The American Bride

chapter Seven

Laying the book down on the bench, Cara stretched her arms up over her head, easing the strain of muscles across her shoulders. She yawned, letting her eyes roam over the garden. Having eaten more than usual at lunch she was paying the price with a sluggishness that seeped into her bones. Her eyes followed the path of a bee, dipping from flower to flower but even that activity failed to rouse her out of the sun-induced lethargy into which she had fallen. Sighing she leaned against the cool marble back of the bench.

After only two weeks at Weathersfield, she felt as though she had spent a lifetime in its sheltered atmosphere. It was true that many of her days were fraught with indecision and the possible danger of exposure. On the whole, however, she had never felt as contented as she did now. For months in America and then on the voyage across the Atlantic she had been distraught by the death of her father and by the incredibility of her marriage to Julian. But looking back to her first days at the Hall she could see that she had felt welcome from the beginning. Her days had been full of the children and then more and more her thoughts had been taken up with Julian.

Cara's eyes flew open as a shiver coursed through her body.

Just thinking about the man could disorient her. Cara had admitted that she loved him but the passion engendered by his presence in her thoughts or in person were a source of confusion. Generally ruled by her common sense, the loss of control when confronted by Julian was a new and uncomfortable sensation. She remembered how she had viewed her friends who were in the early stages of a love affair. Since she had met Julian her emotions had been turned upside down, leaving her feeling graceless and schoolgirlish. Cara wished for the simpler emotion of anger that Julian had filled her with instead of the breathless, heart-stopping whirl she had been in of late.

Glancing at the watch pinned to her bodice she cocked her head, listening for the sounds of the children. She picked up the poetry book and stuffed it into the capacious pockets of her blue gabardine dress. Smoothing her scarf, she checked for stray strands of hair and finding some, tucked them under its edge. Then strolling through the garden she headed for the wilder woods around the lake.

"Belin! Richard!" Cara smiled wondering if the children were hiding, laying in wait to leap out and scare her.

Leaving the manicured paths in the garden she entered the woods. She stood still letting her eyes get used to the dimmer light after the glaring sunshine of the garden. Then walking along the path she called again for the children. Perspiration broke out on her forehead as the path wound uphill. Rounding a slight crest she saw Belin's tiny figure running toward her. Cara's heart gave a frightened lurch at the tears on the child's face and she hurried to meet the little girl.

"What is it, Belin?" Cara asked anxiously as the child stumbled against her.

"Come. Oh, Miss Farraday, please come."

Cara knelt down in the dirt holding the girl's trembling body, waiting for the rasping breath to ease. It was obvious that something had frightened Belin and Cara worried that Richard might be in trouble. Cara bit her lip biding her time until the child could control her breathing enough to speak.

"Oh, Miss Farraday. You've got to come," Belin gasped out. "He's caught in one of the traps."

"Richard?" Cara asked in horror.

"No. Pennyfeather. Hurry."

The child, near hysterical with fear, grabbed Cara's hand, dragging her along the path deeper into the woods. It was only a matter of moments before they came upon the scene of the accident.

A white-faced Richard knelt beside Pennyfeather whose leg was caught between the teeth of one of the poaching traps. Beside the old man was a shotgun and a brace of rabbits. The shrewd brown eyes in the sun-bronzed face looked up into Cara's horrified ones.

"I told the wee ones to leave me to meself, mum," Pennyfeather rasped.

"Hush, Pennyfeather. I'm glad they came for me." Cara moistened her dry lips and asked, "How bad is it?"

"Thank the Lord, it's an old trap. I don't think it's broken my leg but it's swole up mighty fine."

Cara knelt beside the old man, examining the ancient cast iron trap. The trap was a cruelly ingenious device used by many gamekeepers to discourage poachers. To arm the device the two half circles lined with teeth were laid flat and set in place. Covered with leaves, the trap lay dormant until stepped upon. Then the circles sprang up, settling their teeth in the poacher's leg. The trap itself was chained to a tree so there was no possibility of carrying the man away without first loosening the trap.

"How long before the gamekeeper gets here?"

"'Bout another fifteen minutes. Thirty at the most."

