The Silver Rose

Chapter Nine

At the head of the stairs, out of sight of the crowd in the hall below, Simon released his hold on Ariel's arm and leaned against the wall, his eyes closed, his lips clenched. "Just give me a minute."

"As long as you wish," Ariel replied. "There's no one in sight."

"Are we to spend the night in your chamber or mine?" Simon inquired after a while. He opened his eyes and straightened up, leaning on his cane again. His smile was ironic.

"I prefer my own."

"Then lead on, wife of mine… no, I have no need of your arm now."

Ariel shrugged and walked slowly ahead of him to her turret chamber at the end of the passage. When she opened the door, the hounds leaped out at her, their tails sweeping like flails in a threshing room. Simon reeled under the welcoming onslaught and grabbed hold of the lintel.

"Your brother may have a point," he muttered, pushing the dogs away as they slobbered around his feet. "They are the size of ponies. Much more suited to the stables than a domestic drawing room."

"We don't have such an elegant apartment in Ravenspeare Castle," Ariel pointed out, slinging a cloak around her shoulders before shooing the dogs into the passage. "I'll take them with me now, and give you some peace."

He put a hand on her arm. "Where are you going?"

Ariel paused, her gray eyes narrowing slightly. "Am I to be accountable to you for all my movements, my lord?"

"For as long as we remain under your brother's roof," he replied. "I would like to be assured of your loyalty."

"You doubt my loyalty?" Her voice was tight.

"Do I have reason to trust it?" he asked quietly.

"We made a bargain. You insult me by implying that my word is not good."

"Yours is a Ravenspeare word."

Ariel flushed. "When have I given you cause to doubt me since we came to this agreement? Have I not gone out of my way to demonstrate to my brothers that we have an understanding?"

At that he smiled a little grimly. "That's another thing we should discuss. When you return from the stables."

"How did you know that was where I was going?"

"Since it was the first thing you did in the morning, it wasn't hard to guess that it would be your last before retiring."

"Well, if you knew all along, why did you pick a quarrel?" she demanded.

"I wasn't so much picking a quarrel as making a point." He reached out a hand and lifted her chin on his palm. "I wished to make it clear that I have no intention of letting my guard down with you, Ariel, for as long as you keep yours up with me." He smiled and lightly pinched the pointed tip of her chin before releasing it. "You may go about your business, but make haste. If I weren't so damnably weak this evening, I'd come with you, but in the morning I hope you'll show me your stud."

Ariel turned away to hide a welter of confusion. Her chin felt warm where his hand had rested, and for some reason she wasn't annoyed, when she knew perfectly well that she should be. She called the dogs, aware that her voice was unnecessarily loud, and hurried away without a backward glance.

Simon leaned against the doorjamb as she almost raced away from him, her cloak billowing around her with the urgency of her long, swift stride. He'd noticed before that she made few concessions in her movements to the layers of petticoats and the hoop beneath her gown.

He looked down at his flattened palm, feeling the shape of her chin on his skin. Such a pointed little chin it was, with the most kissable cleft. In his mind's eye he saw her face, uptilted toward him. Her mouth, with that long, sensual upper lip. Her nose, small but well defined. And her magnificent eyes. Gray, almond shaped, wide set, beneath arched brows and a broad white forehead with a pronounced widow's peak. The Ravenspeares were gray eyed to a man, but Ariel's eyes were both softer and clearer, reminding him of a dawn sky after a rainy night. And they brimmed with the spirit that made the girl the intriguing, complex, private woman that she was.

His hand fell to his side. He limped across to his own chamber, wondering how long she thought they could conduct a marriage without consummating it. What game were they all playing?

A dark shadow flitted across his mind as he struggled out of his clothes. Surely the lords of Ravenspeare weren't planning to do away with him? It was inconceivable. Humiliate him, certainly. Make him look a fool at his own bridal party, most surely. But murder? Would even they go that far with two hundred witnesses-and the queen looking on from afar? And if that was their plan, where did Ariel fit into it?

He shrugged into a chamber robe, a grimace of distaste on his lips. He was damned if he was going to be defeated by this devil's brood.

He took up his cane again and limped back to Ariel's chamber to await her return. The pain in his leg had settled into the steady throbbing ache that he knew would keep him wakeful throughout the night.

"Lord Ravenspeare was 'ere agin, this evenin'," Edgar said, as he accompanied Ariel along the stalls. "Did he say anything?"

