Iron Shoes

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Iron Shoes Page 4

by J. Kathleen Cheney


  "I beg your pardon?" Imogen asked.

  He smiled. "You would like to join me for supper this evening, wouldn't you?"

  He expected her to agree, Imogen realized. She looked over at Mrs. Menges for support and was surprised to see that lady gazing raptly at Hammersly's face.

  "Of course I would," Mrs. Menges whispered.

  Imogen took a step away from the counter, baffled. She'd had the definite impression when Hammersly walked in that Mrs. Menges disliked him.

  Hammersly scowled briefly at that interruption and then turned his smile back on Imogen. He picked up his gloves and held them in one hand, stroking them like one would a cat. "It would be a good opportunity for us to expand the relationship between our farms. Please say you'd like to join me."

  Behind him, Mrs. Menges was shaking her head as if to clear it. Imogen gave Hammersly a direct look. "You're mistaken, Mr. Hammersly. No relationship exists between our farms, and I'm not interested in discussing that possibility."

  Hammersly glanced down at his gloves as if they'd done him some wrong, then jerked them back on. "Good day then, Mrs. Hawkes," he said in a brusque tone, and walked out of the shop.

  "What a detestable man," Mrs. Menges said under her breath. She returned to wrapping the oatmeal soaps for Imogen as if that peculiar interlude had never happened.

  Aware that something strange had just happened, Imogen decided she should definitely be on her guard around Hammersly in the future. She paid for the soaps and nestled them in her handbag with the leather work-gloves she'd bought Guaire. Somehow she doubted she would see him stroking them.

  ***

  Imogen ate her supper alone in her customary silence, and then studied the books for a while until she carried the lamp up to her bedroom. She unlatched the window that opened over the yard, and the cool evening air lifted the fine curtains. She caught the scent of the stables and the woods beyond. Settling at the table in her dressing room, she brushed out her hair, her mind frozen in indecision.

  Not as to her actions, of course. She wouldn't turn Guaire away when he came to her. He'd dealt fairly with her so far, and she intended to uphold their bargain. She wasn't going to be a fool over him, though. Her mother had taught her that the Fair Folk had reasons beneath their reasons, layer upon layer of motivation for everything they did. She had to walk carefully around him. Even if he seemed honest, she couldn't trust that appearance of goodness to be the truth.

  Imogen lay down and picked up the novel she'd abandoned the night before. She hadn't read far, though, before she dreamed of Guaire's burned hands on her skin. Imogen jerked awake--to an empty room and silence.

  ***

  Imogen met with Paddy in the morning and listened as he spun out his daily monologue of chores.

  He ended with an amusing observation. "And last night the horse was in his stall the whole time."

  "Are you standing watch over the creature?"

  "Just noticing when I walk by," he said. "Disappeared again this morning, he did."

  Imogen figured she knew where Guaire had gone. "Have any of the others noticed?"

  "Jack has." Paddy cast a look up and down the center aisle of the stable. "But he'll never say anything. Tommy asked me which paddock the beast was in, though."

  Jack wasn't a worry. Imogen had known the old hand most of her life, and he took everything in stride. Tommy--a recently retired jockey they'd hired on last year to help exercise the racers--she didn't know as well. She hoped he wouldn't make any kind of fuss. "You could say you're putting the new stallion out at the old cottage pasture until he settles in."

  Paddy shook his head. "Can't go on forever, girl. We need to do something with that horse. No telling what doom he'll bring down on us."

  Imogen chewed her lower lip, wondering if Guaire could possibly be a doom. He didn't seem like one to her. "Perhaps he's lucky, Paddy. Did you consider that?"

  Paddy just crossed himself and set about his day's tasks.

  Imogen walked down to the west meadow, noting that the broodmares still seemed to be staying away from the break in the fence. That relieved one of her worries. She found Guaire already down by the stream, gazing down at the trench he'd begun to dig. She'd given him permission to use the farm's tools, and he had with him a long-handled shovel, the steel head well away from his feet. The stream's waters were muddied, but since it flowed from there onto Hammersly's land, Imogen decided she liked that perfectly well.