Despite the fact that a poacher stayed on the move when he was hunting, the shots were generally heard by the gamekeeper. Then a group was formed to check the woods. If caught, the consequences for the poacher would be dire. By Pennyfeather's reckoning there was not much time left. Looking across the recumbent man, Cara stared into Richard's tear-filled eyes. Behind her, Cara could hear Belin's pathetic sniffling.

"Richard, I want you to take the gun to Pennyfeather's cottage. If you run into anyone just tell them you found it." Cara searched the boy's face for signs of understanding but his eyes were fastened on the injured man, oblivious to her voice. "Richard! You must listen to me."

The boy’s glazed eyes focused on Cara's face and she repeated her instructions until she was sure that he had fully understood. Shaking his head to clear it, he staggered to his feet.

"Take Belin with you. It won't help matters if you're found here. Get along now," she ordered as the children hesitated.

Richard picked up the gun, moving as though his whole body was weighted down. The boy stood beside Cara looking forlornly at his friend. Then biting his lip he reached out his hand to Belin and trudged toward the path that would lead to Pennyfeather's cottage.

Once the children were taken care of Cara fought to free her mind so that she could think clearly. If it could be avoided she wanted to keep Pennyfeather out of the hands of the law. Standing up, she searched around the brush until she found a stout branch. She smashed it against a tree trunk until it broke into two pieces. Although she was aware of the time ticking away she fought to keep her movements slow and steady. Taking one of the pieces of the branch, Cara slid it between the two sets of teeth. Keeping the stick parallel with the ground she stood up and placed her feet on either end of the branch, pinning the one side of the trap to the ground.

Cara's stomach lurched with nausea and sweat broke out on her upper lip but she steadied herself as the poacher's brown eyes lifted to hers. If she acted impersonally enough she would be able to close her mind to the blood and torn flesh on Pennyfeather's leg. Ignoring the pain etched into the giant's face, she spoke matter-of-factly.

"I'm going to try to use the other branch as a lever. Will you be able to pull your foot out?"

The old man pushed himself up to a sitting position taking most of the weight on his hands. He put the boot on his free leg against the edge of the trap. Gritting his teeth he grinned lopsidedly at Cara and raised a tufted eyebrow as if in answer to her question.

Wedging the other branch against the upper half circle of the trap, she pushed against the ground trying to pry apart the two sets of teeth. At first nothing happened. Her sweating hands slipped a little on the bark of the branch and Cara wrapped a corner of her dress around it to get a better purchase. Then grabbing hold again, she took a huge gulp of air and pushed on the branch. The muscles across her back stretched painfully as the jaws began to spread apart. Inch by inch they widened. Every muscle in Cara's body screamed as she strained.

"Now, Pennyfeather!"

Pushing with his free foot Pennyfeather began to withdraw his leg. Watching the gradual progress Cara prayed for strength. Suddenly her muscles gave out and the trap snapped shut. It bit on empty air, jerking backwards and hitting her a nasty blow on the ankle. With a gasping sigh, Cara lost her balance and fell in a heap on the leafy ground.

"Are you hurt, Miss?"

Pennyfeather's voice was hoarse with pain but at least he was free of the trap. Cara sat still for a moment taking a mental inventory. Aside from a bruise or two when she fell, her ankle was the only real injury. Staggering up she knelt beside Pennyfeather.

"I suspect we'll both live. But we'd better get out of here before we have to face Lord Wilton."

Cara pulled the material away from Pennyfeather's wound. His leg was bleeding profusely. Tearing off the edge of her petticoat she bound the leg to staunch the flow of blood. After all her effort she knew they couldn't afford to leave a trail of gore to Pennyfeather's cottage. She helped the old man to his feet. Her own ankle pained her but at least she was able to stand on it. Although he protested, Pennyfeather finally accepted Cara's shoulder to lean on as they made their painful progress down the trail.

The children saw them coming and raced out to offer their help. Fluttering around their injured friend, they generally got in the way but Cara was too tired to discourage them.

"Belin, get some rags to clean the wound and, Richard, you get me some water."

