“Good.” She studied the quiet man with the shrewd green eyes. “Keno, are you up for a late-night adventure?”
“Mrs. Morgan, with you in charge, I wouldn’t miss it.”
“Please call me Fionola. I’d like to consider us friends.”
“My honor, ma’am.”
Seth rushed in, looking harried. “I’m here, I’m sorry.”
“Is everything okay?” Fionola asked.
“Oh yeah, just one of my youngsters. She’ll make a good vet one of these days if she ever gets all of her questions answered.” He grinned.
Fionola took a deep breath. “Now that we’re together, I wonder if I should explain or just show you. I think showing you would be best. Seth”—he was busy answering a text—“you’re coming too.”
“Right behind you, Bossy.”
“I heard that, you mouthy poop.” Some things she hoped would never change.
She led them into the kitchen, slipped out the side door and into the moonlight. Sycamore trees—they were called ghost trees in some cultures—swayed in a steady rhythm. The wind kicked up.
Jared caught Tyndal’s hand. “Do you know what she wants to show us? I thought I knew everything there was to know about this place.”
“Me too. But then again, it’s Fee.”
They stayed close to the house, skirted ceramic pots and containers of flowers. Jasmine, its sweet, timeless fragrance thickened the air.
Fionola stopped in front of several storage units built onto the house. “Some of these units hold furniture.” Fionola smiled at her granddaughter. “I scavenged one or two to find some pieces when you set up your house. But some do not. Take a look.” She opened one large door.
“A diesel generator? This thing’s big enough to power a small town,” Jared said.
“We have two systems, normal current and the generator. Chase wanted to be prepared in case of an emergency.”
Keno stood back making notes. Fionola walked to his side. “I think I’ve figured out the ventilation system,” he said. “And these are water pipes. Which means your husband installed a separate well. Did you know that?” Sure she did. “I think there’s more you have to show us.”
“There is.” After another hallway and more locked doors, she stopped again. “At this point, we’re approaching the original structure of Morgan’s Walk.”
“Underground? Why didn’t I know about this?” Tyndal asked. “It’s like a movie set.”
“Sweet girl, I promise, what you see here is only the beginning.” Fionola switched on overhead lights and, fingering along the panels, released a hidden latch.
No one dreamed a ten-foot-section of wall built on skillfully disguised tracks would slide back soundless and smooth to reveal a stairway of unusually wide stairs. Not deep stairs, but three men could walk side-by-side up or down them. “I’ve never shown anyone what you’re going to see tonight.” Fionola smiled and moved forward. “Watch your step.”
“I don’t believe all this stonework. Did Chase fashion it after some Scottish castle or something?” Jared stopped to rub his hands on the chiseled stone.
“Actually, he did. This is a fairly exact replica of the stronghold which was located in the Castle of the Clan MacTaggart, the home of my ancestors. The plans were among the family journals.”
“Was, you said. I guess the castle doesn’t exist now?” Keno looked as though he wanted to hear the whole story.
“It was destroyed in the Jacobite rebellion. It’s in ruins. Staircases lead to blown out guard towers. Part of the kitchen with its brick oven is recognizable. Old stones, covered in moss and wild roses, hide a couple of cannons. There were plans for a catapult in the drawings, so I imagine they had one. If a person looks, the foundation stones are still there, but nothing of the house remains.
“Jared…” Fionola unlocked the last door. “I don’t know why I didn’t think of this when I asked you to return to Morgan’s Walk and you said you wanted your own place. I suppose I wasn’t worried about Pyralis. But after Bahadur, I wonder if these quarters might be appropriate. I believe both you and Pyralis will be comfortable here.”
Comfortable was hardly the word. The room was enormous, a medieval chamber lined with honey colored stone and timbers the size of tree trunks. Light filled the vast space from sconces bolted into the walls and from overhead iron chandeliers. There were king-sized leather sofas, and a dining table that looked as if it graced the Castle MacTaggart itself. The bedrooms, all three of them, were furnished with beds the size of small lakes, antique mahogany dressers, and sturdy, needlepoint covered chairs.
