The Thorn Bearer

by Pepper Basham

  “Do not peddle your lofty virtues here, Ms. Dougall. I have seen firsthand the playacting of your family passed down through generations, and I will not be swayed by your pretty face.” Lady Cavanaugh dusted something off her arm, almost as an insult. “I admit I condoned this meeting out of respect for my great nephew. He holds you in high regard and assures me of your most honorable intentions.”

  “He is very kind. I do hope to help—”

  “However, I will not be as easily fooled.” She narrowed her eyes. “I wanted to make you aware, in person so we have an understanding, that I will not support any scheme of which you are creator. Your people are not to be trusted.”

  “On what basis? If your nephew, whom you respect, has no cause to question my motives, then why should you? I can’t understand —”

  Lady Cavanaugh came to her feet. “You impertinent young woman! How dare you question me? No doubt your purposes are—”

  Ashleigh stood, readied to defend her position. “My purpose is to help homeless, parentless children. That is all.” She would not back down from this woman’s irrational fury, no matter how many rungs up the social ladder she lived. “I implore you, if your nephew offers his support, then it should at least cause you to examine me apart from this prejudice you have against my family.”

  “We have nothing more to discuss, Miss Dougall. If your sister, with her wild flirtations and disregard for propriety, hadn’t secured my judgment, then your very appearance would have. I have no compassion for Emily Dougall.” Lady Cavaugh’s pointed her cane at Ashleigh. “Or her reflection. I have nothing else to give her. Good day.”

  The slap of her words sent Ashleigh into motion. Keeping her feet from stomping as she left the room and without waiting for an escort to the front door, she fairly ran down the hall. Within ten seconds she’d lost her way in the massive maze of a house, turning down one corridor and then another. Oh Lord, please help me get out of this awful mousetrap.

  Voices emerged down the hallway, so she followed them. Surely one of the staff could give her directions to the front. Oh, if Lord Cavanaugh lived, his wife’s actions would have shamed him. What arrogance and bitterness! Sour reputation or not, her family didn’t deserve such severity. Clearly, the consistent rub of bitterness created a callous disposition. Ashleigh’s steps slowed. Could bitterness transform her too? She didn’t want to end up with such a heart.

  She turned the corner of the hall and stopped just within the shadow, her breath coming to a stop in her throat. Catherine?

  Her sister’s disheveled appearance, not to mention how her body nearly wrapped around Drew Cavanaugh’s, gave ample clarity to her sister’s most recent occupation. Ashleigh stepped back into the shadow of the hall. Surely Catherine hadn’t — she would never—but the way Drew Cavanaugh’s hands flared down to Catherine’s backside and the veracity of their kisses left little doubt. The blouse to her suit jacket hung crooked from misbuttoning and even the laces of her boots hung loose. Excused from dinner the night before? Ashleigh steadied herself with a hand to the wall. Oh Catherine, what have you done?

  Could this be at the core of Lady Cavanaugh’s hatred toward the Dougalls? Sam’s words came back to her mind. What if he had married Catherine to find out she would only break his heart like his mother? A sudden swell of protection pushed her heart in Sam’s direction even more.

  She took a soundless turn back up the hallway into another corridor and nearly collided with a maid.

  “I’m sorry, but could you direct me toward the front of the house? I believe I’ve gotten lost.”

  The maid’s eyes gave a curt nod of understanding. “You’ll not be the first, Miss. Follow me.”

  Soon, Ashleigh sat in the auto car on her way to the hospital, realization flushing shame into anger. Did Catherine always have to ruin everything, including her own life?

  Chapter Eighteen

  A movement out Sam’s window caught his attention. Morning light filtered down to the dewy field and shone on Ashleigh’s dark head as she walked toward the stables. Her riding suit conformed to her petite frame, highlighting a whole wealth of curves usually hidden beneath her skirts.

  Ashleigh? His smile twitched in response.