"No, nuthin' much. Jest took a look." Edgar spat a

chewed straw out of his mouth. "Spent a bit o' time lookin' at the colt, I noticed."

"A particularly long time?" Ariel leaned against the half door to the colt's stall, resting her folded arms on the top. The colt, recognizing her voice, came forward with a low whinny.

"Not so's you'd notice." Edgar held up the lantern so that she could see the animal clearly as she stroked his nose.

"Umm. But Ranulf wouldn't let on if he had a particular interest," Ariel said slowly. "But could he have heard about the sale, Edgar?"

Edgar shook his grizzled head. "Not unless that Mr. Carstairs 'as blabbed."

"He promised to keep it quiet." Ariel turned away from the colt, her expression troubled. "Let's move the colt tomorrow, Edgar. Ship him downriver to Derek's farm. Just until the sale goes through."

"Right y'are. I'll see to it at dawn."

Ariel nodded, bade him good night, and left the stable. Derek Blake was a farmer whose twin sons she had pulled through the smallpox. He had negotiated the sale for her with John Carstairs and had offered to help her enterprise in any way he could. He was utterly trustworthy and would conceal the colt without asking questions. And if Ranulf did know something, he would surely react in some telltale fashion to the colt's disappearance.

She whistled for the dogs, but there was no answering bark. She whistled again, shivering in the frost-tipped air. Presumably they were off about their own pursuits. They didn't go far from the stables as a general rule, and there was no harm leaving them loose overnight. They would raise the alarm if anyone tried to get too close to her horses.

Before going inside again, she used the outhouse at the rear of the kitchen garden. It was cold and dark but she was damned if she was going to resort to the chamber pot upstairs with the earl of Hawkesmoor lying abed in the same room. Then she made her way back through the kitchens.

Tonight the servants were still up and about, preparing for the following day's hunt picnic as well as tending to the continuing demands from the Great Hall, where the celebrations grew ever more out of hand. A whole month of this was going to run the household ragged, Ariel reflected acidly. They had no reason to thank their young mistress for her wedding.

"Is all ready for the hunt breakfast tomorrow, Gertrude?" She paused beside the cook, who was rolling great sheets of pastry on a floured board.

"Aye, m'lady. The men will 'ave the fires on the home field lit by dawn and the pigs a-roastin' by seven. They'll be ready for carvin' by noon."

"And the drink?"

"The kegs of ale, a butt of rhenish, and another of malmsey are loaded on the carts, m'lady. Ready to go. The breads are bakin' now, the pies are sittin' in the pantry."

"You're a wonder, Gertrude." Ariel smiled and addressed a young girl plucking a duck into a cast-iron washtub. "Doris, would you bring goblets and the makings of a rum punch up to my chamber?" The girl tossed the half-plucked bird into the tub and went hastily to do her mistress's business. Ariel thanked the kitchen at large and wished them good night.

"What's to be done 'ere when 'er ladyship goes, I dunno," a manservant muttered, blowing onto a silver salver and polishing it vigorously.

"You'll not catch me stayin' on," a middle-aged woman agreed from behind a mound of potatoes she was peeling. "I wouldn't work fer that lot of devils fer a silver fortune."

" 'Old yer tongue, Mim, an' you, Paul," Gertrude rebuked.

"Well, ye'll not be stayin', will yer, Mistress Gertrude?"

"None of your business," the cook snapped, slapping the rolling pin onto the pastry dough with a more than usually heavy hand. "Now, get up them stairs with the punch, Doris."

"Per'aps 'er ladyship'll take us with 'er when she goes to 'Awkesmoor," Mim said hopefully.

"They've enough people of their own," stated Gertrude. "Now git on wi' yer work, woman, or we'll none of us see our beds tonight."

On her way upstairs, Ariel stopped at the stillroom and took several pots and leather pouches from one of the shelves. She reached her bedchamber just behind Doris with a laden tray.

Simon was seated in his chamber robe before the fire, his foot resting on an embroidered footstool. He looked in surprise at the young maid curtsying before him. "Oh, what have we here?"

"The makings for a rum punch," Ariel replied, unclasping her cloak. "Just put it before the fire, Doris."

The girl did so, bobbed another curtsy, and disappeared. Simon rose stiffly from the chair, crossed the room, and turned the key in the lock, dropping it into the pocket of his robe.

"You really don't trust me an inch, do you?"

