Come Love a Stranger

by Kathleen E. Woodiwiss

  She turned back and, retrieving the portrait, made her way carefully down the narrow stairs and to the parlor. There she set the painting aside while she dragged a straight chair to the fireplace. Taking the landscape down, she replaced it with the oil of the man, then stood back to evaluate its importance to the room. The landscape had been like a large gall on a tree, out of place and totally unappealing, but now the parlor seemed complete, well in tune with its surroundings and the rest of the house. Not really knowing the history of the landscape, she did not want to upset Malcolm if perchance it had been a gift from him, and she resisted the urge to leave the portrait hanging there.

  Returning the painting to the attic room, she made a mental note of just where she placed it, then descended the narrow stairs again. At the lower portal, she released the rope from the cleat, slowly closing the trapdoor. Stepping into the hall, she locked the door leading to the corridor and removed the key.

  Boredom set in once again as she went to her bedchamber. A light, freshly scented breeze sweeping in from the gulf toyed with the draperies and cooled her with its soft touch. She picked up the book of plays and seated herself near the french doors where the soft zephyr wafted through. After a while the book sank to her lap again, and her gaze rose and reached out to the sea. As she stared, a face formed in her mind, but it was not the one she expected. It belonged to the man in the portrait, and in her mind the countenance became animated, changing with different moods. Laughing, frowning, thoughtful, tender…

  Lenore’s brows came together sharply. Somewhere beyond the blank wall in her mind was a memory of him, and she thought she knew him well.

  It was some time later when Malcolm returned on his black steed. The animal was in a heavy lather, having raced the whole distance from town, but the steed’s exhaustion did not seem to disturb the man who prodded him forward again, away from the house, and to Ashton’s tent. He made several passing circles in front of the courtyard before bringing the stallion to a halt there. Keeping the restless horse in check, he called out with a derisive chuckle, “Come on out of hiding, Mister Wingate. I want to talk with you.”

  Wondering what mischief the man was up to, Ashton stepped to the open flap of his tent, and Lenore came out to stand at the end of the porch, prodded by the same curiosity. She shaded her eyes against the spreading rays of the lowering sun and bit her lip worriedly as she watched Ashton move to the edge of the decking.

  “What are you about today, Malcolm?” Ashton asked, peering up at the man with a cocked brow as he casually trimmed the end of a cheroot.

  Malcolm ignored the question for a moment as he patted his horse’s neck in a show of affection rarely displayed toward his animals. With no mind for how long they lasted, he rode and used them hard until they wore out; then, unconcerned, he found another steed to push through the same accelerated life span. “I’ve heard in town that you’ve been looking around for a horse to buy for a lady.”

  “That’s right,” Ashton admitted, speaking out of the side of his mouth as he lighted the thin cigar.

  “Might I ask what lady?”

  Puffing the tightly rolled leaves alight, Ashton squinted up at the man, and only when he was assured that the cheroot was lighted did he deign to take it from his mouth. “Lierin was quite a horsewoman at one time.” He plucked a tiny piece of tobacco from his tongue and flicked it from his fingers. “I thought she might enjoy the gift.”

  Malcolm’s eyes turned icy with the hostility he bore the other man; then he smirked. “Lenore is fairly talented herself, but if you think I’m going to let my wife accept a gift from another man, you’ve taken leave of your senses.”

  Ashton shrugged leisurely. “Oh, I wasn’t going to let the horse be taken into your stable, Malcolm. I want better care given to it than that.” Placidly he pointed with the end of the cheroot to the nervously prancing steed. “Treated like that, it would never last.”

  Malcolm made no excuses. “I get what I want from them.” His large mouth twisted in a jeer. “The same is true with women.”

  The smokey eyes hardened as they met the man’s taunting grin; then Ashton slowly stroked a thumb along his jaw. “I’ve seen some of the women you use…in Ruby’s Tavern. They’re about as sorry as that horse.”

  Malcolm stood in the saddle, tempted to launch himself from the mount, but common sense prevailed, and he relaxed again to lift his heavy shoulders in a shrug. “With some women at least we seem to share the same taste.”

