by Tracy Fobes
He swatted at the bothersome insects and avoided the pools, determined to arrive back at the castle without smelling like a swamp. Gradually, as he explored, he became aware of lilting, flutelike notes. The panflute, he thought, and followed the sound, knowing it would lead him to Sarah. After a short trek, he drew close enough to hear the panflute clearly. The music trembled and squeaked in a guttural fashion. It seemed to originate in a clearing just beyond his line of vision.
A soft breeze blew from the direction of the clearing, sweeping past to dissipate in the woods behind him. On the breeze he could smell a hint of flowers. He looked above the clearing and saw an amazing variety of tiny birds flying around. He suspected their chirping had given Sarah’s music that squeaky quality. Most likely they were chirping in excitement at the bountiful feast of white insects, but some fanciful part of him wondered if the birds were accompanying her music with a bit of their own.
Smiling at the capricious notion, he stepped around some hedges. Ahead, a tree possessing a girth twice his size blocked his view of her. He didn’t need to see her, however. . . her music drew him on. Soon he reached the tree and peered around its trunk to look into the clearing. Blinking, he squeezed his eyes shut and then snapped them open again. Amazement made him feel light-headed.
Trees filtered the harsh glare of mid-afternoon sunlight, allowing only a soft, golden haze to touch the clearing. White insects flew around in great abundance, their wings glittering gold in the lambent glow and dipping around Sarah like faeries. Sarah sat in a patch of white flowers, her skirt spread out like a blanket. In a loose circle around her, animals of all kinds watched.
What the hell?
Swallowing, Colin stared at the small white hare that held out its front paw to Sarah. An owl perched on a branch above the hare, ignoring what should have been a grand meal in favor of Sarah and her panflute. He swiveled to gaze at the brown goose that honked insistently, and at the red fox sitting quietly next to the goose.
Why wasn’t the fox attacking the goose, and the owl eating the rabbit? His heart was beating too fast. He tried breathing deeply to calm down.
A wren was flying circles above Sarah, and the magnificent stag he’d witnessed from the study on the day of her arrival stood just outside the circle. The stag’s brown eyes seemed to hold wisdom that Colin could never understand. With a start, he realized that her audience even included an otter, for God’s sake. . . perhaps up from Loch Fyne and the seas beyond to attend her little musical.
He passed a shaky hand across his forehead. This was a trick of hers. Either that or he was losing his mind.
She patted her skirts, as though inviting the rabbit to have a seat. The little animal hopped right over to her and sat where she’d indicated. At the same time, the wren fluttered downward to land on the tip of her panflute, and a ray of sunlight penetrated the treetops above her and settled upon her face, painting her gold.
She laughed, the sound soft, yet full of joy.
Colin gripped the tree trunk. The bark felt rough and crumbly beneath his fingers. He’d been pressing his knee into the trunk, and now he realized it had begun to ache. He welcomed the pain and dug his fingers harder into the bark, reassured that Sarah and her animal friends weren’t a dream or a hallucination.
His evaluative side had overcome the shock and was beginning to take over.
Could he be losing his mind? No. He didn’t hear voices or smell strange scents, and hadn’t suffered the kind of terrible incidents that sometimes drove people mad. Madness had claimed King George III, but it had not claimed him. His stomach rolled with uneasiness.
How could he possibly accept what he was seeing, then? This went far beyond a special touch with animals. She was talking to them, for God’s sake. Charming them with her flute in a way any goddess worth her salt could.
Sarah, who had been caressing the hare, turned toward the stag and played a quick little melody on her panflute. In response, the stag lowered his head and bent forward on one leg. Colin had the distinct impression he had just offered her a bow.
He shook his head. He could stand here and deny what his own eyes were telling him, or he could accept it and try to understand. Since he couldn’t think of one logical, scientific explanation for her talent, he had to ascribe it to magic. To the fey folk. In the past he had always dismissed tales of Highland faeries with utter contempt, but now, he was seriously reconsidering his position.