"Oh, it's not you I'm worried about," he returned. "It's unwelcome visitors. I have a feeling that in this household anything could happen." He regarded Ariel through narrowed eyes and thought he detected a slight shifting of her gaze before she knelt before the tray and began to mix rum and hot water in a punch bowl.

"If you won't let me put a healing salve on your leg, then you must at least allow me to prepare a soothing draught for you. I doubt you'll sleep properly eke."

"Oh-ho! So, you're about to drug me into a stupor, are you?" He sat down again, gingerly lifting his foot back to the stool.

"It will make you drowsy." Ariel squeezed lemons into the bowl. "Surely you'd like to sleep?" She pushed the curtain of loosened hair from her face and glared at him. "If I intended to render you a helpless victim, I'd hardly tell you what I was doing."

"True enough." He linked his fingers behind his head and watched her hands as they squeezed, grated, mixed, and stirred. "What's that you're putting in now?"

"Nutmeg and belladonna."

"Deadly nightshade! Dear God, girl!"

"In the right proportions it induces a healthful sleep," she stated a mite crossly. "I told you that I have some skill in these matters." She dipped the ladle into the bowl, filled a goblet, and carried it over to him.

"I own my nights are rarely restful," he said with a doubtful little smile, taking the goblet. "But I think you must drink with me, my wife."

"I sleep well enough without assistance."

"Maybe so. But you understand my concerns." His smile broadened, but Ariel knew that he meant what he said. He would drink of her medicine only if she joined him.

She filled a goblet for herself, then faced him with a mocking smile in her gray eyes. "To your health, husband." She raised the goblet and drank.

"Your health, my dear." He drank to the bottom of the goblet. "You make a fine rum punch. I could taste no additives in there."

"The sleeping herbs I use are tasteless." She took the goblet from him. "If you wish, I'll make another without the sleeping draught."

He shook his head. "No, I've need of a clear head in this place. Let's to bed." He rose and limped to the fourposter, bending stiffly to pull out the truckle bed. "When I've warmed my feet, you may have the hot brick."

"Small compensation for being driven from my own bed," Ariel said grumpily.

"Oh, but I'm not driving you from your own bed. I thought I made it clear that you were most welcome to share it"

"Only if you put a drawn sword between us," she stated.

"Have it your own way." He snuffed out the candle beside the bed, then, with his back to her, threw off the chamber robe and climbed up into the bed.

Ariel looked quickly away but not before she'd taken in the lines of his back view. His back was long and smooth, his buttocks taut, his thighs hard. As before, she caught herself thinking that one would never guess from looking at her husband's lean, strong soldier's body that he was so sorely lamed.

He settled against the pillows with a sigh, before linking his hands behind his head and regarding her shape in the dimness.

"Take the coverlet if you wish."

"My thanks," Ariel muttered with heavy irony, dragging the thick quilt from his bed, tossing it over the narrow cot. "Must you stare at me so?"

"I may not bed my wife, but I see no reason why I shouldn't look upon her… And in truth, Ariel, you are most beautiful to look upon."

Ariel blushed. "I am not used to thinking so."

"I doubt your family would notice," Simon said with a dour smile. "I daresay it's not the Ravenspeares' way to see beauty. As a clan, they seem to fix upon ugliness."

Her eyes suddenly seemed to reflect the sparking fire behind her. "If, as you believe, my mother loved your father, then presumably she saw beauty." Her voice was taut with anger.

"Your mother was not by blood and birth a Ravenspeare." "But I am. So you would say that I too cannot see beauty?"

His face was dark against the fine white pillows. "I would like to believe you're the exception that proves the rule, Ariel."

She swung away from him and extinguished the lamp so that the room was lit only by the fire. She stepped into a dark corner out of sight of the bed and undressed rapidly before diving under the covers on the truckle bed. "It's so cold in here!" The wailing protest broke from her without volition as her warm skin hit the icy sheet. "It feels damp!"

"Well, get in here. I'll put the bolster down the middle of the bed," Simon offered sleepily, relishing his own warmth and the creeping relaxation as the pain in his leg, for the first time since he had received the wound, began to fade. "I can assure you that you've nothing to fear from me. After that sleeping draught, I could no more exercise my marital rights than I could vault a haystack." A deep yawn punctuated his assurance.

Ariel shivered. The sheet did feel damp, although she knew it couldn't be. It was just that it was even colder tonight than the previous night. "Let me have the hot brick," she mumbled, drawing her knees up against her chest. There was no reply from the other bed. She listened. A soft rumbling snore came from above.

