Dark Angel

by V. C. Andrews

  ended. "Was it that bad?"

  Instantly my eyelids parted. I gazed at him

  softly, dreamily. "I have never heard music like yours

  before. It scares me. Why is it you didn't play professionally?"

  He shrugged indifferently. His skin through the

  silk of his thin white shirt glowed with heightened

  color. The collar was open so that I could see the faint

  sprinkling of dark hair on his chest. I closed my eyes

  again, disturbed by all the sensations I was feeling. "I've missed your visits." His voice came to me

  soft and hesitating. "I know I hurt your feelings the

  night of your graduation, and I'm sorry, but I'm only

  trying to protect you."

  "And yourself," I whispered bitterly. "You

  know I'm nothing but hillbilly trash and sooner or

  later I'll embarrass you and your family. I've been

  thinking I'd go away. I have enough money saved up

  now to put me through my first year of college. And if

  I find a job, I can work through the remaining years." Alarmed, he said something that I couldn't quite make out, though I parted my lids enough to see his

  concern and alarm.

  "You can't do that! Tony, Jillian, and I owe you

  a great deal."

  "You don't owe me anything!" I stormed,

  jumping up. "Just leave me alone from now on, and

  I'll not impose on your privacy again!"

  He flinched, then raked his long fingers through

  his mass of waving hair. His disarming, boyish smile

  flashed. "My music was my way of saying I'm sorry

  for leaving you alone in the garden. My way of

  confessing I've grown too fond of you not to make an

  effort to bring you back again. When you're not in the

  cottage, I seem to sense you there, and often I turn

  abruptly, hoping to find you, and feel such

  disappointment because I'm alone. So please, start

  coming again."

  So I went back to Troy's cottage with him, and

  ate dinner with him there. But I was tired of always

  being cooped up in that cottage with him. I felt the

  wind of my emotions pushing out so strongly that I

  needed to be outside, lest I make a fool of myself. But

  before I left, I was determined to make sure I saw him

  the next day. For he was softening toward me, I could

  feel it. And he couldn't fight his feelings for me if we spent entire days together. I could bring sunshine and life into his melancholy life, and I was determined

  now to force him to accept my love.

  "Troy, can't we do something outside in the

  fresh air for a change? In the stables are beautiful

  Arabian horses that only the grooms exercise when

  Jillian and Tony are away. Teach me how to ride a

  horse. Or swim with me in the pool. Share a picnic in

  the woods with me, but let's not stay shut up in your

  cottage when the weather is so beautiful. Jillian and

  Tony will come home soon, and we'll be forbidden

  each other. Let's do now what we can't do then." Our eyes met and held. A flush of color rose

  from his chest to flood his face, forcing him to half

  turn and break the bind of our eyes. "If that's what

  you'd rather do. Tomorrow at ten we'll meet at the

  stables. You can learn on the most gentle mare there." Almost as if I'd swallowed a powerful drug, I

  fell under the spell of something beyond my control.

  The next morning shortly before ten, I met Troy at the

  stables. Troy was waiting for me, wearing casual

  riding clothes. The wind had tousled his hair, and

  already the sun had put healthy color in his cheeks,

  and that sad little something that lingered always in

  the depths of his eyes wasn't there. I ran to him, delighted with the response of his immediate smile. "We are going to have the most wonderful day!" I said, giving him a quick hug before I looked eagerly toward the stables. "I just hope the grooms won't tell

  Tony."

  "They know better than to carry tales," he answered lightly, seeming charmed by my happy excitement. "You look great, Heavenly, absolutely great." I spun around to give him a full view, spreading

  my arms, and tossing my hair. "Tony gave me these

  riding clothes for Christmas. First time I've worn

  them."

  For a week Troy gave me riding lessons each

  morning and taught me the difference between the

  English and Western styles. It was more fun than I'd

  ever expected (though I hurt each night when I sat),

  learning how to race with the wind, and duck the low

  branches, and heel into the flanks of my mount when I

  wanted to stop. In short order I lost my fear of the

  horse and its impressive height.

  After my lessons each morning, we'd go back to

  his cottage to have lunch, and then he'd send me back

  to the big house, saying he had to work. I could feel

  him resisting spending too much time with me, yet I

  could tell that he really wanted to. So I avoided seeing him in the evening, hoping that he'd miss me, and long for me, and indeed, each morning he seemed so happy to see me that I was certain that someday very,

  very soon, he would realize he loved me.

  It was a full eight days after my riding lessons

  began that Troy felt I was ready for a really long ride

  into the woods surrounding Farthinggale Manor. Time

  and again he kept glancing at the sky. "The early

  morning news predicted violent electrical storms, so

  we shouldn't go too far."

  With us we had a picnic hamper full of what

  Troy had put together himself, and some special treats

  that Rye Whiskey had sent over from the big house

  for us to enjoy.

