Visions of Lady Mary

by Rachel Ann Smith

  Pacing about the courtyard, waiting for the women to return, Gilbert again resolved to act the gentleman that he was born and raised to be. What he needed was space from Mary who had the uncanny ability to unnerve him. A highly decorated soldier. A respected lord known for his skill handling any situation. Yet when he was around Mary, all common sense left him. He was on a mission. Now was not the time to deal with the woman who had plagued his thoughts and dreams for years. Gilbert rubbed the back of his neck, still ashamed of his nineteen-year-old self for calling her a witch.

  Greene appeared, bringing him out of the recurring nightmare of the day he met Mary.

  They both looked about for her mistress. There was no sign of Mary. Greene tugged on his coat sleeve. “My lord. I’ll not be able to feign slumber every time you join us. You will have to behave— next time.”

  Not surprising, Mary would hire such an impertinent chit as a maid.

  Straightening to his full height, he replied, “I’ll try my best.”

  Greene scurried over to her mistress, who was exiting the inn. He stood at attention under Mary’s scrutiny. She never broke eye contact until her maid linked arms and ushered her to the traveling coach.

  The sway of Mary’s hips had him mesmerized until Hadfield’s hand slapped him in the center of his back.

  Hadfield chuckled. “You don’t look well-rested, my friend. Did Lady Mary keep you awake all day with idle chatter?”

  Deciding it best to ignore the man’s queries, Gilbert said, “We have at least another day and a half’s journey before we make it to our destination.”

  “Should we press on or stay at—” Hadfield squinted and read the sign. “Carrefour Auberge.”

  Crossroads Inn—a rather appropriate name that reflected Gilbert’s own situation. Mentally debating the advantages and disadvantages of renting rooms for the night, Gilbert shrugged off Hadfield’s hand. “We should continue on— unless you have a specific reason to dally here?”

  “No. I’m rather looking forward to resting in the coach with Lady Mary.”

  “Be warned. The woman purrs like a small kitten when she sleeps.”

  Hadfield burst into laughter. “War hero I knew you to be, but a man of such literary prowess I would have never guessed.”

  Heat rose on Gilbert’s cheeks, and he stomped over to his horse, leaving Hadfield behind. Where did that flowery nonsense come from? Mary. It was all her fault.

  Chapter Six

  After having slept most of the previous day in Gilbert’s arms and catnapping throughout the night, as Lord Hadfield was a rather quiet sleeper, Mary was well rested and eager to be outdoors. The jittery feeling in her stomach had nothing to do with the thought of spending another long day in the coach with Gilbert.

  Having failed at bargaining for enough time for a bath, Mary hurriedly ran a cool wet washcloth across the back of her neck, down her chest, and over her arms, wiping away all the dust from a long night of travel. Dropping the washcloth into the murky basin water, Mary ducked her head as Greene assisted her with donning a clean lawn shirt and breeches beneath her riding habit. Thank the fates, the innkeeper only had one son to assist with the changing of the horse, buying Mary a little more time to refresh.

  Greene wrung her hands. “My lady, I’m not certain His Lordship will be pleased to hear of your plan for today’s journey.” Despite her words, she fetched Mary’s riding boots.

  Mary sat to put them on while Greene tugged at her hair and skillfully arranged it into an intricate braid that would not come loose in the wind. “Oh, stop worrying and help me with my coat.”

  “Yes, Lady Mary.” Greene never addressed her formally unless she was unhappy.

  Mary raised her chin and buttoned up her coat. She was determined to ride. No one was going to stop her.

  Striding up to Lord Hadfield, for he would be the lesser of two evils, Mary lightly tapped the man on the back to gain his attention. “I’d like to continue on horseback.”

  She didn’t wait for a reply; instead, she walked over to size up the horses. Standing before a beautiful Arabian, Mary ran a hand along its neck and admired the animal.

  Lady Frances’s motherly warning rang clear. That beast has to be at least fifteen hands, much too big for you, girlie.

  “Let me remind you I’ve been riding before I could walk. I know what I’m looking for, a steed of about eleven hands. Please be helpful and guide me before Gilbert arrives.”

