Tamed By Your Desire Part 18

"Thank you." She fingered the seash.e.l.l strung on a yellow ribbon about her neck.

"Do you like the sea?"

"Aye... I swim very well. My father says I'm surely a selkie that shed her skin."

He smiled and her breath caught. "I can see that. You are very beautiful. Lord Graham is most fortunate."

Her cheeks burned. Other than her father, no man had called her beautiful. Well, Lord Graham had, but that was only in a letter and based on the miniature she sent him-which she feared had deceived him, as she'd asked the painter to make her pretty.

"What of you?" Anne asked. "Did you come with Lord Graham?"

He nodded, then gestured with his chin. "You should go."

Anne didn't move. "Will I see you again?" It seemed very important that they finish their conversation, that she have the opportunity to learn all about him.

"I'm afraid so." His expression was regretful and she wanted to ask why, but he said, with more urgency, "You really should go now."

She didn't want to leave and meet her betrothed. She'd rather stay here, in this secluded garden, and talk to this strange young man. Of course, that would be ruinous and so she hurried down the path, stopping once to look back at him over her shoulder, but he was gone.

Ridley was annoyed that the girl kept him waiting, playing games with him. He had no wish to wed a child; his preference had always leaned to mature women, not innocents. Her father, puffed up with pride over the silly garden his daughter had designed, chattered inanely about it. Ridley fixed a smile of interest to his face, all the while wondering where that d.a.m.n girl was so he could be through with this and leave.

He'd left Carlisle in a state of agitation that could put all Ridley's plans at risk. A handful of Carlisle and Graham men were currently searching the march for Fayth, but if they didn't find her soon, Ridley would be forced to mount a costly and time-consuming sweep of the borders. But it was necessary. Carlisle had been most insistent. No Fayth, no deal. He was a sick b.a.s.t.a.r.d and Fayth would pay dearly for the trouble she'd caused them all. One bright spot was that Ridley wouldn't have to mete out the punishment himself. Marriage to Old Scratch was precisely what she deserved.

Lady Anne appeared suddenly, surprising a laugh from her father. He held his hands out to her. She was pleasant enough looking, if not a bit plump. Her hair was an unappealing shade of brown. Her hazel eyes regarded him warily. What had changed her mind? For until her last letter, all those before it had been filled with childish sweetness. He hadn't bothered to read them through.

"Lady Anne, your portrait did you no justice. You are a rare beauty." He smiled and reached for her. She placed a gloved hand in his. Fresh dirt dusted the fingers, leaves clung to the lace, and the glove wasn't even on properly; several of the fingers hung loose and empty.

Ridley didn't allow his smile to falter, though he cringed inwardly. He barely brushed his lips against her hand. He was only too glad to release her when his brother joined him.

"Lady Anne, this is my brother, and captain of my guard, Wesley Graham. Wesley, may I present Lady Anne Irvine, daughter of the earl of Dornock."

Wesley murmured a greeting, his gaze barely registering the woman before jerking to the side. G.o.d's wounds, he was an oaf. Every day Ridley became more convinced his brother was a sodomite, for he seemed to detest the company of women.

"Good morning... Wesley," Lady Anne said. She stared at him for an unseemly amount of time.

Ridley glanced at Wesley curiously and noticed how red his scar was. Of course, Wesley was an eyesore and she was horrified by his disfigurement.

"That will be all," Ridley said, and Wesley retreated stiffly.

"What happened to his face?" Lady Anne asked, staring after him.

"Anne," her father admonished softly, taking her hand and patting it affectionately.

"No, no," Ridley said, "she may ask questions without fear of giving offense. He was in a fight with an outlaw, Red Alex. You know of him surely? He's brother to your neighbor, Lord Annan."

"He fought with Red Alex?" she asked, eyes wide.

Ridley sighed. "Yes, and he would do it again, given the chance. An angry man. I'll not make you suffer his company, my lady. You have my word."

Her gaze followed Wesley until he disappeared, then met Ridley's. "He's your brother."

"Aye, and so I must suffer it, eh?"

He laughed, but she didn't even smile. A dour one, like his sister Caroline. Ridley bit back the groan that threatened to erupt and forced his face into a pleasant smile. He held his arm out. "Shall we walk and get to know each other?"