"Simon?"

Another snore.

With a muttered curse, she half sat up, pulling the quilt up to her chin, and reached up her hand to thrust it under the covers of his bed, guessing where his feet would be as she felt blindly for the brick. It was wonderfully toasty in the big bed, and when her fingers brushed his leg, his skin was enviably warm.

"You're letting the cold air in, girl!" The sound of his voice, not in the least sleepy, shocked her, and she withdrew her hand with a little gasp. "Come in here and stop being silly." There was a mountainous heave of the covers on the poster bed, and the next minute, Ariel felt hands gripping her strongly beneath the arms. She was hauled bodily out and upward, her naked shivering frame enveloped in thick, warm quilts, her toes curling around the hot brick almost before she was aware of it.

She remembered noticing how much strength he had in his upper body when she'd seen his exposed torso that morning. She lay too startled to speak. He wasn't touching her but she was overpoweringly aware of his body a mere few inches from hers.

"I don't have a drawn sword handy, so the bolster must suffice. Here…" He heaved at the thick sausage behind his head, pulling it loose, and stuffed it down beside him. "God's grace, girl, you're as prim and prissy as a convent-bred virgin. People have been bundling together without lascivious purpose for centuries."

"Only when there aren't enough beds to go around." Ariel found her voice at last. "There's no such shortage here."

"There's a shortage of warm beds, it seems to me. Now go to sleep. I can barely keep my eyes open." He rolled onto his side with another mountainous heave of the covers. Ariel grabbed onto her side to keep them over her. She lay rigid for a few minutes and then, as a wave of sleepiness swept over her, turned onto her side with the bolster at her back and fell into the deep black pool of oblivion.

When she awoke it was broad daylight. And something warm and heavy was resting on the curve of her hip. She lay still, disoriented, then slowly realized that it was the Hawkesmoor's hand under the covers. It wasn't doing anything, just sitting there, but it seemed as if it belonged there… as if it had been there for a very long time.

Her nipples hardened as a little shiver rippled over her skin, tightened her scalp. She wanted to move but couldn't. Then the hand moved across her turned hip. She held her breath, pretending to be asleep, waiting despite her brain's screaming protests to see what would happen next. The hand curled, slipped down over her bottom…

The silent vociferous protests were finally translated into action. "You promised!" she cried, pushing his hand away. "You promised!"

"Promised what?" The earl rolled onto his side. Resting on a propped elbow, he blinked drowsily at her from across the bolster. "I promised I wouldn't take advantage of you. I can't help it if my hand slipped a little in my sleep."

"You weren't asleep!" she declared furiously, flinging aside the covers before remembering that she was naked. She pulled them back again with an oath. "You are a dishonorable Hawkesmoor!"

Infuriatingly, Simon merely laughed and lay down again on his back. "A wandering hand in such circumstances is hardly dishonorable, my dear."

"You promised you wouldn't touch me. You said you could no more exercise your marital rights than-"

"Oh, I know what I said," he interrupted, still laughing. "But that was last night, when it was perfectly true. But that draught of yours has put new life in me. Wonderful stuff it was. I had a rare good night, and how wonderful to wake up with such silken curves a mere bolster away."

"Oh, you're detestable!" Ariel sat up, glaring down at him, but she felt strangely uncertain. Her own body was too alive and didn't seem to be responding in accordance with her brain's commands.

Lazily he lifted a hand and stroked down her bare back as she sat beside him, the covers held tight to her chin. She jumped at his touch. "Don't!"

"How can I resist?" he murmured, flattening his palm over the base of her spine, his fingertips edging dangerously beneath her. "I'm only flesh and blood, wife of mine."

Ariel promptly flung herself onto her back, shoving his hand out from under her? hugging the cover to her chin. "I can't believe you'd break your promise, when you had the gall to say you didn't trust my word because I'm a Ravenspeare!"

Simon merely chuckled again. "Circumstances change. And if you want to avoid further intimacies, I suggest you get up and call for my breakfast and shaving water."

Ariel inched to the edge of the bed and gingerly slid out, pulling the top quilt with her. Safely wrapped once more, she stood up. "Don't you ever dare to question my honor again, Hawkesmoor. Where's the door key?"

Simon, clearly unrepentant, merely grinned. "In the pocket of my robe, I expect."

Ariel felt for it in the robe lying over the end of the bed. She drew it out and frowned, glancing to the window where a pale sun cast chilly rays. She forgot the irritating if tantalizing exchange under a new thought. "I wonder where the dogs are? It's not like them to stay out after daybreak."