  Ever since Queenstown, his dreams shifted between dying screams and the love in her eyes as she warmed his frozen skin with her hands. Her friendship had eased into his life as gently as sliding his hand into hers to help her out of a carriage. Naturally. Effortlessly.

  And just as easily it glided into something more. A sense of belonging he’d never known with Catherine.

  Catherine.

  He leaned a palm against the wall and sighed. What was she doing? Meeting with Drew unescorted at night? Engaging in who knew what in a dark alley? If anyone saw her, they’d think the worst, whether she’d acted on those assumptions or not. Maybe that was what had drawn him to her in the first place. Her desperate need of a rescuer. Someone to take care of her.

  But he wasn’t the man for her.

  His heart belonged to someone else.

  He grabbed his jacket from the chair and raced from the room. Jackson pointed the way to the stables, a hint of a grin donning his normally emotionless expression. Sam may not be meant for the life of valets, butlers, or horses, but he was beginning to understand what part of this world did fit – and he was going to make sure he didn’t lose her.

  He entered the barn and breathed in the full mixture of hay, dust, leather, and something else he couldn’t identify. His one and only experience on a horse left him on the ground in a heap of dirt, tears, and nursing a broken arm. The animals were beautiful and amazing…from a safe distance.

  Ashleigh stood in the middle of the stable, hands gliding over the cinnamon-colored coat of a horse. Her beige riding breeches clung to her curves. The cool morning suddenly scorched with summer heat. Long gone were the “little girl” thoughts, replaced by a real attraction – and something much deeper.

  Love.

  He’d told her in Queenstown, but she heard it from the lips of a friend, not a man ready to win her heart. It was time for a change.

  She rested her cheek against the animal’s neck, eyes closed. Her pinned back hair highlighted her long neckline. The slightest hint of a smile eased onto her lips, like hugging the stinky horse was the most pleasing experience she’d had in a long time.

  Sam held a grimace in check and rolled his eyes. Hugging a horse? The way her hand smoothed over the animal’s skin drew his attention to her fingers and his mind spiraled back to Queenstown. A vision of her touching his face before boarding the lifeboat blazed a hot line of awareness across his skin. He practically felt the warmth on his cheek even now. Why did she have to caress a horse like that?

  Clearly, he was going mad. Jealous? Of a horse?

  Ashleigh opened her eyes and caught him watching. Her pale cheeks flushed with an attractive pink to match the tint of her lips. “Good morning.”

  “I saw you walking to the barn and thought I’d check on you.”

  She brushed a long stroke across the horse’s body again and tossed a grin over her shoulder. “To make sure I was keeping out of trouble?”

  His breath staggered as if he were a schoolboy enamored by a pair of fine eyes. Maybe he was. He swallowed hard and broadened his smile. “I don’t attempt the impossible, little girl.”

  “I see your mischievous streak has returned with wit clearly in place.”

  “Actually, we didn’t get a chance to talk yesterday. You had to stay late at the hospital and David had me digging a ditch out back.” Sam rubbed his aching shoulders to encourage a sympathetic smile from Ashleigh’s rosy lips. “How did the meeting with Lady Cavanaugh go?”

  Her expression told the story.

  “Suffice it to say, Lady Cavanaugh is neither as kind nor obliging as her husband.” Ashleigh continued giving long strokes to the horse as she spoke. “There was some sort of rift between her and Grandmama. Without her dear husband around to check her, I’m af
raid it’s a lost cause.”

  He stepped closer, wondering if she’d let him hold her. “I’m sorry, Ash. Are there any other options?”

  She sighed and tilted her head to look up at him, a stray curl slipping free from under her hat. “Nothing in the short term. All of the other options will require time and letters to determine what sort of support or housing on which we can rely. I can’t help but wonder about those poor children. I’ve already received two letters from orphanages begging for a place.”

  “There has to be something we can do to help them.”

  She stared at the horse, brow pinched. “I’m not certain of an answer right now. That’s why I came here to think and…pray?”

  He placed his hands on her shoulders, turning her to face him. “What can I do? Point me in the direction and I’ll do it. These children need someone who can take care of them, and I can think of no one better than you.”