Several of the walls were covered with exquisite tapestries. Two rooms, clearly not part of the castle design, housed a kitchen and the other, a complete bath. Under antique Aubusson rugs, stone carpeted the floor, cut in great slabs by an artist’s hands. And beyond the stone pillars supporting another set of arches, was what could only be considered a stable.
Keno looked at Fionola. “You want to explain this?”
She laughed. “According to the MacTaggart legend, back in the days of great battles and times of siege, the laird had to protect what was his. Always that included not only his family, but the best of his livestock. The Bedouins had a similar arrangement. They often slept having their prized horses in the same tent, especially during the desert wars. Chase decided to do the same here.”
“Which,” Jared said, “is why the stairs are as wide as they are.”
She nodded. “Exactly. It’s easy to lead a horse up and down them. Take a look.”
She showed them stall after stall, waiting and vacant, as if anticipating the day when their shelter would be needed. In that deep sanctuary, stone slabs were replaced with a flooring of soft sand. The light was low and soothing.
“Chase and I loved this. We lived here until the house above ground was built. So if you want”—her smile was soft—“it’s yours for as long as you need. I think we can say Sasha knows nothing of this place. Deal?”
“Wait,” Keno said, his eyes on Fionola. “You brought us in how Jared will bring his horse. I assume there’s another access to the house?” He pointed upward.
Fionola touched a latch, and carved mahogany panels in the dining area slid open revealing a staircase. “This goes all the way to the third floor. On each floor, access is through a panel Chase disguised as something else.”
“I’d love to have known your husband.” Keno grinned at Fionola. “Jared we need to get you moved in tonight.” He turned a slow circle, surveyed the room and the people in it.
“Keno, you look like a man preparing for battle, thinking through strategies,” Fionola said.
“In a way, I am.” Keno rubbed his hands along one of the stone pillars. “My team is fully in place now. We’re working with investigators from Sasha’s homeland and they’ll be on-site before long. Fionola, I like how you described the laird protecting what was his and being able to withstand a siege. Because tomorrow, make no mistake about it, we start a siege on Sasha Tarasova.”
The way he said it made Fionola pause, consider his profession. She met his eyes. “I think, Keno, if the situation called for it, you could be a very dangerous man.”
“Just a matter of perspective, ma’am.”
Chapter Ten
Seated among the crowd, Sasha applauded as Jared cantered Pyralis into the largest indoor arena at Morgan’s Walk. The auditorium was brightly lit, with every seat and space in the bleachers occupied. Flowers spilled from planters placed beside each jump and at the corners of the arena.
“Ladies and Gentlemen,” the announcer said, “welcome to Show Jumping. Some of you may not be familiar with a class like this, so let me explain. Right now, the jumps are not as high as they’ll become, and the time allowed for each competitor is relatively slow. By the time we’re in the finals, each second is crucial. These early rounds give our judges an opportunity to study the horse and rider team, to watch their form, technique, and precision. Currently working in
the arena is Jared Grant and his horse, Pyralis. So far, their round is clean. No errors.”
Jared held the great horse with light hands and moved with him like water flowing over stones in a summer stream. From experience, Sasha knew he felt every breath the horse took. That Pyralis sensed, even before he felt the slight pressure from Jared’s knees, asking him for speed, asking him to fly. For them, navigating a jump course was a game they loved to play. Pyralis. The press called him the Horse of Fire, or Flame. If she had him, she’d own the world, but that would mean getting him away from Jared. Revenge had so many possibilities.
She simply hoped each fence, each steep drop, would be their last.
If the wretched horse could at least have an accident, it would save her a bit of trouble. For Pyralis, these shortened fences and first round obstacles formed nothing of a real challenge. If anyone thought the horse was working, they’d be wrong. Even a novice could see Jared rode as if he and his horse shared a single breath. They wouldn’t make a mistake that day.
She didn’t plan to make one either.
When it was her time in the arena, she also didn’t plan on some kid screaming like a stuck pig when her horse worked the triple.