Cara was breathless with the unusual exertion as she lowered Pennyfeather into a chair beside the banked fire. She sagged against a table, waiting for her hammering heart to slow. She wiggled her ankle, ignoring the throbbing pain as relief that it wasn't broken washed over her. Looking down at herself she winced at the picture she must make. Her dress was sweat stained and streaked with dirt and a small patch of blood stained the hem. Her face was running with perspiration and her hands were scratched and dirty. Her eyes stared across at the old man whose mouth twitched as though he were sharing her joke. Smiling back she pushed herself away from the table.

"All right, you old wretch. Where do you keep the gin?"

Although the poacher was at first hesitant, under Cara's glowering look he yielded with a grimace. He indicated a corner of the room behind some pans and other odds and ends. Rummaging for the jug, Cara found it and brought it to the table where her patient eyed it longingly. Although Pennyfeather tried to push her away, Cara knelt on the beaten earth floor and with the aid of a knife ripped his buckskins to expose the wound.

She had to swallow several times before she was able to continue her inspection. The teeth from the trap had gouged holes in both sides of the leg which itself was quite swollen and bruised looking. With gentle motions she washed away the dirt and caked blood, watching as fresh blood rose to the surface. Then bracing his leg across her thigh, she uncorked the bottle of gin and poured it liberally across the wounds.

Although Pennyfeather had remained quiet throughout her ministrations, he sucked in his breath as the alcohol stung the wound. He's probably angry at the waste of good gin, Cara thought unsympathetically. Looking up at the man, she grinned at his expression of disgust.

"I didn't use it all."

Cara proffered the jug which Pennyfeather raised in his pawlike hand and swallowed greedily. He wiped his mouth on his sleeve grinning back at the girl as he cradled the jug against his chest.

"Promise me that you'll have this leg looked at, Pennyfeather," Cara pleaded as she eased his leg to the ground.

"I'll have Megan see to it when she comes in the morning."

Cara knew that one of the tenant's wives brought over a kettle for Pennyfeather's dinner each day. She had met the woman several times when in the company of the children and had taken a liking to the shy, soft-spoken woman. She knew that Megan would have salves and ointments to heal the man's leg. Nodding her head in acquiescence, she rose to her feet as Pennyfeather took another long swig on the bottle.

"And furthermore I want your promise that you'll not take the children with you if you go poaching."

"Oh, Miss Farraday. It wasn't Pennyfeather's fault," Richard burst in. "Belin and I just happened to run across him right before the accident."

"It's not to happen again. I don't approve of the poaching laws, but you'll have to abide by them." Then as the boy looked mutinous, Cara continued, "That could have been Belin's leg caught in the trap today."

At the startled look in the boy's eye, Cara turned her back on him. At least that would give him food for thought, she reasoned. Richard would never give up the opportunity for adventure on his own account but he would protect Belin from possible harm.

"Is Pennyfeather going to be able to walk again?" Belin asked in a whisper.

Cara's heart turned over at the woebegone face raised to hers. Tearstains ran down dirty cheeks, leaving trails of whiter skin. Taking a corner of the cloth Cara dipped it in water and washed the little girl's face. Satisfied at last she hugged the child and pushed her toward Richard.

"Now you two get back to the Hall. The excitement is over for the day."

After bidding Pennyfeather a hasty goodbye and promising to return the next day for a visit, the children scampered off down the track toward the Hall. Cara turned in the doorway to see Pennyfeather taking another long pull at the jug. His smile was a trifle crooked and his eyes had a groggy look to them.

"I'll go back along the path and make sure there's nothing there to send the gamekeeper to your door."

"Much obliged, Miss," Pennyfeather slurred as he shifted in his chair.

"It's nothing, you old reprobate. You've been a good friend to the children. And to me, " she added.

With a final wave of her hand, Cara left the cottage, hobbling painfully on her ankle. Once out of sight of the cottage she pulled up the hem of her dress to look at the bruise on her leg.

The ankle was puffy and discolored but no skin had been broken. Although it was swollen she suspected after a thorough soaking and a good night's rest it would be fine. But for now she had a painful walk ahead of her. Despite her slow pace it was no time at all until she found the place where the accident had happened.

The rabbits lay on the ground just off the path. Fearing their discovery, Cara gingerly picked them up and carried them into the woods. She was dismayed at the amount of blood on the ground. Dropping the rabbits, she broke off a small tree branch and began to sweep the area. Cautiously she picked up the trap ready to shove it under a thick covering of leaves. The dust swirled up and she was overcome with a fit of sneezing and coughing.