  “It’s not difficult to admire a woman like Lierin.” Ashton tucked the cheroot into his mouth and reflectively savored its quality for a moment before removing it again. He clicked his tongue before he made comment. “What I’m wondering is what Lenore saw in you.”

  Malcolm’s dark face went livid, and again he had to fight to control the violent urges. With an unappreciative sneer, he returned the gibe: “I’ve been curious about you, too, and I’m beginning to believe you pressured Lierin into marrying you. You’ve certainly made a pest of yourself around here.”

  A soft chuckle shook Ashton’s shoulder. “A pest to you, maybe.”

  “It’s needless to rant on about our lack of regard for each other,” Malcolm stated coldly. “I don’t believe either one of us is suffering from any illusions concerning our feelings.”

  “I don’t think so,” Ashton agreed. “The hatred seems mutual.”

  Malcolm smiled tightly. “Then you can understand why I’m not going to let Lenore accept your gift, so you might as well save yourself some expense.”

  “I wasn’t concerned with getting your approval when I started searching, Malcolm,” Ashton responded, unperturbed. “Expressing your feelings to me changes nothing. I’ve already found a mare for the lady. In fact, it should be delivered to me shortly.”

  “I won’t let her accept it!” Malcolm shouted. “Can’t you understand?”

  Ashton lifted his shoulders in a lazy shrug. “The mare will be kept here for Lierin’s pleasure. Hickory can see that the horse is made ready for her whenever she wants it.”

  Rather slack-jawed at the man’s audacity, Malcolm slumped back into his saddle. “I don’t believe you. I really don’t believe a man can be as stubborn as you are. You make me wonder what you have for brains. If you think I’m going to let Lenore ride that horse, you have none! Absolutely none!”

  “You’d like to keep her prisoner in that house, wouldn’t you?” Ashton challenged. “You haven’t let her go anywhere without you while I’ve been here….”

  “For the obvious reasons!” Malcolm barked. “Because you’re here! I don’t want the same thing to happen to her that happened to Mary! And that took place right after you arrived! Tell me, Mister Wingate, why was that? It was peaceful and quiet before you came!”

  “Of course, it was,” Ashton replied sardonically. “There was no one to challenge your little domain. And you know as well as I do that neither I nor any of my crew had anything to do with Mary’s murder.”

  “I don’t know anything of the kind!” Malcolm objected.

  “I thought you were smarter than that,” Ashton sneered. “Maybe I was wrong. But then, I understand why you’d want me to be accused of the murder. You’d like nothing better than to be free of me, so you can keep Lierin locked up in that damned house!” The anger came upon him at the idea, and he jabbed an arm out in the direction of the wooden structure as he delivered the accusation: “You’re afraid to let her go free, because you’re scared you’ll lose her or whatever she has that you want.”

  “What are you suggesting?” Malcolm squawked.

  The coldness came back in Ashton’s eyes as he stared boldly into the other’s face and made his reply: “Her father is getting on in years. He’s a drunk and therefore accident-prone. You could be a rich man one day if you just hang on and let nature take its course.”

  “I have wealth of my own!” the other man insisted.

  “Where? Show me where!” Ashton demanded. “As far as I can tell, you hav
e no holdings. You’re not a planter. You have no land. You come and go like the sparrow, settling in to roost wherever you can find a warm, sheltered spot and leaving nothing behind but your droppings when you flit away.”

  “I’ve had enough of this,” Malcolm said, savagely jerking the reins through his hand. The horse tossed his head as the bit tore into his mouth and sidled away from the wooden platform. Malcolm turned him around in a circle, delivering one last suggestion over his shoulder: “Forget the mare, Wingate, and save yourself some money. I’m not going to let Lenore ride her.”