Second. She placed second. Distracted by the kid’s screams, her horse nicked one of the poles, not quite lifting high enough to be clear and not quite tipping it out of position either. If the pole had dislodged, she’d never have taken second.
To make up for the pole, she’d pushed hard for time. If she’d completed her round faster than Jared, if she hadn’t needed an extra half-second to set up for the water, if, if, if. If the stupid kid had kept its mouth shut. It was no good to second guess what couldn’t be changed.
Her mouth hardened as Jared left the arena. Waiting for him at the exit, Tyndal lifted her arms. He reached down and brought her onto the saddle with him. Carrying them both, Pyralis simply danced. The horse wasn’t close to being tired.
The man was such a fool. Kiss and fondle your mouse all you want, Jared darling. She studied the couple locked in an embrace, and frowned at Pyralis. She knew where he was stabled. Soon, she promised herself, soon.
But first, her horse needed to be groomed and stabled. It was a task she didn’t enjoy. Thankfully, Morgan’s Walk had grooms assigned to each barn for such a chore. She dismounted and tossed the reins to the first one that stepped forward. The guy looked like a college kid. Giving him a little flirt, she smiled at the youngest member of Keno’s team.
As the kid and her horse headed toward the wash rack, she paused, considered. Her big gray horse wasn’t Pyralis, but none were. Tall, lean, and the color of granite, she figured he cared for her about as much as she did for him. Still, he usually won. He liked the challenge of the jumps. It was in his blood.
But she’d have his blood if he lost again.
She would have gone to her room, but Keno was in the next paddock over, brushing a horse. She walked toward him, admiring the man’s wide shoulders, the muscles that rippled in his arms. If he wasn’t a total boor, he could amuse her for a while.
“And I thought the afternoon might be dreary. Now, it’s just full of possibilities.” Without being asked, she walked into the enclosure, leaned against the fence, and pulled off her jacket, unbuttoning the first few buttons on her shirt. Maybe he’d like a little show and tell. The big man had some secrets. He’d puzzled her when they met. He still did. “Is that the horse you bought from Jared? It’s not a Thoroughbred.”
“No, ma’am. This guy is a registered American Quarter Horse.”
“Seems like a tedious breed for a man like you. I’d have thought you’d want one with more fire.” She lifted her arms, pulled the clasp out of her hair. It spilled free, tangled at her shoulders.
“Tedious? No, ma’am. He’s what Jared calls an honest horse. I don’t pretend to know much about this, I’m a beginner in the horse business. But here’s the difference between you and me. You come in here with a look in your eye. Like you think I’m a man who doesn’t have more than two brain cells between his ears. You think I’ll fall right in line. Yeah, I noticed how you hugged up to that post. Put me in mind of a club dancer snaking herself around a pole. You’re fire all right, ma’am. I’ll give you that. And you might be exciting. But there it is again. Those two brain cells of mine just aren’t impressed.”
Keno’s quiet, slow voice rolled on, soft as a kiss.
“See, I like my women slow and sweet. I like to take my time to gentle one. I like to use my hands to touch her, to make her mine. Jared said I might think about that when I work with this guy.” He spread his hands, turned them over, and then rubbed the stallion’s deep shoulder. “He said if I could tame a woman with a touch like that, I’d probably be able to tame him.”
Sasha looked at his hands, the way he stroked and kneaded the horse’s shoulders. “You have big hands, Keno. Sensitive hands, and I’d say, if his expression is an indication”—she nodded toward the horse—“you know how to use them.” She moved closer, closed her hand over his. “I know how to touch too.”
She moved from his hand to his arm and trailed a finger toward his chest. “I thought, with the right opportunity, maybe you’d want to touch me while I touched you.” She felt the heat of his skin through her thin silk shirt. “You’re a perceptive man. And, honey, you don’t need to call me ma’am. I think we’re beyond that. At least”—she twined a long strand of hair through her fingers and met his eyes—“I hope we are.”