Wesley sat very still, listening to his brother rant endlessly about what a stupid little swine Lady Anne was and what a doddering old fool the earl was. He didn't know how much more he could take of Ridley maligning these good people. He wanted many things from life, and Ridley held the key, but he was beginning to think the price required of him was too high.

"She is ruining everything!" Ridley hissed-referring to Fayth. "When I get my hands on her she will think marriage to Carlisle a sanctuary. I vow it!"

Servants packed trunks in the next room. They were leaving to go after Fayth. Normally, Wesley would be in the gatehouse and stables, making sure everything was ready to leave when Ridley was. But the pull of finding Fayth and finally making Gealach his own dimmed in light of this new development that so aggravated Ridley.

Lady Anne had refused Lord Ridley Graham's suit. Red faced and fl.u.s.tered, the earl had relayed the news to them. When asked why, the earl said, quite apologetically, that she simply didn't like him. He babbled about some common la.s.s, dressed as a boy, warning Anne against marrying Lord Graham. Would Lord Graham please give her more time? Perhaps she would reconsider. Ridley had barely kept his temper about him. He'd asked to speak with Lady Anne, but she'd refused.

"Everything I plan turns to s.h.i.+t on the whims of women," Ridley ground out, throwing his goblet against the wall.

Wesley fought not to wince, remembering that not too long ago Ridley had slammed a goblet upside his head. He clenched his teeth, forcing the anger away, and said, "Might I speak with her?"

Ridley whirled, as if noticing him for the first time. "You? What could you possibly say to her?"

Wesley truly did not know what he would say, didn't even know why he'd offered, especially when the very idea of Lady Anne wed to his brother filled him with seething bitterness. But since he'd begun, he said, "I could speak well of you and discover what Fayth said that so offends her... And see if it can be rectified." When Ridley only stared at him, he said, "I'm your brother, after all. Perhaps she'll believe me."

Ridley seemed to consider it, then shook his head. "Nay. You offended her sight. It certainly will help nothing if I force your countenance upon her."

This information was like a knife stabbing quickly into Wesley's chest, then withdrawing, leaving behind a numbing burn. He averted his eyes, unable to formulate an adequate response.

"Besides," Ridley said, turning away and lowering himself behind the writing table. "You are a buffoon when it comes to women. You'd no doubt muck things up worse." He pulled out a sheet of parchment and began writing. "However, I will write her a letter. You may deliver it for me. Then we must find Fayth before she destroys everything."

0="8"8.

FAYTH HAD NO IDEA how long she lay on the forest floor, but it seemed like excruciating hours, in which she promised herself repeatedly she would get up, yet never moved. Stones and twigs bit into her cheek. She was so thirsty. There was a loud snuffling in her ear. She tried to turn her face away, but found she couldn't move.

Biddy licked her ear, whining. Footsteps approached, then stopped. They'd found her. She couldn't remember who-didn't care.

Someone stood over her. "Christ," he muttered.

Leaves and needles crunched beneath his feet as he s.h.i.+fted. She felt his hand on her shoulder, moving toward her wound. She flinched, trying to move away, fearing he would try to remove the arrow and knowing she would probably faint if he did.

"Easy, now." His hands turned her body, moving her onto her side, laying her arm straight, elbow resting on her waist, forearm on hip. She whimpered, then bit her lip to stop the pathetic mewling sound.

"Cry out, la.s.s, your arm is in sorry shape. It must hurt like h.e.l.l."

His words were a key, unlocking the screams of agony. But still she tamped them down, furious at him for weakening her, for making it harder to hold the tears at bay. She forced her eyes open. Red Alex squatted beside her. He was alone, except for Biddy. He visually inspected her arm, a deep frown pulling his brows together.

"It's not so bad," she insisted.

He turned his head slightly, to meet her gaze. "I ken ye're strong, Fayth, ye dinna hiv to prove it to me." His Scots was broad. She'd heard it that way once before, at Annancreag, when he'd been drunk on whisky and full of l.u.s.t. Now, he was sober and surely far from l.u.s.t. His gaze moved back to her arm and he stared, his mouth tight and thin.

She realized, with a mixture of disbelief and wonder, that he was worried. About her. Blackness edged her vision. Her eyes fluttered shut.

"That's it, Fayth, just rest."

Fayth. He'd said her name twice. Somehow it sounded different falling from his lips, as if he infused it with new meaning. Fayth.