Lure of the Falcon Page 10

  'I'll walk her back.' She spoke quietly, holding up her hand for the reins, and fighting down a desire to shout at him that it wasn't her fault, it was Diane's. But he wouldn't believe her, so what was the use? Somehow she managed to control her anger, that rode as high as his. 'Give me the reins, please.'

  'No!'

  Without handing them to her he turned and leapt on to the stallion's back, and quickly reaching down he caught her under the arms and lifted her up in front of him.

  'There's over a mile to go to the house, and you're in no fit state to walk.' He must have noticed the whiteness of her face, and diagnosed accurately that her knees still trembled under her, but she had no desire to return in this ignominious fashion, and she drew herself upright to tell him so.

  'Sit still,' he commanded her curtly. 'It's a long way to the ground,' he reminded her grimly, and one glance told her just how far it was. She knew the horse they were on was tall, but from where she sat, held against Russell, and with nothing but his arm circling her to

  hold her in place, the distance looked twice as far. If she struggled free she could bring them both down, and common sense warned her that injury could result; it was better to injure her pride than break their bones. Reluctantly she subsided, wishing that the steel band that was his arm would not hold her quite so closely against him. She could feel the strong beat of his heart through the soft wool of his sweater, melting her anger and bringing the ache back to her own.

  He rode in silence. Not a warm, companionable silence that would have made her closeness to him an intimate, precious thing, but the tight, hard silence of anger that put a wall of antagonism between them, and made his hold on her that of a captor, from which she desperately desired to be free.

  'I say, what on earth's the matter?' Val met them at the gate leading into the stable yard, his face puckered with concern. 'Have you come a cropper?' he asked inelegantly, and Wyn managed a smile.

  'No, I'm all right,' she assured him. 'The mare bolted.'

  'Loose her, Russ, I'll catch her.' Val held out his arms, and Russell eased his grip about Wyn's waist, though he did not completely let go. Instead he loosed her slowly through the loop of his arm, letting her slide down against him so that she did not leave the protection of his hold until Val could grasp her and lift her safely the rest of the way to the ground.

  'What rotten luck ! And on your first ride here, too,' he sympathised. 'Sit down on this for a bit if you feel wobbly.' He toed a bale of straw nearer, but Wyn shook her head.

  `I'm all right now,' she refused his offer. 'I'll stay and rub the mare down, she's in a lather.'

  'I'll attend to the mare,' Russell said curtly. `Go indoors, there's nothing you can do here,' he cut short her protest, and she turned away from him, sudden tears of reaction stinging her eyes. It was unfair of him not to listen.

  'I'll give you a hand,' she heard Val offer, and heard Russell reply.

  `I'll do it myself,' he said grimly, 'I want to see if there's any damage been done. And the next time you decide to have a race,' his tone hardened as he addressed his brother, 'do so in your Club aeroplane, not on one of my horses.'

  She'd got Val into trouble as well, Wyn thought miserably. He had galloped his own mare, but no more than Russell himself had let Pendelico out, indeed Val's horse was dry, and breathing easily. She saw it nuzzle his pockets, searching for sugar, as she turned towards the house, and stepped hastily out of the way of the Land Rover turning through the yard gate, with Benny behind the wheel.

  'Are you all right, missie?' He had the drystone waller in the passenger seat with him, and the old man leaned out and called to her, concern all over his wrinkled face.

  'Yes, I'm fine, thanks,' she smiled her appreciation.

  'You've got a grand seat, miss,' Benny commented approvingly. 'There's not many ladies would have stuck on the same as you did.' Under any other circumstances Wyn would have chuckled at his choice of words, but not now. His kindly praise had the opposite effect; and bid fair to upset her already precarious self-

  'it

  control. A couple of tears brimmed over, as she turned away hastily, brushing them off her cheeks. She did not want to encounter Diane, and give the other girl the satisfaction of seeing her cry. She looked round cautiously. but Diane was still some distance away, clip-clopping in a leisurely fashion towards the stables as if she had not a care in the world. Wyn fled for the house, hoping she need not encounter any of the family until she had recovered her composure.