  Too late—the scent of sandalwood and leather had Mary’s pulse quickening.

  Gilbert reached around her and ran a loving hand down the horse’s neck. Bent, he whispered in her ear. “Who are you speaking to, Mary?”

  It was as if he were embracing her, yet they remained slightly apart. A little breathless at being caged in by Gilbert, Mary quipped, “This beauty before me, of course.”

  She would ride the beast if she had to.

  Lady Frances giggled. Which beast are you referring to, my dear?

  Mary mumbled, “The horse.”

  Stroking the horse’s mane, Gilbert said, “Hadfield informed me you wish to ride rather than travel in the coach with me today.” Gilbert patted the horse and stepped back. “We don’t have a sidesaddle for you, so we will not be able to honor your request.”

  She straightened to her full height, not at all surprised that Gilbert would deny her wish. “I shall ride astride, Waterford. I wasn’t seeking your permission, simply informing Lord Hadfield of my plans.” She pivoted to face him. The bravado that normally fortified her nerves failed to flow through her veins, and her gaze fell short, landing on his simply knotted cravat.

  Without long stretches of abstinence from Gilbert, her resolve to remain unaffected by the man began to wane. From the corner of her eye, Mary spotted Lady Frances waving her hand and pointing in the direction of a spirited young mare.

  Mary made her way over to the horse that pranced about, full of energy. Lady Frances must have lost her mind. This mare would surely throw Mary to the ground. With Gilbert on her heels, she ran her palms down her skirts and then reached out to calm the horse, rubbing its nose.

  Her guardian angel wouldn’t put her in harm’s way—would she?

  Leaves crunched behind her. Of course, Gilbert wouldn’t let the matter go.

  A warm firm hand wrapped around her arm and turned her about. “Absolutely not. That animal is too spirited.”

  His normally gravelly voice was laced with concern. Instead of a flame of defiance burning her cheeks, a small flicker of rebellion prompted her to lift her chin and meet his heated glare. The man did not even blink. He simply stared back at her.

  Releasing a sigh, Mary pointedly looked at his hand about her arm and shook off his hold. When he released her, she turned to face the horse again. It would be a challenge, but she was determined to ride this horse, even if it was the last thing she accomplished in this world.

  As soon as Mary had a firm grasp of the reins, the mare settled. “Ah. You too are ready to be off then?”

  Mary looked about for a mounting block.

  Gilbert shook his head and bent down before her, cupping his hands to give her a boost. How peculiar for him to provide assistance. Before he could change his mind, she took advantage of his offer and took her seat upon the feisty beast. She made haste arranging her skirts before Gilbert could take issue with her attire.

  One eyebrow cocked, he said, “Lass, if you fall off and break your neck, it’ll be your own damn fault. I’ll havnae any guilt, and an’aw not worry over me oath to your brother.”

  “You’ve never been in a rush to honor your promise before.” Mary gave him a devilish wink and added in her best Scottish accent, “Dinnae fash yersel now!”

  Her mare leaped forward with the barest of encouragement. Grinning, Mary glanced over her shoulder to find Gilbert sputtering as dust blurred her view of him.

  As soon as she came level with the coach window, Greene’s face appeared. “My lady, what took you so long? I was beginnin
g to worry we would leave you behind.”

  Still smiling, Mary reassured her maid. “I’m here now. Why the long face?”

  “His Lordship snores like a drunken sailor.”

  Mary tried to peer into the coach. She must have misheard Greene. “Lordship? Who is in the coach with you?”

  Greene rolled her eyes. “Lord Hadfield.”

  “But he rode with us last night, and not once did he snore.”

  “That’s because he sat awake, watching you all night.”

  “What utter nonsense. Lord Hadfield was fast asleep.” Mary frowned.

  Is that why the gentlemen had not traded off as Mary expected?

  Lady Frances’s voice laced with urgency broke all thought. Lord Waterford is approaching, my dear. Now’s the time to make haste.

  Taking heed of the warning, Mary said, “I’ll see you at the next stop.”