"May I be of some assistance?"

The deep voice froze Cara. Her eyes swung to the trail and through watery eyes she looked up at Lord Wilton astride his great black hunter. Viewing the twitch of humor around his mouth, Cara closed her eyes as if in pain. Summoning what dignity she could, she coolly faced him.

"Thank you, milord, but I'm fine now. Just a fit of sneezing." Cara tried to look unconcerned at Julian's presence. "You may continue your ride," she encouraged him.

Her eyes flew open in terror as Julian threw his leg across the saddle and vaulted to the ground. Like a child hoping to avoid discovery she thrust the trap behind her back. For a moment she considered dropping to the ground in a fit of screaming hysteria. Why couldn't the blasted man just mind his own business? Through lowered eyes she winced at the streaks of dirt on her dress. She was positive her face was as dust-covered as her hands. Out of the corner of her eye she spotted the rabbits and moved to cover them with the edge of her skirts. As Julian strode toward her, her heart thumped inside her breast.

"Topping good day for a stroll, eh?"

Cara risked a glance up at Wilton's sun-bronzed face. As she felt the impact of his sharp brown eyes she devoutly wished she had fallen into a swoon.

"Yes, Lord Wilton," Cara answered. "I was just out for a bit of fresh air."

"I see, Miss Farraday," Julian drawled. "And behind your back? Some wildflowers perhaps?"

She ground her teeth in frustration. Momentarily she debated holding her ground until he left. However, one look at the determined set of Julian's jaw, disabused her of the idea that he might leave her in peace. Like a child presenting a surprise gift, Cara held out the cast iron trap. At the narrowed gaze in Julian's eyes, Cara found herself blushing in confusion.

"I - I tripped over it," she stammered.

Taking in the drops of blood on her skirt Julian found his heart quickening in concern. He ignored the trap and placed his hands on the embarrassed girl's shoulders.

"Are you hurt?" Julian's voice held a caressing tone as his hands massaged her shoulders.

As he tipped her face up toward his, a shiver coursed through Cara's body and she felt the heat of his hands through the material of her dress.

"No. No. I just bruised my ankle," Cara exclaimed in a shaky voice. "It's nothing."

"Let me have a look at it," Julian barked, kneeling on the leafy ground.

"Please, Lord Wilton. It's fine." Cara's face flamed with embarrassment and mortification.

"Your foot, Miss Farraday, if you please."

Knowing there was no way to put off the inevitable, Cara raised the hem of her skirt. There, beside her feet, lay the bloodied bodies of the rabbits. Her humiliation was so great that she could only stare blankly at the trees in front of her.

"Busy day, Miss Farraday?" Julian asked.

A groan was his only answer. Cara raised her injured foot for his inspection. Julian sucked in his breath as he noted the angry bruise on the swollen ankle. His fingers were gentle as he tested the bones for any further damage. He placed her foot on the ground and stood up, towering over the dainty governess.

"Come," he said. "Tyrr can carry us both."

"Thank you very much, Lord Wilton," Cara ground out in frustration. "But I would prefer walking. The exercise will keep my ankle from stiffening up."

Cara limped back to the path where the great hunter stood waiting. The horse tossed his head as Julian reached for the reins. He vaulted easily into the saddle, staring down at the disheveled girl beside the trail. Before she could protest further he leaned sideways and scooped her up, placing her on the stallion in front of him.

"Miss Farraday, you are the most stubborn woman I have ever had the misfortune to come across." There was a trace of hurt puzzlement in his tone as he looked down at the girl. "You can not find me so repulsive that you would refuse my assistance."

"It is not fitting, Lord Wilton," Cara answered primly.

Snorting in disgust at her missish ways, Julian nudged Tyrr in a gentle walk toward the Hall. Cara kept her backbone ramrod straight, avoiding as well as she could any contact with Julian. She dug her hands into Tyrr's mane to keep herself from bumping against her companion's chest but remained agonizingly conscious of their intimate position. Each time her shoulder grazed his hard muscled body, Cara felt scorched by the heat. It took all of her will power not to nestle into the curve of Julian's body, succumbing to the physical draw of his personality.