  He kicked the horse into a full-out run, then barely a moment later brought him to a sliding halt before the house. Leaping off the stallion’s back, he thrust the reins into the stable boy’s hands and mounted the steps to the porch. His footsteps fell like thunder against the planks, bearing testimony to his rage as he strode to the end of the veranda where Lenore stood. He did not notice how she trembled when she faced him or the hesitancy in the green eyes. He was too intent upon laying down his ultimatum and having her submit to his authority.

  “That buffoon who lives in the tent over there has purchased you a mare….” He smirked in hateful derision as he detected her surprise. “You needn’t be overwhelmed by his generosity just yet, my dear. I forbid you to accept her.” His eyes hardened with a dark, glaring sheen as he added, “And you will obey me.”

  He left her and pushed his way into the house, making Lenore flinch as he slammed open the door. It seemed almost peaceful after his passage upstairs, and after a lengthy moment of quietness she breathed a sigh of relief, deciding Malcolm’s temper tantrum was over for the present moment.

  The news he had brought settled down upon Lenore and, glancing over her shoulder, she saw Ashton still on the decking. His feet were braced apart, and one arm was folded across his midsection, with the back of the hand supporting the elbow of the other arm as he held the cigar in front of his mouth. She could almost see him squinting through the smoke and rolling the cheroot between his thumb and fingers as he stared at her. Even with the space that separated them, she felt the weight of his steady regard. A light blush warmed her cheeks as she sensed what he was thinking, and it had naught to do with Malcolm.

  The delivery of the mare came the next day, thankfully while Malcolm was gone. A man on horseback led her behind him at a leisurely walk, passing across the front lawn and bringing Lenore out of the house in breathless haste to watch the flashy mare parade past. The steed was a bay with long, flowing mane and tail that swept full and free. The tail flagged high as the mare arched her neck and progressed with small, mincing steps, seeming anxious to break into a showy jig. She was tall and incredibly fine-boned, and Lenore sensed with certainty that the delicate bones in her slender legs would break long before her spirit did.

  Regardless of the two guards who strolled out onto the lawn to prevent closer passage, the horseman continued on his casual way until he neared the decking outside the tent. Ashton came out to greet him with a broad smile, and the stranger swung down, shook hands, and then nodded as Ashton spoke and motioned for him to take the mare to a spot closer to the house, threateningly close to the boundary that marked the division between his own claim and the one he had allowed Malcolm. As the fellow complied, the two guards exchanged worried comments and, gesturing to one another, hurried to where they might prevent any possible infraction. Lenore went to stand at the end of the porch as the stranger displayed the mare, but it was not nearly close enough. Lifting up her skirts, she ran back across the veranda, down the steps, and over to where the small group of men were gathered around the mare…the guards on one side of the line, Ashton, the stranger, and the horse on the other. One of the guards glanced over his shoulder and saw Lenore coming, then hastened to block her passage. Ready for a set-to, Ashton stepped around the steed, but Lenore looked up at the man with some determination of her own.

  “You will kindly remove yourself from my path,” she commanded in a low, threatening tone, “or I shall be forced to make an advance, through you, over you, or however you would have it. If you persist, you will have to bind me physically, because I shall be tempted to rake the skin from whatever portion of your hide is available, starting with the face. Do I make myself clear?”

  Ashton hid a chuckle as the fellow looked in wide bemusement at his companion, seeking some help there and finding none. It was one thing to get into a brawl with a man, but quite another to enter into a fray with a woman, especially one that displayed so much fire. Mumbling in worry, he stepped back, allowing her to proceed.

  “Oh, Ashton, she’s beautiful!” Lenore declared as she made a slow tour around the horse, unmindful of the boundaries that kept the men apart. “What’s her name?”

  “Heart o’Mine,” he replied with a grin of pleasure.

  Lenore laughed and fondly stroked the mare’s withers. “An appropriate name.”

  “I thought so,” he agreed, peering at her from under his brows as he smiled with boyish charm. “She’s something special, just like you. You’ll look good on her.”

  Lenore sighed as Malcolm’s order came back to mind. “But I can’t accept her. It would cause too much trouble.”