  “You’re very kind, but I simply don’t know. I plan to discuss it with Rev. Reynolds in a few days, but otherwise your care and friendship will be the perfect balm for my disappointment.” She gestured toward the horse, a warning light in her eyes. “And…riding is even better with a friend. Feeling adventurous today, my dear Sam?”

  He looked from her grin to the horse and comprehension crawled forward, along with a healthy heat in his neck. “Um…no.” He waved the idea away. “You have my full friendship, but riding? I’m no horseman.”

  “Come on, Sam. It’s refreshing and energizing. And it would do us both good, you know. I shan’t have many more days of leisure as the hospital needs grow and you’ll return to America soon.”

  “I don’t have the best history with horses.”

  “Well, they are quite large and fast, but you were only a child last you rode.” She slid the bridle over the horse’s head, her mock frown twitching. “I can understand why you might be afraid of them.”

  He narrowed his eyes and moved forward a few stiff steps. “I didn’t say I was afraid.”

  She blinked, wide eyed. “No, of course not. Merely cautious, is that it?”

  His grin inched wide at her faux innocence and he examined the massive horse from a fresh perspective. Ride? At eight, he’d made a promise to himself never again. But that was a long time ago. Maybe another try?

  “Where’s the knob thing for your reins?”

  She glanced up, bobbing her attention from his face to the saddle. “The knob thing?”

  He waved a hand toward the front of the saddle, stepping closer to the intimidating animal. A breeze brought a hint of violet and he narrowed the gap between them even more. He’d always preferred the smell of violets to horses. “The hook-like point at the front.”

  Her teeth skimmed her bottom lip, pinning her smile. “This is an English saddle so it doesn’t have a horn.”

  “Oh, right.” He shrugged to hide his embarrassment. “When in England…”

  “I do wish you’d join me. There’s no one I’d rather spend time with than you, my friend.”

  Those eyes. Her entreaty. How could his childish fear compete? “I don’t know.”

  “I assure you. Quitters never win.”

  Oh, no she wouldn’t. “Quitter?”

  “You’ll fall in love with it, I assure you.”

  “Fine.” He raised a finger. “But only this once and a short ride.”

  Her nose-crinkled-grin of sheer pleasure had him questioning why he hadn’t agreed sooner. Or more often. Or when she rode at the Morris’ ranch back home.

  She handed him the reins of the horse. “Hold Shakespeare while I tack up Sugar for you.”

  “Sugar?” Somehow his manhood seemed in question.

  Ashleigh seemed to read his mind. “She’s a sweet horse for sweethearts.”

  Her wink caught him off-guard and spiked the attraction, but he didn’t have time to sift through a clever retort. She brought an intimidating-looking black mare around and the eight-year-old within him took a step back.

  “Oh, Sam, you don’t have to go if you don’t want.” Her face sobered.

  “I’m not a quitter.”

  “No, you’re not.” She looked at him, eyes growing intense. “Only with horses.”

  He almost reached to caress her cheek, but she blinked out of the stare. “Do you remember how to mount?”

  “That’s the only thing I remember, except for the falling part.”

  “Well, I pulled the girth tight, so this time, the horse won’t fool you. It is quite a long distance from the back of horse to the ground, isn’t it?”

  He ran a palm over the smooth skin of the horse’s neck. “Especially when you’re eight years old.”

  She cringed, but kept the teasing glint. “Are you certain you’re ready?”

  “Certain?” He peered over the horse’s back at her. “No.”

  “Oh, well.” She hitched a shoulder. “I’ll accept respectful fear and friendly coercion as proper readiness.”

  He chuckled and then needled her with a warning glance. “Just one thing. No racing, little girl.”

  Her eyes grew wide, palm flattened to her chest. “Oh Sam, I never race.” She turned to Shakespeare with a murmur he barely heard. “In public.”