Wilton hummed under his breath apparently unaware of the turmoil going on in the girl. However he too was conscious of the presence of tension between them. He was possessed with a maddening desire to crush the girl against his chest, caressing her until she relaxed in his arms. Shaking his head to clear it of his lustful thoughts, Julian breathed in the fresh summer air. His brows drew down in bafflement and he inhaled again. Looking down at the girl holding herself so aloof, he took in again the bloodstains on her dress. As the smell of gin once again rose to assail his nostrils, Julian nodded in understanding.

"Your pardon, Miss Farraday, but do you generally start drinking gin so early in the day?"

Eyes flying open at the amused tone of voice, Cara summoned as much dignity as she could and snapped back her answer.

"I did not realize gin was forbidden to a governess, Lord Wilton."

Cara bristled at Julian's chuckle. The Hall came into sight and she relaxed, relieved that her forced proximity to her husband's disturbing presence would soon be at an end. Julian pulled Tyrr to a halt at the back entrance to the children's wing. Dismounting he reached up and encircled Cara's waist, swinging her to the ground.

"May I suggest, Miss Farraday, that in the future you confine your walks to the paths rather than risk another bruised ankle."

With a gasp of outrage Cara skewered Wilton with a flash of scorn. Flags of color flamed high on her cheeks as she drew herself erect. Julian thought she resembled nothing so much as a ruffled hen.

"And may I suggest, Lord Wilton, that in future you forbid the use of those poaching traps. Richard and Belin are always afoot in those woods and it very well could have been one of them in the trap today." With that parting shot, Cara turned and limped into the Hall.

Damn the girl, Julian cursed as he leaped into the saddle. The unmitigated gall of the chit to chastise him for following the local practices.

He drummed his heels into Tyrr's sides and the startled horse snorted in annoyance.

Racing up through the woods, Julian's anger abated and he thought about the governess' last words. It was apparent from her begrimed appearance that she had helped someone out of the trap. It was immaterial who it had been. What mattered most to Julian was that it might very well have been Richard or Belin. The mere thought of the tiny girl with a leg mangled by the iron teeth of the trap gave Julian a queasy feeling in the pit of his stomach. It wouldn't hurt to put the word to Clemson, the gamekeeper, to dismantle the traps. As long as everyone believed they were still in use they would act as a deterrent to poachers.

Julian puzzled over the perverse little governess as he rode back to the Hall. The Duchess and his, as yet unseen, bride had saddled him with a surprise package. He thought he had hired a passive obedient servant, but the contrary wench turned into a fire-breather whenever she was crossed. Perhaps if this trait had been used to benefit herself, Julian could dismiss her from his mind. It appeared that the little American only fought in others defense, never in her own. She was both intriguing and fascinating. He would definitely have to spend more time with the children in the schoolroom.

Cara hobbled into the Hall. Muttering maledictions over her misfortune in running into Lord Wilton, she reached the safety of her room. When she glanced at herself in the mirror she shuddered. What a hoyden Julian must think her. She was forever covered with dirt, dust or perspiration. He mingled with powdered and scented ladies who combined beauty and grace to present a soothing picture. Every time she ran into him she was filthy and presented the image of a viperous tongued shrew.

"Miss Farraday?"

Hearing Richard's whispered voice Cara scrubbed her face briskly and then crossed to let in the anxious boy.

"Will Pennyfeather be all right, Miss Farraday?" There was a slight quiver to the boy's chin as he stared up at his governess.

"Don't worry, Richard," Cara said placing a steadying hand on his shoulder. "He'll be out after rabbits in no time at all."

"Topping good!" His face glowed with relief then he flushed as he remembered her own injuries. "And how is your ankle? I could get some liniment from Mrs. Clayton for you."

"I'd appreciate that, Richard. It's a bit sore but I'm sure it will be fine by tomorrow."

Cara smiled as the boy scampered down the corridor, whistling now that all was right with his world. For the remainder of the evening Cara's ankle was propped up on pillows while the children entertained her. As she listened to the songs and the stories her mind only occasionally wandered to a dark haired man with brooding brown eyes.