  Ashton had been expecting the reply. “I’ll keep her over here where she’ll be safe. Whenever you’d like to admire her…or ride her…she’ll be ready for you. At your convenience, madam.”

  Lenore was sorely tempted. “Perhaps if I just borrowed her from time to time, Malcolm would let me ride.” She shook her head, rejecting the idea, then settled her hands on her hips with an exasperated sigh. “I’m getting so bored in the house, I need to get out, and what better way than to ride?” A sudden inquisitive smile replaced her frown. “Can you have her saddled for me…now?”

  One of the guards stepped forward. “Mrs. Sinclair, I don’t think you should…”

  “Bah!” Lenore promptly silenced his unfinished suggestion. “I’ll do what I want to, and if Malcolm doesn’t like it…then, that’s too bad.”

  Grinning, Ashton took the mare’s reins and began to lead her to where Hickory stood waiting outside the smaller tent, while the lady went racing back to the house in a rather undignified manner, lifting her skirts well past her ankles.

  “Meghan!” she called as she tore up the stairs. “Meghan, fetch me a habit. I’m going riding!”

  In no time Lenore was back, dressed in a summer habit of pearl gray, with a white jabot tumbling in lace-trimmed layers from her throat. As she crossed the boundary line, she took note that Ashton’s stallion was also saddled and stood a short distance away where Hickory held him in check. Ashton waved the stranger farewell and stepped to Heart o’Mine, lifting Lenore onto her back while the cabin boy stood at the horse’s head.

  “We’d better see how much you remember,” Ashton advised as he gave her the reins. “The last thing I want is to see you hurt.”

  Lenore complied with his request and tested the mare’s performance through a walk, trot, and canter, all within a wide circle between the house and tent. To her pleasure, both she and the mare seemed in capable order, and Ashton swung up onto his stallion, adding his approval. Much to the fretting concern of the two guards, she rode away from the house, leading Ashton down along the shore and away from their prying eyes.

  Her spirits lifted to immeasurable heights as she enjoyed the outing, the mare, and the company of her escort. There were so many things she wanted to talk with Ashton about, and he seemed as anxious as she to discuss the details of her childbearing state, wanting to know when the babe was due and where the pregnancy might have begun.

  “Before we left for New Orleans, I think,” she murmured, casting a wistful gaze in his direction. “You and Meghan are the only ones who know.”

  “For heaven’s sake, don’t tell Malcolm,” Ashton warned. “At least, not while he’s in the house with you.” He hated to think what the other man might do to her. “You’d make me feel better about everything if you’d let me send him and his two buff
oons away. You could stay in the house with your father if you wanted to, and I wouldn’t even ask you to allow me to move in…or press you to go home with me where you belong.”

  Lenore tossed him another glance and laughed. “You’re already pressing me to do that.”

  In roweling frustration Ashton settled back in the saddle. “All right! I admit it! And I try because I care!”

  “Thank you,” she murmured with a gentle smile.

  A muted groan came from him as her soft, grateful look went through him and stroked the strings of his heart. Was she aware of what she did to him when such loving tenderness was displayed in her face? “You turn me inside out, woman,” he complained with a helpless chuckle. “I am putty in your hands.”

  Lenore shook her head negatively. “I don’t think so.” She glanced back over her shoulder, realizing they were now some distance from the house. “We’d better get back.” She giggled, relenting to the humor that set in when she remembered the two guards chafing as they watched her ride away. “I’m afraid if Malcolm gets home first, he may shoot his men.”

  “Good riddance,” Ashton replied promptly.

  “Oh, Ashton, you don’t mean that.” As he raised his brow in sharp disagreement, she burst into laughter again. “Perhaps I’m wrong.”

  They had turned their mounts and were heading back when Ashton halted his horse by the edge of the water and swung down. Lenore reined in her mare and watched him in wonder as he strolled back along the wet sand where he had just passed. He paused and kicked the sand with his toe, then stooped quickly, grabbing up a tiny crustacean, which he brought back to her and presented in the palm of his hand.

  “A flea crab,” he informed her, gently nudging the coin-sized creature with a finger.