"Maybe they found a bitch in heat and are sleeping off the night's excesses," Simon suggested.

It was always possible. Ariel gathered up her riding habit and undergarments and went to the door. "I'll dress in your chamber, since you're occupying mine."

As soon as she'd left, Simon got up and stretched, noting how much easier his leg moved this morning. Most days it was as stiff as dried leather and every stretch was agony until the blood flowed again. He pulled on his chamber robe and went to the window, flinging it wide, inhaling the crisp air, enjoying the heaviness in his loins, the swift blood of arousal. She was a most winsome creature, his young bride. And indignation certainly became her. He chuckled to himself.

But then his smile faded. He might desire her, but could she ever desire him? Helene had laughed at him when he'd expressed these reservations. She'd told him he was beautiful, despite his scarred countenance and lame leg. But Helene saw him through eyes of love and friendship.

The turret room looked out beyond the moat wall to the flat countryside with its intricate pattern of intersecting rivers and canals. Windmills studded the landscape, their sails turning lazily in the light breeze. Way off toward the port of King's Lyn were his own estates. Hawkesmoor Manor was a pleasant timbered house with green lawns stretching to the river and windows that looked out over the Wash. It was a warm family house, as different from this chilly, inhospitable castle as two abodes could be.

How would Ariel find it?

He pulled the window shut again. The cold air had chilled the room, and he bent to make up the fire. This month of so-called celebration was the very devil.

As long as he was stuck here, perhaps it was time to pursue the elusive woman named Esther.

"The dogs are nowhere to be seen." Ariel spoke worriedly as she hurried into the room. "I've called and called, and whistled for them. Edgar said he hasn't seen them since I left the stable last night."

"They're lying up somewhere," Simon said, nodding his thanks to the servants who had accompanied Ariel with hot water and a breakfast tray. "When I'm dressed, I'll come down with you to the stables." He began to sharpen his razor, drawing the blade along the strop.

Ariel took a slice of ham from the tray, placed it on a chunk of wheaten bread, and chewed slowly. She filled the ale cup and drank before refilling it for Simon. "What shall I do if they don't come back before the hunt?"

Simon wiped the lather from his face before answering. She was sounding very forlorn in her uncertainty, not at all like the Ariel he was accustomed to. "My dear girl, they're a pair of great wolfhounds. What could possibly have happened to them? There's nothing to worry about. Dogs are dogs and they do annoyingly doggish things."

Ariel half smiled. "I suppose so. And there are two of them. They can't both be in trouble."

"Of course not." He took up the ale cup and drank deeply. "I'll be back directly I'm dressed." He took up his cane and limped off to his own chamber across the corridor.

Ariel wondered why he spared her the ordeal of having to watch him dress. He hadn't shown such delicacy in other of their dealings, and he'd stripped off his robe in front of her both last night and the night before. But there had been little light, she recalled. Only the flicker of the fire to combat the shadows. She'd seen nothing but his back view, and that no more than a fleeting impression. Maybe he had a natural modesty.

The thought made her laugh aloud until she remembered that he came of Puritan stock. Hawkesmoors were known for sober, grave, churchgoing prudes. They probably believed that nakedness was sinful and dangerous and even lovemaking must take place in the darkness, beneath the covers. And never for pleasure. Only for procreation.

But somehow that didn't sit right with what she knew of Simon Hawkesmoor. It didn't accord with that straying hand on her hip, the caressing fingers on her back, the teasing laughter. She didn't feel as if the earl of Hawkesmoor was an inhibited prude. There was too much amusement and knowingness in his character. And her body was most emphatically nor responding to the signals of a staid and sexless Puritan. Simon aroused her most powerfully. There was little point denying it to herself, even if she'd cut her tongue out rather than speak it.

"Very well. Let's go and see these horses of yours." His voice from the door broke her reverie, and she felt herself blushing again as she picked up her cloak.

Simon looked at her curiously. "What wicked thoughts brought the fire to your cheeks, Ariel?"

She clapped her hands to her flaming face, saying crossly, "I blush at the slightest thing. It's unchivalrous to take notice."

"It must be most inconvenient," he said with mock solicitude. "I imagine you would always be caught out in a he, for instance."

Ariel didn't dignify this truth with a reply. It was certainly the case that if she told a direct lie, the evidence blazed from her cheeks for all to see. As a result she had perfected the art of lying by omission and was remarkably skillful at avoiding direct questions that might require an inconvenient answer.