  The voices of Louise Tylar and the two children came faintly from the garden as she entered the hall, from which she had set out after lunch on a peaceful, solitary walk, it seemed a century ago now, so much had happened in the meantime. She heard Nanny tell Jane to stand still for a minute while she did up her shoe lace, and then she gained the stairs, and blissfully the door of her own room, where she could shower and change, and bathe her face, and wonder bitterly what unkind fate had struck her colleague down with illness and forced her to come to the Grange in his stead, bringing with her a carefree mind and a whole heart, and having the peace of both shattered on the unyielding rock that was the new owner of Tylar Grange.

  Except that he was not the legal owner yet.

  The cool shower calmed as well as refreshed her, and she sorted through her drawer and drew out her favourite blue underslip with the white lace edging, that she had purchased in a moment of extravagance when she was last in Paris, then bought a blue dress on the rather feeble excuse that the colours exactly matched. She would put them on tonight; she would need all her confidence to go down to dinner and face Russell again, and she knew the delicate colour suited

  her. She pulled it over her head, enjoying the smooth freshness of the material that clung to her, revealing the soft contours of her slender form in the cleverly draped bodice and the flowing skirt, fashionably longer than her other dresses, and somehow more suitable to her graceful surroundings.

  She fingered through the small amount of jewellery she had brought with her, finally choosing a heart-shaped locket that Bill Stapleton and his wife had given to her on her last birthday, almost a year ago now. It was an antique that had come into the shop, and which at the time she had admired without thinking, and wondered why it had disappeared from the showcase so quickly. She hail never had a photograph in it yet, an omission she intended to remedy, but had never got round to.

  I'll do something about it as soon as I get home, she promised herself, feeling guilty that she had left it for so long. A year almost, except for about a week. She counted the days, and realised that she would still be at the Grange for her birthday. The thought did not disturb her, it was not the first anniversary she had spent away from home, and her family were well used to sending her birthday cards to all corners of the world, in the hope that they would eventually reach her near enough to the date to be appropriate. They usually kept her presents until she returned home, when she could enjoy them among the family gathering that always collected in. the big-farmhouse at every opportunity, and she hoped they would do the same this year. Parcels here, at the Grange, among unsympathetic company, would be more of an embarrassment than a pleasure, she thought unhappily.

  `Come in ! ' She looked at her wrist, and realised she had taken her watch off to have a shower, and not replaced it. It must be later than she thought, for Nanny to come up and remind her that it was nearing dinner time. She frowned, fumbling with the fine chain of her locket that had unaccountably got itself into a knot.

  `It's not Nanny, it's me.' Russell stood inside the door, looking down at her as she fumbled. Nervelessly, her fingers loosed the locket, and he stooped swiftly to prevent it from falling to the floor. 'Let me do it.' His strong brown fingers unknotted the delicate chain with a lightness of touch very much at variance with the strength they had recently shown when they were holding back the mare. 'Shall I fasten it on for you? 'He did not wait for her permission, although she nodded dumbly, unable to speak as he stepped behind her,
dropping the locket over her head and drawing the chain together.

  What had he come to her room for? She caught sight of his watch face, where the white cuff of his shirt slipped back from his wrist, and saw that there was still fifteen minutes to go before the dinner gong. Why had he come to see her? To tell her to pack her 'bags and go? His fingers touched the back of her neck lightly as he manipulated the fastening, and she shivered.

  `Cold?' He closed the clasp, and reached over to where her blue and silver stole lay draped across the bridal chest. He ran its soft length across his fingers musingly, before he placed it carefully across her shoulders and let his hands rest on them, gently this time, with a lightness of touch very different from the hard, bruising grip that he had held her with that afternoon.

  `Enoch Marshall told me what happened this after-

  noon.' He spoke quietly, deliberately, his voice coming from just above her right ear, as if he leaned over her, to see her reaction. She tensed under his grasp.