She played on her panflute some more, and the stag raised himself. When she stopped playing, the stag embarked on a series of gestures and low rumblings that she listened to with her head cocked to one side. A frown crept across her face. She nodded, her shoulders sagging, then looked at the ground for a few seconds before refocusing on the stag, a tremulous smile replacing her frown.
She’d received some bad news, he thought. He studied her with a new sense of awe, and a strange sense of buoyancy that dissipated his uneasiness.
A skunk meandered across the clearing to sidle up to her. Colin flinched at the sight of it. It evidently didn’t have spraying in mind, however. Instead, it growled and scratched the grass with its clawed feet, then fixed her with an expectant, if beady black stare. She replied on the flute, and it scratched some more. Avid curiosity grabbed hold of Colin. What were they talking about?
Sarah pointed at a deeper portion of the woods. The skunk rumbled, then took off in the direction she’d pointed. Colin, watching the skunk trundle off, could stand it no longer. He had to reveal himself and find some answers. He stepped out from behind the tree.
The moment he did so, all of the animals froze. Seconds later they scattered off into the woods, the stag knocking down branches in his haste to get away. Sarah stared at him, panflute in hand, her face very pale. She slipped the flute into her reticule without ever looking away.
“I’ve spoiled your party,” he said, trying to smile, and stepped closer.
“My lord,” she breathed. “How long have ye. . . what did ye . . .”
“How long have I been standing behind that tree?” Hesitantly he moved to her side. His heart was pounding in his chest. He hadn’t felt this off balance in an age. “Long enough to see you chatting with your friends.”
A blush stained her cheeks pink.
“You were . . . chatting, no?” he pressed, hunkering down until one of his knees touched the forest floor. He kept his other foot on the ground, his leg bent. From this position he faced her squarely.
“What of it?” Defiance laced her tone. She challenged him with narrowed eyes.
“What of it? What of it, you say? Are you suggesting I should find nothing . . . odd in the way you talk to animals?”
“Talk?”
“Yes, talk. I watched you and that stag have a conversation.”
She laughed shakily. “Ye’re seeing things.”
“No, I’m not. Tell me how you do it.”
“But my lord, I cannot talk tae animals —”
“I’ve seen you. And you can’t convince me I’m hallucinating. What are you afraid of?”
Scowling, she scrambled to her feet and looked down on him. “Am I supposed tae trust ye, a rake with an appalling reputation? I’ve been warned about ye.”
Sidetracked, he frowned, and stood as well. “By whom?”
“A friend.” She looked away.
“That letter you received. It contained gossip about me?”
She didn’t answer.
“Who was the letter from?”
A glint in her eyes, she marched past him. “I’m going back tae the castle.”
“Wait a moment.” He maneuvered in front of her, blocking her exit. “If you’re not going to tell me who wrote to you, at least explain how you learned to talk to animals.”
“And if I don’t answer, what will ye do? Speak tae the duke about my secretive nature and my odd ability, which hints tae ye of witchcraft? Perhaps then he’ll renounce his claim on me and return yer inheritance tae ye.”
Taken aback, Co
lin stared at her. “I’m not your enemy.”
“I have no desire tae confide in ye about anything.”
“Are you at least going to admit you talk to animals?”
She shrugged. “I’ll allow that I have a special touch concerning animals.”
“But I saw you conversing with them.” He paused to take a deep breath, excitement and awe grabbing hold of him all over again. “What a magnificent talent it must be. What do they tell you? How did you learn? Please, Sarah, you must trust me.”
Sighing angrily, she spun away from him and stared into the trees.
“What are you so afraid of?”
Without warning, she whirled back around to face him. “What would people think of a girl who claimed tae talk tae animals? They’d think her mad. Those few who believed the accusation would brand her a witch or a faerie. She would live as an outcast.”
“So you keep quiet about your talent.”
“Aye, I do.” She stopped short, her eyes widening as she realized her admission.