  Kicking her mount forward, she managed to catch the eye of an outrider. “Veux-tu m’accompagner?” Apparently, her French needed improvement. At the man’s blank expression, she repeated in English, “Will you accompany me?”

  The man nodded. Mary didn’t hesitate. She dug her heels into the mare’s flanks, and it wasn’t long before she was galloping down the well-worn path.

  Mary inhaled the sharp scent of juniper. Exhilaration flowed as the wind whipped against her cheeks. The sense of freedom was short lived. Lady Frances warned, Fallen log, prompting Mary to narrow her gaze down the path.

  A large tree trunk came into view. Mary yelled, “Jump.”

  Both she and the outrider bent low over their horses as they jumped the log and cleared it with ease. They needed to warn their traveling party, but the path was narrow, and there wasn’t enough room to turn without the risk of being thrown. The outrider raised two fingers to his lips and let out a shrill whistle. What a handy skill. She’d have to ask him to teach her.

  As they slowed their horses and were turning to warn the coach, Mary caught sight of Gilbert approaching the log at a breakneck pace. His Arabian was prepared, but Gilbert was not. He was solely focused on her. The Arabian jumped, and Gilbert uncharacteristically slipped from his seat midway.

  Mary gripped the reins tight as her heart leaped to her throat. Her eyes glued to his form as he began to fall. “Gilbert!”

  In crashing to the ground, Gilbert bashed his shoulder against the log. The horse, free of its rider, cleared the fallen tree with no issues.

  For a moment, Mary remained frozen in her seat, blinking back the sudden wetness of a tear. Her heartbeat raced at the horror of his fall. Now was not the time to let her emotions rule. She needed a level head if Gilbert was in need of assistance.

  Mary urged her horse forward and said, “See to His Lordship’s mount. I’ll check to make sure he hasn’t incurred any severe injuries.”

  She found Gilbert lying flat on the ground, moaning.

  Sliding down from her mount, Mary led her mare over to the tree line and secured the horse. Mary inhaled, taking a deep breath, to calm the jitters that had her hands shaking.

  “Fweet. Fweet.” The outrider’s whistle brought her mind back into focus.

  Looking down the lane, the coach wasn’t within sight. Picking up her skirts, Mary rushed to Gilbert’s side. She needed to assess him quickly and get him out of harm’s way.

  She knelt beside his prone form. For a moment, she hesitated—the idea of running her hands over him to check for injuries had her mind and heart at odds. Confound the man for making her thoughts a jumbled mess. Banishing her worries, Mary frantically examined the back of his head, checking for cuts and evidence of blood. Nothing but thick hair ran through her fingers. The pressure in her chest eased a tad at finding him uninjured. However, the brush of her hand against his cheek sent her pulse racing. Even in moments of distress, Gilbert had her body responding to him. Refocusing on evaluating his condition, Mary swept her palm down to his chest.

  “I should have told Phillip to go to Hades. The woman will be the death of me.”

  Mary stalled at Gilbert’s mention of her brother. Anger laced with grief banished her anxiety for Gilbert’s well-being. She wanted to rail against his marvelous chest. Hades! That’s exactly where Gilbert deserved to go, he who kept bedeviling her! She should leave him be and let the coach run over him—but then he would haunt her for the rest of her days.

  Phillip scolded, Sister mine, there is no time to waste.

  Fustian, her brother was right. She ran her hand over his ribs, gently probing. No broken bones.

  Probing lower over his taut stomach, her own performed a flip, but for Gilbert’s sake, she moved on, down over his hip and toward the top of his thigh.

  Gilbert’s hand grasped hers, halting her movements. As if in terrible pain, he growled, “Mary. Eloise. Masterson. You had best move away from me.”

  The coach would be upon them soon. No sense in risking her own well-being for the fool. “Release my hand, and I’ll oblige you.” As soon as Gilbert obeyed, Mary rose and stomped away, toward her mare.

  She found herself sneaking another glance down the path and back to Gilbert, gauging how much time he would have to move out of the way. Why was she worrying over the obtuse man?

  Phillip’s even voice intruded. Because he is the one.

  Mary crossed her arms and stomped her foot. “I don’t know how many times I must say this—he can’t be the one for me! Why won’t you all listen?”