  'Told you?,' she repeated stupidly. It couldn't be true. All the fright and misery of the disastrous afternoon welled up inside her, making her eyes suspiciously bright, and refusing to let her mind grasp what he told her.

  She had forgotten the old man. Russell and Corporal Benny had been 'intent on their task of mending the wall, and had their backs turned towards Diane when she so cruelly used her riding crop, and Diane herself had been turned away from Enoch Marshall. She had evidently forgotten him, too. Bless Enoch Marshall! Wyn's eyes grew brighter still, but this time it was not with tears.

  'I shouted at you.' His voice was full of remorse. 'I shook you ...' He remembered his action in a horrified tone.

  'It doesn't matter.' She turned to him swiftly, looking up into his face. Nothing mattered now. 'I'd have shaken anyone for running a horse into that state.' She would not let him blame himself.

  'I do believe you would.' He still left his hands on her shoulders, and momentarily they tightened, drawing her closer towards him. 'For someone so small, you're fiery!' He was laughing at her, his eyes, that had glared at her, hard and stormy with anger, lit now with an amused smile. She wasn't all that small, she thought indignantly, but beside Russell she probably appeared so. She opened her mouth to tell him so, and shut it again, disconcerted because he was still watching her. He must not upset her hardly won poise again; there

  was dinner and the evening to get through, and besides, there was something she wanted to know.

  'Is the mare all right?' If Russell had not found out the truth of what happened that afternoon she would have had to go to his groom to find out, but now she could ask him directly. The animal had been badly used, and sheer compassion drew the question from her. She did not ask what he had said to Diane. She did not want to know. Wyn had been badly used herself, and she still felt raw. She thrust the thought from her. It was over now.

  Until Diane gets another chance. The thought came back to trouble her above his calm 'The mare's fine, no harm done,' that eased her mind on one score at least. She would not let Diane have another chance, she determined. Her chin came up in a characteristic gesture. This afternoon's experience would be enough to arm her against further spite, preferably to avoid it, since Diane fought from an advantageous position, having already got Russell's affections, which made her position at the Grange assured, and very different from Wyn's own.

  'Miss Wyn?' A discreet knock on the half open door turned Wyn towards it. 'It's nearly dinner time, miss. I thought I'd come up and warn you, in case you'd dropped off. I see there's no need.' The children's nurse beamed at them both, and Russell's hands dropped from Wyn's shoulders to his side. 'Mr Val said the mare bolted,' the elderly woman looked at her anxiously. 'You didn't take a tumble, did you?'

  'No, she stuck on like a leech,' Russell said admiringly. So he had noticed that, even through his anger. The thought sent a quick warm glow through Wyn,

  that stayed with her right through dinner, keeping at bay the tiredness of her inevitable reaction to the events of the afternoon, and finally sending her to bed early at Russell's insistence. It was a novel experience to be fussed over when she was away from home, she thought contentedly, even though his concern for her safety stemmed only from his sense of responsibility towards her while she was employed in his house, and she meekly did his bidding, grateful for his concern from whatever cause, and surprisingly drowsy when she had not expected to be able to sleep with so much to occupy her over-burdened mind.

  'We're going to church in the pony and trap,' the children told her excitedly the next morning.

  'It's their Sunday treat, if it happens to be fine,' Louise Tylar smiled. 'Val's driving Nanny and me in. No, not in that horrible contraption you call a car,' she dashed his hopeful look. 'I don't intend having my hair blown all over the place, we'll go in the saloon,' she decided firmly. 'There'll be a spare seat in the car, and in the trap for that matter, if you'd like to come to the service with us?' She issued her invitation delicately.

  'I'd like to very much.' She would love to go in the trap with Russell. A ride in the sunshine and fresh air at the easy pace of a shaft pony appealed far more than the offer of modern transport, particularly in .a closed car. But once again the invitation had come from a member of Russell's family, not from Russell himself. She turned towards him, seeking her answer in his face, but she could not see his expression; he was bending down disentangling the terrier from an unequal tussle with a sheepskin rug.

  'Come with us,' Jane begged. 'It's lovely in the trap.