  He groaned. Yep, he was in trouble--in the best possible way if his pulse had anything to say about it. And spending this time with Ashleigh, out in the sunlight, would be a happy distraction from the ache of loss and tragedy still permeating his solitude and dreams. She understood. He recognized the grief in her eyes when she’d stare into the distance. He knew her thoughts turned to murky water and fading cries.

  With a deep breath, he focused every muscle on a fluid movement from the ground to the saddle. He hit his mark, the experience much easier than he remembered. Maybe growing two feet and twenty years made the fear a little smaller too. He could handle this. Tall. Brave. Strong. He almost felt heroic – a definite boost in confidence.

  “Nice work. You mounted like an expert.”

  She looked up at him and he breathed in the pride from her smile.

  “Now, are you ready for the difficult part?”

  His pride faded like dying daylight.

  She laughed. “I’m teasing. Sugar will do all the work. You only need hold the reins.” She rested a hand on his leg, unaware of its effects shooting over his skin. “And relax. You are not going to make for an easy ride if you keep your body tense. There’s no need to be nervous.”

  “What if I am nervous?”

  “You’re an expert actor, my lord.” She swept low for an impressive bow, and then with beautiful fluidity mounted Shakespeare, topping off her mount with a pointed look in his direction. “Pretend you aren’t nervous.”

  Sam grunted his response and ignored the way her body hugged the saddle. Sugar’s easy stride followed Shakespeare’s lead out of the barn and into the countryside. Vast and open. Plenty of space for a run. Sam’s stomach snagged on the thought. Don’t think about it. You’re doing this for Ashleigh.

  They rode down a well-worn path from the stables, a comfortable silence humming between them with the chip-chip of morning birds. Sam studied Ashleigh’s profile, admiration expanding his chest until he thought it might explode. He’d only begun to see the strength housed within such a delicate and beautiful frame. Would she love as fiercely as she cared for the needs of others? So good and beautiful and pure. He could take care of her until the shadows left her gaze, until she smiled with abandon, until she grew old in his arms. His dear friend forever.

  She caught him staring and sat up straighter, tossing an uncertain look over her shoulder. “You’re riding like an experienced horseman, Sam. It’s not as bad as you thought, is it?”

  He nestled into the saddle with a bit more ease and loosened his grip on the reins. “You were right. It is relaxing and…” He held her stare. “Beautiful.”

  A rush of pink flooded her cheeks as the intention of his words became clear. She looked away first. “Spring and summer are lovely times of y
ear here.”

  Sam followed her gaze to the scene ahead. A majestic line of firs and cedars were sketched against the horizon of pale blue sky framed in by emerald hills splashed with sunlight. The colors breathed of sufficient rain and rich soil, complementing the sky with perfect hues. God was truly the best artist.

  The thought struck him with a sense of wonder. The great open field, the beautiful countryside, the camaraderie of a friend. This was home to him. The freedom of enjoying the grand simplicity of nature. A cool breeze brought an unfamiliar and sweet scent with it.

  He took in a deep breath of the air. “What’s that sweet smell?”

  Ashleigh nodded ahead of them to a field of yellow and red flowers. “Poppies.”

  “Poppies?”

  “They always seem so alive and they’re extremely resilient flowers, able to survive many things other flowers cannot.”

  “Like you?”

  She laughed. “Me?”

  “You’ve been able to survive so many experiences few could.”

  “We both have.”

  Her gaze stayed in his longer this time.

  “Are you still having the nightmares?”

  She drew in a deep breath and closed her eyes, lifting her face to the sky. “Sometimes. And Stephen will occasionally, but they’re less frequent. And you?”

  “The same. I’ve kept up with some of the news out of Queenstown.”

  “So many bodies were never recovered.” She turned her head, dashing away tears she didn’t wish him to see.

  Silence paid the loss homage.

  “Thank you for taking such care of Stephen.”

  Her tear-stained smile bloomed. “Caring for him has been a pleasure. Hopefully, he will be the first of many children who can find a safe and loving place here.”

  She looked back to the view. He followed.

  “This countryside reminds me of home. I wish I had my camera so I could capture it.”