He smiled. “You can trust me. I’ll tell no one. Won’t you satisfy my curiosity, and describe how you came to possess such an ability? Does it have something to do with your panflute?”
She looked away, one hand tightly clasped around her reticule.
“What did the stag say?”
“I asked him about a . . . friend.”
“Ah, another friend. Is there something amiss with your friend? The stag’s news seemed to sadden you.”
“My . . . friend is growing more ill with every passing day.”
“Can I do anything to help?”
“Nay.”
“Will you introduce me to your friend?”
She shook her head no.
“Won’t you at least tell me this friend’s name?”
“I won’t answer any more questions.”
“I’m a patient man. I’ll wait until you’re ready to answer.” He slung an arm around her shoulder and pulled her close, noting how she’d fit perfectly into his body. “We have three months ahead of us, during which we will come to know each other very well. I must admit, I’ve never looked forward to the future with more eagerness than I do now. I expect you to tell me all of your secrets. Perhaps I’ll even tell you a few of my own.”
Visibly swallowing, she sagged against him. Her hand fluttered up to rest upon her breasts, which were heaving with some unnamed emotion.
After all of those stubborn refusals, her surrender and that soft look in her eyes brought a tightness to his loins. Extremely conscious of the soft press of her breast against his ribs, he breathed her scent in, memorizing it. “Are you all right?”
“I’m fine,” she muttered.
“You need to rest. We’ll ride out tomorrow.”
“Absolutely not.” She straightened and pulled away from him. “I want tae explore the grounds this afternoon, like we planned.”
She sounded so determined that again his thoughts went back to the stag. What had the animal communicated to her? He lifted an eyebrow, intrigued. “Whatever my lady wishes.”
9
A n hour later, Sarah found herself dressed in a new gown, this one designed specifically for riding, according to Mrs. Fitzbottom. Chafing at the delays created by these long dressing sessions, Sarah could hardly stand still while the housekeeper fussed with her hat. The stag’s revelation had underscored the urgency of the unicorn’s plight. Long ago, the unicorn had helped her, and now he needed her. If she didn’t find him soon, and nurse him through his illness, he would die.
The sunlight streaming through her bedchamber window had taken on the mellow glow of late afternoon. A quick glance at the clock confirmed that the hour was well past two. She wanted to spend as much time as possible exploring the grounds and looking for the unicorn before dusk fell, but at this rate, she’d be lucky to have two hours in the saddle.
“Can ye not hurry?” Sarah asked. “Colin awaits me in the great hall. I’m more than half an hour late.”
“All grand ladies are late,” the housekeeper chided her. “Besides, we need to place your hat at just the right angle, so you look confident.”
“Confident? I look like I’m ready tae march off tae war.” Sarah glanced downward at her habit of bright green, ornamented down the front and embroidered at the cuffs with military-type golden frogging. The tips of her boots peeped out from beneath her skirt. She lifted her hem a little to admire the green lace and fringe decorating the boots more fully. “Still, I like these little black boots. Even my feet are pampered.”
“You appear far from soldierly. If I were to compare you to something, I’d choose a violet. This green habit makes your eyes look purple, and you are small. Even a bit shy, bless you.” The housekeeper finally pinned the small riding hat of black velvet onto Sarah’s curls. Then she stood back and assessed Sarah with a keen gaze. A smile lightened her face. She nodded. “Perfect, lass. Mr. Colin will hardly be able to pull his attention from you.”
“But I don’t want his attention,” she protested, and felt her face heat at the lie. Mrs. Fitzbottom’s earlier revelations about Colin’s youth had intrigued her. Now she wanted to know him better . . . though how much better, she wasn’t yet willing to decide.
“I guarantee you will have it regardless,” the housekeeper said. “Now go, and remember to ask the duke’s tenants about Mr. Colin.”