  Though you mustn't wriggle,' she told Wyn seriously, passing on what were obviously repeated grown-up warnings.

  'I won't wriggle,'Wyn promised gravely, and tried to restrain her lips from twitching.

  'Uncle Russell says the trap rides better with some ballast,' Jon offered, airing his knowledge, and Russell laughed outright.

  'There's a backhanded invitation for you!' He straightened up and chuckled amusedly. 'I assure you we wouldn't regard you as ballast,' he told Wyn, his eyes dancing. 'Unless you've had enough of horse transport for a while,' his face sobered, remembering the previous afternoon.

  'I'd love to come.' She spoke to Jane, but her eyes watched Russell. 'It's a glorious morning.' The sunshine was already warm and bright, but it had nothing to do with the way her heart sang as she joined Russell and the children outside the front door, and stood under the harsh stone carving of the falcon on the mailed fist, waiting for Corporal Benny to lead the cob round to them ready for the journey.

  'She's quiet as a lamb, this one, Major,' the groom opined as Russell quickly glanced at the horse between the shafts. Wyn saw with relief that it was not Dusky, the roan she rode yesterday. 'She'll plod along nicely, but she's no hurrier,' he smiled at Wyn reassuringly.

  'You sit up front, opposite to me. We'll balance one another.'.Russell opened the door at the back of the high-sided governess cart, and held out his hand to help her in. 'That's what Jon meant when he mentioned ballast,' he grinned engagingly, and Wyn chuckled. 'We'll six these two in between us—just in case they

  don't remember not to wriggle.' He bent and lifted Jane in, they gave Jon a helping heave via the seat of his shorts. 'Keep your blazer with you,' he advised as the boy divested himself of his jacket, and would have tossed it on to. the mounting block to wait until he returned. 'It'll be cool inside the church.'

  'It's hot now.' Jane looked up at Wyn appealingly, and she leaned over and helped with her struggle to undo the buttons of her own jacket.

  Put it on the seat with Jon's. You can slip it on again when we go inside.' She pushed apart her own edge-toedge lightweight wool coat, which teamed with the leaf green dress underneath, and pulled Jane closer to her on the seat as Russell joined them, making the trap rock to his heavier step. He bent and carefully fastened the miniature door behind him, then took the reins into his hands from the rowlock type holder in front of him.

  `Giddup ' Benny gave the cob's flank a friendly slap and stepped away from he
r head, responding cheerfully to their waving hands until they turned out of sight around the bend in the drive.

  'We'll go by the lanes. It takes longer, but we've got plenty of time,' Russell consulted his watch, 'and it's quieter than the main road,' he answered Wyn's enquiring look as they turned away from the Lodge gates in a direction she had not been before. 'Jon will close them for us.' He would not let her get down, although her plain tan court shoes were low-heeled, and she would have encountered no difficulty in alighting from the trap on her own.

  'All set?' He waited for Jon to settle himself safely back on his seat before he clicked his tongue and the

  horse moved on again, gently clip-clopping at a pace that might drive the moguls of commerce mad, but suited her admirably, Wyn decided, finding the rhythmic sound of the hooves, and the lack of hurry, infinitely soothing. She noticed with interest that the whip hole in the side of the trap was unoccupied. Someone—Benny probably—had stuck a fresh sprig of flowering shrub in which added to the carefree mood of their journey.

  'Listen! There's a cuckoo ! ' Jon cocked his head on one side as the unmistakable, directionless call echoed across the woods that marched sentinel like beside the lane. 'Do they really sing night and day, in May?' he asked, referring to the old rhyme.

  'They change their tune in June,' Wyn hedged, unwilling to commit herself on this point. 'By the middle of next month that one will begin to stutter,' as the call came again. She glanced up and met Russell's amused look, accusing her of cowardice in evading an answer, and grimaced back at him amicably.

  'He'll fly away in July. The poem says so,' Jane piped up, determined to let the others know that she had learned it as well as her brother.

  'He doesn't stay long, does he?' Jon realised, and his voice sounded suddenly wistful.