  A vision of Lady Frances appeared before her. Perhaps, Mary is right. It is time for us to stop interfering.

  Mary blinked, and her guardian angel was gone. Oddly, the constant hum of voices was also nonexistent.

  She turned to look to her left. “Phillip?” Turning to her right, she searched for her constant companions, but none were about. “Lady Frances?”

  Mary jumped as a hand grasped her by the upper arm, turning her about.

  “Who are you looking for?” Gilbert gave her a slight shake.

  Holding in a sob, Mary’s shoulders crumpled. She shouldn’t have spoken so harshly.

  Looking around Gilbert, all that was before her were trees and the path they were traveling upon. Lady Frances, Phillip, the soldiers, and the ladies and gentlemen who typically surrounded her were gone.

  “Lass. What is wrong? You look white as a ghost.”

  The irony of Gilbert’s words were not lost on her. Releasing a sigh, she straightened and shrugged off his touch once more. “I’m well. We must warn the driver.” She tried to step around him.

  Gilbert blocked her way. “It’s been taken care of.” He took a small step closer.

  Mary stood still, resisting the urge to lean her forehead against his solid chest. “Move, you big oaf.”

  When he didn’t move, Mary raised her gaze to meet his.

  A mistake.

  Brow furrowed, he said, “Mary, please tell me.” His brown eyes filled with such concern that she seriously contemplated telling him the truth. For a moment, he appeared open and unguarded. Her heart ached to share with him her despair at having lost contact with her guardian angels.

  Did she dare try to make him understand that she was no witch?

  She bowed her head. “You don’t want to know the truth.”

  She attempted to sidestep around him once more, but the man was stubborn as he shifted in the same direction. Normally, she’d be irate at Gilbert’s interference. Instead, bone-deep sorrow filled her at the realization that she could no longer see or hear her constant companions.

  “Lass, I’ve never seen you like this.” Cupping her face, Gilbert said, “I apologize.”

  Her usually perfect posture collapsed. “What exactly are you apologizing for?”

  “For whatever it is that has you upset and distraught.”

  Stiffening, Mary muttered, “Not now. We need to move the log before anyone gets hurt.”

  Mary’s eyes fell upon Gilbert’s right hand. The man was right-handed, yet he had used his left to cup her cheek. Eyeing his shoulde
r, her fears were confirmed. It sat awkwardly, as if it were not actually in its socket. “Oh, Gilbert!”

  She reached out, tentatively at first, but then more firmly as she ran her hand over the man’s arm, making her way up to his shoulder, then examining his clavicle. It was definitely dislocated. He was too tall. She couldn’t put it back into place at this angle.

  Gilbert flinched. “Ooch. Careful.”

  “Kneel.”

  “What?”

  Mary inhaled, then exhaled, and sent up a quick prayer for patience. “I need you to kneel so I can set your shoulder back into place.”

  “You don’t have the strength.”

  “It’s not a matter of strength but a matter of technique. Stop arguing and do as I ask.” When he remained standing, Mary added, “Please.”

  Gilbert lowered himself to his knees. Mary grabbed him by the wrist, and her other hand rested upon the joint. Carefully, she pulled his arm straight forward as her other hand gently pushed until the arm was back in its socket.

  “Urghh.” Gilbert let out a pained grunt.

  Her hand quivered as she ran it over the well-defined muscles in his arm. “Leave your hand here, against your chest.”

  “How did you—”

  “As you know, I have three brothers. Well, two now. They were a clumsy lot of rapscallions—constantly falling out of trees and such. To avoid our papa’s attention, they sought out my assistance when they were in need of mending. It is quite remarkable what one can learn from books and a little practice.” And the advice of so many deceased healers competing to parade their skills. Mary eyed his shoulder. “Might be a tad sore and tender for a few days. You’ll have to keep it rested and in place in order for it to heal properly.”

  She looked down the path for any sign of the coach. “We need to fashion a sling out of one of my skirts for your arm. Where are Lord Hadfield and Greene? We couldn’t have been that far ahead.”

  “Are you serious? You were riding like you were being chased by the devil himself.”