  Troy was the one who selected a sun-dappled

  little mound under one of the most beautiful beech

  trees I'd ever seen. Not so far away was a gurgling

  stream of water, and birds darted between the gently

  swaying branches above. The wonderful feel of the

  summer day put songs in my heart and joy in my

  every movement, as Troy knelt to spread the red-andwhite checkered tablecloth on the grass. Our two

  horses were tethered not far away and contentedly

  munched on whatever they could eat. I heard the hum

  of honey bees, smelled the scent of clover, brushed tiny gnats from my face as I busied myself emptying the picnic basket. The sweetness of the day, the prettiness of the setting, lit up my eyes whenever I glanced at Troy, who couldn't move his fascinated gaze from whatever trivial move I made. I felt selfconscious as I shifted plates and plastic flatware around, and three times I moved the potato salad, the

  fried chicken, the sandwiches.

  When finally I had everything prettily arranged,

  I sat back on my heels and smiled his way. "There,

  doesn't it look pretty? But don't dig in until I say

  grace, just like my granny used to say whenever Pa

  wasn't at home." I felt so happy today that I just had to

  thank someone.

  He seemed bewitched. Dazed-looking, he

  nodded, then inclined his head slightly while I said the

  familiar words.

  "Dear Lord, we thank you for the food before

  us. We thank you for the caring hands that prepared

  our bounty. We thank you for our many blessings and

  all the joys this day and all our tomorrows will bring

&
nbsp; us. Amen."

  I lowered my hands, raised my bowed head,

  looked up, and found Troy staring at me in the most

  quizzical way. "Your granny's grace?"

  "Yes, we didn't have blessings or bounties, but

  Granny never seemed to know that. She was always

  expecting the best would show up one day. I guess

  when you're not used to anything, you don't expect too

  much. When she said grace, I used to silently pray

  that God would take away her aches and pains." He fell into silence after that, appearing

  thoughtful as we both ate our sumptuous picnic lunch.

  And I myself had made the yellow cake with thick

  fudge frosting in Troy's own kitchen.

  "This is the best cake I've ever eaten!" He

  licked the chocolate from his fingers. "Another slice,

  please."

  "Wouldn't-it be nice if we could always be

  together like this? You and me. I could go to college,

  while we live in your cottage."

  His dark eyes shadowed with so much pain,

  suddenly the sunny day went dark.

  He didn't love me! He didn't need me! I was

  seducing him, or trying to, just as Cal Dennison had

  seduced me with his own needs and desires,

  disregarding mine. I handed him his second slice of

  cake, now too embarrassed even to look at him. With

  my head lowered so he couldn't see my suffering, I

  quickly cleared the tablecloth, and without washing the used plates and flatware in the stream as I'd intended doing when first I saw the water, I threw everything back into the picnic hamper in a grand heap that wouldn't allow me to close the top. Fiercely

  angry I shoved the basket his way.

  "Here's your basket!" I choked.

  His stunned expression forced me to scramble

  to my feet, then I ran toward my horse. "I'm going

  home!" I cried out childishly. "I realize you don't need

  anybody like me stuck permanently in your life! All

  you need is work, and more work! Thank you for the

  last ten days, and forgive me for being impulsive. I

  promise not to waste your time again!"

  "Heavenly!" he called, "Stop! Wait . . ." I didn't wait. Somehow I reached the saddle,

  not caring if I did it right or wrong. My heels dug into

  my mount's flanks, and she leaped forward while I

  was blinded by silly tears, more angry with myself

  than with him. I did everything wrong. My mare was

  made confused and uncertain. To correct my mistakes

  I yanked hard on the reins. Rearing upward almost

  vertically, the mare snorted, pawed at the air, then

  bolted forward, running wild and fast through the

  woods. Low branches came at me one after another,

  branches that could sweep me out of the saddle, break my neck, back, legs. With more luck than skill I managed to duck each branch. And the more I moved in the saddle, the more erratic my horse ran! My screams were like long, thin scarfs blowing behind me. Almost too late I remembered Troy's advice on how to cling to a runaway horse. I fell forward and clung to my mare's thick, brown mane. Over ravines and ditches, jumping dead trees felled by storms, my uncontrolled horse raced. Squeezing my eyes shut, I began to say her name over and over, trying to calm

  her.

  The next thing I knew she stumbled; I was

  thrown from her back straight into a shallow ditch

  half-full of slimy green rainwater. Scrambling to her

  feet, my mare whinnied, shook herself, threw me a

  disgusted look, and wheeled about to head for home,

  leaving me stunned and shaken and hurting. I was also

  missing my left boot. I felt a total fool as I lay

  sprawled on my back in the fetid water, staring up

  through the canopy of leaves to find the sun full in my

  face.

  God's punishment, I sourly thought, for

  presuming too much! I should have known better than

  to fall for the first man who made my blood run fast

  and hot, especially after Cal, and Logan's rejection. No Casteel had ever won any prize! Why should I

  think I was any better!

