust—without the other. That’s how it was set up during Paddy’s life. But then again, sweet distant cousin, everything could change. After all, the solicitor did find you. And, after all these years, you’re back.”

  “Gold digging,” Allyssa said sarcastically, trying to jerk the reins from him. “Let me by!”

  “Why? Are you in such a hurry to run to the castle and commiserate with Darryl?”

  “Despite whatever faults you may see in him, Brian Wilde, the man is a hell of a lot nicer than you are!”

  He instantly released his hold on the mare, stepping back. “And your names are already the same! How convenient for you!”

  Allyssa decided not to reply, now that she was free of him. She set her knees to Lady Luck’s ribs and bolted from the clearing.

  Despite her anger, she had the good sense to slow the mare’s gait as she made her way through the trees. Still, she headed for the castle as fast as she dared, racing once again when she came to the open fields.

  Darryl was still out when she arrived. She learned that he would be very late, but that dinner would be served whenever she chose. She thanked Gregory for the information and hurried up to her room.

  As she stripped, she kept her gaze nervously on the bedroom, thinking that Brian Wilde might appear again. But he didn’t. Still, she stared into every corner of the bedroom, checked under the bed and peered into the armoires, then bolted the door firmly.