  She noticed that Guaire wore the same shirt and trousers as the day before, already mud-splashed. The blood-stained spot on his sleeve had dried to an ugly brown. She handed him the gloves she'd purchased in town. "A gift."

  "Thank you." He took them with a respectful nod, and then ruined it by grinning. "I said you would like me."

  "If you've a need for fresh clothes, please feel free to go through the dressing room and take what you need."

  He glanced down at his mud-splattered garments with a raised brow, but just shrugged.

  Imogen took a breath, intending to ask why he hadn't come to her the night before, but feared it would sound overly eager. She pointed at the running water instead and asked, "Does that bother you?"

  He gave the stream a calculating look. "Not much more than it bothers you, I expect."

  She felt an odd irritation when she waded through it, rather like an itch she couldn't place. Then she realized the implication of his words; he must be aware of her puca blood. She lifted her eyes to his face. "How did you know?"

  That seemed to surprise him. "How would I not know? I could smell it when you first held out your hand for me. And you have Finn's look about you."

  She felt her blood run cold. Imogen clenched her jaw and forced down her urge to run. Her mother had always said she looked like her father, but it had never occurred to Imogen that someone would ever recognize her as his child, not here in America.

  "You didn't think I knew." Guaire leaned on the shovel's handle, his thick brows drawn together. "You have nothing to fear from me, Ginny. I've no love for him myself, and no intention of telling him where to find you."

  That implied that Guaire knew she'd been hidden from her father. "Why?"

  He tilted his head. "Why what?"

  "Why don't you like him?"

  "You asked me who put those shoes on me? 'twas him."

  She didn't doubt his word. "Why would he do that?"

  "Over a woman, of course," Guaire said. "I don't know how he found out it was me, but he came after me, and eventually he found me."

  "Were you hiding from him?"

  "Aye, for sixteen years I managed, and then my own cousin betrayed me to him. For money, would you believe? Used my name to hold me until Finn came to haul me back."

  Imogen blinked at him, not quite knowing how to ask the next question, but the timing sounded right. Sixteen years in hiding, ten wearing those damnable shoes, and she was twenty-six. "You fell out with him over...my mother?"

  Guaire laughed. "Ah, not what you're thinking, Ginny. I was young, and foolish enough to be altruistic then. She wanted to go back to her family in England, and I took her there, 'tis all. Never laid a hand on her in an overfriendly way. Finn would have killed me outright for that. Insane jealous he was, about anything that belonged to him."

  Imogen felt a profound relief. At least she hadn't taken the same lover as her mother. With creatures who didn't age like humans, that was a possibility. She had no idea how old Guaire was, and while he said he'd been young then, his definition of 'young' might not be the same as hers. Then she pieced together what he'd said. "Thank you for helping her. I'm sorry you paid such a price."

  He snorted and rolled his eyes. "Finn never liked me much anyway."

  "Why not?"

  "I'd a human grand-dam. Makes me lower than the rest of them, you know."

  "Lower?"

  "Not pure-blooded. There are things I can't do, you know. Your mother told me she was worried he would treat you as badly as he did me, so she didn't want
him to have you."

  That Guaire was part human hadn't occurred to her before, but it did explain why another of his kind had been able to bind him. "It's fortunate then that I'm the one who purchased you."

  "Ah, that was Fate, Ginny. I knew it the moment I laid an eye on you."

  Imogen felt her cheeks go warm, a novel sensation. She never blushed.

  ***

  When she opened the door to her bedroom that night, she saw Guaire sitting in her chair by the eastern-facing window, a book in his hands. Waiting for her, she realized, and felt a surge of nervousness. He rose when she approached and set down the book--her family Bible, the one her mother brought from England.

  "Do any of the housemaids see you?" she asked.

  "I don't want them to, so why would they?" He took the lamp from her and set it on the table. "I like this room best. Not fussy."

  That pleased her. "I shouldn't be surprised you favor the bedroom, should I?"

  "'twas not a comment on the bed, darling, or the inhabitant of it," he said. "But now that you mention it, you are the loveliest thing about this house."