Nodding, Sarah grabbed her kidskin gloves and hurried out of the bedchamber before Mrs. Fitzbottom decided to fuss some more with her appearance. At the second-floor balcony that overlooked the great hall, she paused and gazed downward. Instantly she found Colin, who stood near the door. He was looking at a gold watch fob he held in one hand. As if he felt her stare upon him, he glanced upward.
Their gazes locked. Sarah caught her breath. A fluttering sensation danced in the pit of her stomach. Her cheeks unaccountably warm, she broke eye contact and walked slowly down the stairs. With every other step, she risked a glance at him, taking in his appearance bit by bit.
She’d originally thought his build no better than average, but now she saw that his breeches outlined muscular thighs, and his hunt coat emphasized broad shoulders. His black neck cloth contrasted with a white waistcoat, a combination that reinforced her impression of his dual nature. Was he dark, or was he light? Was he good or bad? At the very least, his powerful build suggested strength and capability. Suddenly he seemed very male to her.
She smiled at him upon reaching the bottom stair. “Good afternoon, Colin.”
Blinking, he assessed her for a moment, then murmured, “You never cease to surprise me.”
All at once she felt feminine and pretty. Enjoying the sensation, she moved to his side.
He clasped her arm and led her across the hall, toward the front door. “You look like a duchess, you know.”
“Not because of any effort on my part. Rather, I think Mrs. Fitzbottom has a bit of magic in her.”
“You’re not even trying to improve yourself?”
She shrugged. “Nay.”
“Don’t you want to become a grand lady?”
“I want tae go back tae my home in Beannach.” After I find the unicorn, she silently added.
He lifted an eyebrow. “Why don’t you just leave?”
“Because the duke and I have a deal. He’s satisfied my debts with the Murphys, who found me wandering the moors, took me in, and raised me. In return, I’ve promised tae stay here and pretend to be his daughter. Stay I will, until he realizes I can never be the daughter he wishes for.”
Smiling, he closed the distance between them, clasping her hand in his much larger gloved palm. “You’re already the daughter he wished for.”
Her heart sank. Maybe the duke didn’t care who she was, he just wanted a daughter to lavish his attention on.
Colin steered her toward a stone carriage path and changed the subject. “We’ll walk to the Maltlands. The groomsmen have horses waiting for us there.”
They started down the
path, which led around a grove of trees. Colin pointed out the sights to her along the way, naming an arched bridge as “Mr. Frew’s Bridge” and explaining the history of the area. Beneath his rich, cultured voice, Sarah thought she heard a hint of regret. She remembered the duke telling her that once, Colin had considered Inveraray his home. Perhaps he was now wishing he hadn’t forsaken Inveraray’s quiet country charm for London and society.
To her right, she recognized the kitchen gardens, where she had wandered last night before stumbling across the hay barn and making her bed. A gardener had recently turned the earth, leaving muddy clumps in his wake. Neat rows of lettuce, spinach, and snow peas marched up and down the aisles. She memorized its layout, so she wouldn’t become lost during her next midnight walk through its leafy interior.
When Colin led her past the garden and around the grove of trees, Sarah could see a series of archways in the distance. The archways opened onto a square surrounded by white barns. These were the Maltlands, he told her, containing all of the duke’s horses and carriages, as well as a forge and the water-driven sawmill used by the duke’s wrights, smithies, and other craftsmen.
Properly impressed, Sarah passed beneath the central arch and stopped in the square. Slatted doors faced her from every direction, suggesting a dizzying variety of carriages. Bales of hay bulged from one barn and a granary spilled oats into a wooden trough. Here, animal feed lay scattered all over the place, unlike upon the farms in Beannach, where every piece of hay was precious. She wondered if the plentiful feed had ever attracted the unicorn.
Moments later a groomsman with two horses in hand walked toward them. Although she’d never owned a horse, she’d learned a fair amount about them through treating their complaints. These horses were thoroughbreds, far above fourteen hands and well pampered, judging by the way they sidestepped and pulled on the reins. The smaller one — a mare — even had little burgundy bows woven through its mane.