"These special horses of yours. Are they a particular strain?" Simon inquired, diplomatically changing the subject.

"They're Arabians," she replied shortly. "It's a harmless enough hobby. Gives me something to do besides sewing fine seams."

"Are you skilled with a needle?" A laugh trembled in his voice as they crossed the stableyard.

Ariel gave him a look of disgust that was answer enough.

"I didn't think so," he said, grinning. He ducked into the low building and waited for his eyes to become accustomed to the dim light. An elderly groom ambled up the aisle toward them.

"You found them dogs yet, m'lady?"

"No. I'll go into the paddock and call them in a minute." Her forehead was creased with worry. "Edgar, this is the earl of Hawkesmoor… my husband," she added after an infinitesimal pause.

Edgar pulled his forelock but his shrewd eyes examined his lordship with a pitiless clarity. "You want t' take a look, m'lord?"

"If I may." Simon walked slowly along the stalls, pausing to look in at each one.

Ariel remained with Edgar. "Did the colt get off all right?"

"Aye," he said, his eyes still observing the earl.

"My brother hasn't appeared this morning?"

Edgar shook his head. "Like as not he's enough to do wi' gettin' 'imself up and about, I'd say."

Ariel smiled sourly. "They sat late, I suppose. The start of the hunt will be delayed."

"Aye, like as not," Edgar said with the same placidity. "What does yer 'usband know about the animals?" He gestured with his head to Simon, who was now at the far end of the building.

Ariel shrugged. "The same as everyone else. They're a harmless hobby of mine."

Simon couldn't hear what the groom and Ariel were saying to each other, but he sensed a complicity between them, and a certain importance to the conversation. He paused, looking in on a pregnant mare in the farthest stall. She was a beautiful animal, as indeed they all were. Very special. Ariel hadn't been exaggerating. But what could such a young thing know about the science of horse breeding? And yet, judging by the results of her efforts, she clearly knew exactly what she was doing.

He limped back to them. "Very impressive, my dear. Are you breeding them to race?"

Ariel flushed again in the shadowy light. "Perhaps," she said.

"Ah." He nodded slowly, watching her face. "Are you finding buyers for them?"

"They're mine," Ariel said in a rush. "I have no interest in selling them. Why would I?" She walked away with swift step toward one of the stalls.

"Why indeed?" he agreed with a lift of one mobile eyebrow. "Horse trading is hardly the province of an earl's daughter, let alone an earl's wife." Ariel made no response, so he continued, raising his voice a little as she was still moving away from him, "We must make arrangements to have them transported to Hawkesmoor Manor. There's no stable as well ordered as this to accommodate them at present, but I'll give order that one be built without delay."

Ariel stared down at the straw-laden floor. Hardly the province of an earl's wife. Of course he would think that. Everyone would think that. But there was no denying the generosity of his offer. If she was truly wedded to him and they were truly to set up a life together, then his offer to accommodate her horses in style had been most open-handed. Of course, she couldn't tell him that he would be wasting his time and his money on such a project. When she left Ravenspeare Castle with her horses, they would be going somewhere quite other than Hawkesmoor Manor.

He seemed to be waiting for a reply, so she said as naturally as she could manage, "That is most considerate of you, my lord. Most generous."

"Not in the least. I am perfectly happy to accommodate my wife's hobbies," he responded with a bland smile. "Edgar, I assume you will wish to take up service in my household? Lady Hawkesmoor would be loath to do without your help. Isn't that so, my dear?"

"Indeed," Ariel said, still keeping her face averted. "I couldn't manage the stud without Edgar."

"Then we must come to an agreement satisfactory to all parties."

This easy, natural generosity was too much for Ariel. Why couldn't the man be the pompous, uncivilized, puritanical boor she had expected? Why did he have to be so… so…? Oh, it was impossible to describe! "Excuse me. I'm going to the paddock to call the dogs."

She brushed past him, her face turned away, and vanished into the bright light of the yard.

Edgar pulled his chin and began to suck on a straw. Simon after a minute followed Ariel outside. There was no sign of her, and he began to limp toward the paddock gate.

"No! No!" Ariel's anguished scream of outrage and denial shivered through the crisp morning air. Grooms dropped their brooms and buckets. Edgar raced out of the stable block toward the paddock. Simon, his heart cold, cursed his lameness as he forced himself to walk faster toward the gate.