  Other stupid thoughts filled my head before I

  had sense enough to sit up and shake the filthy water

  from my hair, then used the sleeve of my shirt to clean

  my face of mud. Wild honey bees were attracted,

  perhaps by my perfume, or by the bright yellow of a

  once pretty blouse.

  "Heaven, where are you?" I heard Troy calling

  from a distance.

  You're too late, Troy Tatterton! I don't want

  you now! Still I began to tremble from the effort it

  took not to respond. I didn't want him to find me, not

  now. Somehow I'd make my way back to that huge,

  lonely house, and never again would I disobey Tony

  and steal over to his cottage.

  So, sitting in the water, I stayed very quiet,

  slapping at the insects who idiotically found me

  attractive. Endless time passed before he stopped

  calling and thrashing about in the woods. The wind

  picked up and began to rustle the leaves above. Dark,

  stringy clouds converged as they always seemed to do

  whenever I was on the verge of finding something

  valuable. My rotten luck!

  Oh, you bet, I felt so damned sorry for myself, even before the drizzle of rain began, I couldn't stifle

  my sobs.

  Then a small noise came from behind me, and

  an amused voice. "I always wanted to save a maiden

  in distress."

  My head swiveled around to see Troy about ten

  feet away. How long he'd been watching me I couldn't

  guess. His riding clothes were snagged in several

  places, and a long tear had ripped one sleeve from

  shoulder seam to elbow. "Why do you keep sitting

  there? Are you hurt?"

  "Go away!" I yelled, flipping my head so he

  couldn't see my mud-smeared face. "No, I am not

  hurt! I don't need to be rescued! I don't need you! I

  don't need anybody!"

  Without replying he stepped into the wet ditch

  and tried to feel my legs for broken bones. I tried to

  slap him away, and yet he managed to pick me up

  after three attempts. "Now, be serious, Heaven. Tell

  me if you hurt anywhere."

  "No! Just put me down!"

  "You're lucky you are still alive. If it had been

  hard ground instead of water and a soft muddy stream

  bottom, you might very well be seriously injured." "I can walk. Please put me on my feet." "All right, if that's what you want," and obeying

  my command, he tentatively stood me up. I cried out

  from the hot pain that shot through my left ankle.

  Instantly he seized me up in his arms again. "We've

  got to hurry. No time to play games. I had to dismount

  to follow the trail you made. No doubt trom the looks

  of that swelling ankle, you have sprained it." "That doesn't make me crippled! I can still

  walk. Many a time I've walked seven miles to

  Winnerrow with something hurting more than that

  ankle!"

  Another amused grin quirked his lips. "Sure

  you have, a hurting stomach, not a sprained ankle." "What do you know about it?"

  "Only what you've told me. Now stop

  struggling and behave yourself. If I don't find my

  horse in short order, both of us are going to be caught
r />   in the storm that's coming."

  Patiently his tethered mount waited while Troy

  lifted me up and sat me before him on the saddle. I

  felt mean and spiteful as he swung up to sit behind

  me, guiding his mount skillfully, even as he put his

  free arm about my waist protectively.

  "It's already raining."

  "I know that."

  "We'll never make it back to the house before

  the storm strikes in full force."

  "I suspect we won't. That's why I'm heading for

  an old abandoned barn that used to store the grains

  earlier Tattertons grew."

  "You mean your ancestors knew how to do

  something besides make toys?"

  "I suspect everyone's ancestors had more than

  one skill,"

  "Yours, I'm sure, had servants to do all the

  farming."

  "You are probably right. However, it takes

  some talent to make the money to pay tenant farmers." "It takes more than talent to survive in the

  wilderness."

  "Touche. Now keep quiet and let me get my

  bearings." He brushed his wet hair from his forehead,

  looked around, then turned his horse eastward. Black thunderclouds blew in from the

  southwest, soon followed by sizzling bolts of

  lightning, and despite my will to escape him, it felt

  good to have his arm about me, holding me secure as

  the barn came finally into sight.

  It smelled old and sour in the dilapidated

  building half-full of rotting hay. In the dimness rain leaked through in a hundred places to splatter down on the dirt floor and create puddles. The roof holes allowed me to see the darkened sky now full of terrifying lightning bolts that seemed to converge directly overhead. I sank down to my knees as Troy took care of the horse, unsaddling him, rubbing him dry with the saddle blanket; then he came my way to rake with his hands at the hay until he found some that was dry and not so smelly, and on that we both sat in

  the damp and miserable barn.

  As if there hadn't been any interruption at all, I

  continued in my angry way: "It's a wonder rich people

  like the Tattertons didn't have this barn torn down

  long ago."

  He ignored my remark, leaned back on the

  mound of hay he'd created, and spoke softly. "I used

  to play in this barn when I was a boy. I had a makebelieve friend I called Stu Johnson, and with him I'd

  jump from that loft over there." He pointed to show

  me where. "I would jump down to this haystack we

  are sitting on."

  :Wahat a silly and dangerous thing to do! I