  Her cheeks burned. And then she managed to ask what she'd not dared out in the pasture. "Why didn't you come to me last night?"

  A smile spread slowly across his face. "Missed me, did you?"

  "A simple question," she said. "I would think you would want to be done with it."

  "Be done with it?" He laid one hand over his heart as if wounded. "Is that how you feel about this, Ginny? As if you were mucking out the stalls? Plucking a chicken? I thought you liked me--or at least being bedded by me--last time."

  She did her best to keep any reaction from her face. She suspected she'd wounded his pride, and that hadn't been her intention. "I thought more that you would feel that way."

  He came closer and ran a finger along her cheek, then drew her braid over her shoulder. It began to unravel at his touch. "This is what I bargained for. Did you think I would have asked if I didn't want you?"

  His palms still looked raw. Imogen felt a twinge of worry. "Then why did you not come last night?"

  "I have to sleep sometime, darling, and so do you." He leaned forward and his lips caressed hers.

  Imogen tasted oats on his breath and, for the first time in as long as she could remember, felt the urge to laugh. She stilled it, though, worried that if she gave in, she would lose control of everything.

  He drew back and his eyes met hers. "Trust me."

  The first night, she thought, he'd been intent on seducing her body. It hadn't been so personal. She hadn't known much of him, which made it simple--a bargain and little else. It seemed he wanted more of her this time. He wanted her trust. And she didn't know if she could give that.

  He waited silently until Imogen found the courage to place her hand in his.

  ***

  Guaire had already gone when she woke. Seeing the steep angle of the sun, Imogen jumped up and ran to check the time on the clock. She'd overslept by an hour.

  She dressed in one of her better day dresses, a darker pink that almost flattered her coloring. She regarded her face in the mirror in the dressing room. With her face washed, her hair neatly braided up, and properly dressed, she didn't look much different than she had the week before. Even so, she feared something would show.

  She'd been a good wife to Henry, a man twice her age when he'd married her. She'd been faithful and honored his wishes. She had even loved him, after her fashion. He hadn't expected more. It had been a marriage of convenience; he'd given her security in the hopes that she would give him a son. But just as he'd not borne an heir with his first wife, there had been no child with her, either.

  Imogen had always blamed that on her cool and controlled nature. She had never warmed to anyone, not in the way of a woman after a man. Henry had been amiable, but she'd merely been a substitute for his beloved Bella. And Hammersly had never roused anything more than irritation in her. She'd known both of them far longer than Guaire, but for some reason it seemed she knew him far better. She liked him, perhaps more, and it frightened her to feel that way.

  Annoyed with her dawdling, she grabbed up her straw hat and firmly pinned it on, determined not to let any weakness show. It didn't help that when she settled in the buggy to head into town, Guaire stepped up and sat down next to her. The stable hand didn't seem to notice him, though, so she said nothing.

  "Can no one see you?" she asked as the buggy reached the end of the drive.

  He'd picked an old cap from the dressing room, and wore it at exactly the same angle that Paddy wore his. "Not if I don't want them to. Most of the time. I couldn't fool you if I tried, not half-blooded as you are."

  She wondered how she was going to explain all the work getting done in the meadow, but decided not to worry about that until she had to. She turned the carriage onto the road and headed toward town, mindful of the ruts left by recent rains. The trees along the way left them under dappled sunlight, which lifted her spirits for some reason.

  "So, where are we going?" He sounded as if he didn't care so long as he was in her company.

  "It's Sunday," she told him. "I'll go to services, and then lunch with Mother Hawkes."

  "Ah, I'd not thought of that. I'd like to see the town, but you won't mind if I don't go into that church, will you?"

  She'd had her entire life to accustom herself to the unusual sensations she felt when crossing holy ground. She found it surprisingly similar to crossing moving water. "I do understand."

  He leaned back on the seat so that his shoulder brushed hers. "So, tell me about this town. Saratoga?"