“No, ma’am. I was raised in West Texas. My daddy worked an oil rig and my mama cleaned rich people’s houses. They made sure I knew where I was from. They also made sure I knew to follow my dreams. Now here I am with this fine horse in an area of the country I hope to make my home. You can call me ‘honey’ all day, but it won’t cause me to develop any nice, sweet feeling for you. No, ma’am. Putting yourself on display and eyeing me with what you have on your mind? Gonna have to leave it there.” But he wasn’t done. “See, my mama taught me not to stick my hand into the fire. I try to remember her lessons. You might want to remember this one.” He lifted Sasha’s jacket off the rail and handed it to her. “You have a nice day now, ma’am. My mama also taught me to keep a snake in sight. And I think there’s not a lot of difference between a woman like yourself and the nearest cobra. They’re beautiful, I’ve seen a number of them, but they’re still as deadly.”
“Deadly? Keno, you have no idea.” She laughed and swore she could have felt ice shiver across her skin. The man’s eyes seemed to see to her soul. “My little invitation isn’t at all deadly. What could you be thinking?”
“Honey, there’s preparation and there’s anticipation. I’m the kind of man who likes both. During my time, I’ve learned snakes can be found even in a place like Morgan’s Walk. So I keep this close by, just in case.” He lifted the long knife, slipped it out of its leather sheath, and slicked the blade between his fingers. “This is high-carbon steel. One of the finest knives in the world. When I’ve needed it, it’s cut deep, and true.” He slipped the knife back into its sheath. “Now I think we understand one another. You go on, and I’ll try not to remember how I feel about this little talk we’ve had.”
“Keno?” Sasha’s eyes were slits. “You remember this.”
She knew he could have dodged it if he’d wanted, but he let the slap land. As she pulled her hand back, he laughed, and the sound of it scared her more than anything. No, he’d never be in her bed. But she’d make sure she knew where he was. It wouldn’t do to encounter him, or his knife, in the middle of the night. He’d already sliced her up too well with words alone.
****
Two mornings later, the grandstand was literally packed. Every seat and bleacher was taken. The press ought to get credit for that, Sasha thought, aware of the rumors circulating about the battle between her and Jared. She’d been interviewed several times, had been asked about the ‘fiancée’ status, and if a wedding was in her future. It seemed people were captivated by the contest bet
ween the beautiful blonde and her stone gray horse, and Jared with his magnificent Pyralis.
Of course, Sasha smiled at the thought, when she happened to let her title slip, well, just the word ‘Countess’ added another dimension of sparkle. The rubies on her ears and in the clasp she used in her hair only seemed suitable. She answered questions about the dear departed Count—God rest his soul—and about her early years in Russia. The reporters ate up the part about the poor, sweet girl who’d worked and studied, who practiced long hours to ride until one day her talent was noticed. And that she rode in the Olympics? How impressive. She could imagine the mamas and daddies telling their kids they could be in the Olympics too. It was just delicious when somebody asked how she’d met the Count.
As her career skyrocketed, she said, she took a brief rest in Monaco. It was pure coincidence he loved to vacation there too. They met at a glorious ball, the Count was dazzled, they fell madly in love, and he swept her away to his estate in the hills of Italy. Wasn’t that something?
She laughed to herself. It was something all right. Parts of the story were even true. Entertaining as all the photo sessions and interviews were, what mattered was that her name had been called. She was first to ride that morning.
She put her horse to the canter. “Steady, steady,” she murmured as she set up for the combination. “Steady, steady”—she counted each footfall—“breathe now, and lift.” She cued her big gray to soar. And he did. Jump after jump, each one perfectly executed, each one clean.
“No faults.” The announcer confirmed what she knew.
Sasha nodded to the crowd, accepted the applause. It was her due, her right. Leaving the arena, she turned her horse into the holding area as the next competitor entered. When a collective sigh issued from the huge crowd, she figured the horse had hit a rail. She shrugged. One less to worry about.
She dismounted, tossed her reins to a groom, paused only to make sure the boy had enough sense to put a light sheet across her horse and walk him until he’d cooled. For the moment, the creature was too valuable to be careless with.
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