  "Saratoga Springs," she corrected, guessing that he'd heard the name spoken by one of the hands. An easy request, not too personal. She did so, telling him of the families that made up the backbone of the town and its racing history, the spas and the casinos. He listened attentively, and asked questions that proved he understood the sometimes delicate nature of a town's social structure.

  They drove up Lake Avenue and through the edge of town toward where the steeple of the Presbyterian Church and the Town Hall's clock tower rose above the other buildings. When they finally neared it, Imogen found a good spot on the side of the street, jumped down from the buggy and tied the reins to a post herself. Guaire stepped down and stood watching her as a handful of churchgoers strolled past and turned onto Broadway. When she dusted off her gloves and resettled her hat, he smiled at her and said, "You look lovely, but not enough to entice me in there today."

  She regarded him with doubtful eyes, trying to figure out that cryptic comment.

  "Don't talk back to me," he said then, "or they'll all think you quite insane."

  Which saved her from embarrassment, because she'd just been about to ask him what he meant. She turned away without even a nod and marched around the corner. She passed the Town Hall under the eyes of the large cast iron lions there, and headed up the steps into the church building. She tried to ignore that familiar prickling feeling when she stepped over the threshold, but shivered anyway.

  Guaire wasn't in sight when she emerged after the service, but that didn't surprise her. She suspected he would be able to find his way back to the farm easily enough, and he had four legs to take him there if he wished so. She unhitched the buggy and drove up Broadway to Mother's Hawkes house...and found him already there, staring up at the house from the edge of the street. "How did you know this is where she lives?"

  He tied the buggy to the post and helped her down. "Who?"

  "Mother Hawkes," Imogen said, hoping that no one noticed her talking to the air. North Broadway didn't have too much traffic, though. "This is her house."

  He cast a measuring glance up at the porch. "I followed..."

  Mother Hawkes chose that moment to come out onto the porch, a regal figure in a fine blue morning suit. Imogen headed up the walk to the door, but Mother Hawkes continued to gaze past her at the buggy. She gave Imogen an odd look. "Aren't you going to invite him in? We don't want to offend
him."

  Imogen glanced back at Guaire, startled. "You see someone?"

  Mother Hawkes set her hands on her hips. "Of course I see him, girl. I suppose he's attached himself to you, but I can see him well enough."

  After taking a moment to make up her mind, Imogen waved for Guaire to join them. He stuffed his hands in his trouser pockets and strode up the walk to the porch, his expression guarded.

  "She said she didn't want to offend you," Imogen explained.

  His brows rose, but he didn't look as surprised as she expected. He held the front door open for Mother Hawkes and then followed the two of them inside.

  "I'm honored to have you here," Mother Hawkes said, addressing Guaire directly.

  "Madam," he said, removing his cap. "Are you the one who put the wards about the house?"

  "Been some time," she said in a pleased voice, "but yes. Tell me, would they have kept the likes of you out?"

  "Perhaps for a bit," he said with a twinkle in his eye. "But they're not meant for the likes of me, are they?"

  "Not at all. I suspect that if one of the Folk wanted to get in, they could find a way."

  Imogen listened to the discussion numbly, surprised by her mother-in-law's easy recognition--and acceptance--of one of the Fair Folk in her home.

  Mother Hawkes led them toward the dining room where she and Imogen usually ate alone. She turned back to Guaire. "Now, you'll have to let the kitchen maids see you--or go hungry, that is. I expect it would be best if I told them you're visiting in town. With your accent, it would have to be Mr. O'Donnell you're here to visit. May I ask your name?"

  "Guaire," he said.

  "How nice it sounds." Mother Hawkes settled in her chair at the head of the table and Guaire, evidently knowing his etiquette, pushed the chair in for her. "Now, am I allowed to know how you came to be here?" she asked, and then looked at him more sharply. "Are those my son's clothes?"

  Guaire paused in the midst of pushing in Imogen's chair.

  Imogen wanted to close her eyes and pretend that it all made sense. "I gave them to him, Mother Hawkes."

  "Tush, girl. I'm not criticizing you. I'm surprised you didn't throw them out years ago. They don't quite fit, but they'll do until he has time to have some made."

 

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