The Princess and the Marquess Read online

  “Come here. Paul, was it? What do you wish to know about the sea?”

  Grinning so wide his face must be about to split, the boy ran back up to him. “Everything. I want to go to sea so bad but I can’t. Have to take care of me Ma.”

  “Have you eaten?”

  “No, sir. It is about dinnertime but I haven’t eaten yet.”

  “Come with me and I will speak with you while we eat.” The glow that crossed Paul’s face made him further upset for the way he had treated him earlier.

  By the time Lucien St. Martin had finished his dinner, there sat four boys and two girls around him as they listened to him tell tales of his travels from England to here. He had purchased food for all of them and they ate and grinned from ear to ear.

  Chapter Two

  One of the boys asked when he had finished eating, “Are you getting that big bay stallion that runs these mountains?”

  “What do you know of this stallion?” Lucien asked, wondering if he would have to deal with people trying to steal the animal from him.

  “Everyone knows about him. His sire is the best horse around, but since there is no way you could have him, it is easy to guess you would be after the son.”

  “His sire? There is another stallion?” Yet one additional blow about him not being able to handle a horse—this was getting old. And yet he was intrigued because the sire of this horse could be his ticket to the racing circles in England.

  Paul broke in. “You may as well forget the sire. You will have enough trouble with the bay. You couldn’t handle the black.”

  Insulted beyond words, Lucien bit back a retort and as he asked his next question the steel underlay to his tone hinting at his displeasure. “Why do you say that?”

  One of the girls spoke. “Paul don’t mean no harm by it. It’s just a fact. No one but her could handle a horse like that. Besides, he isn’t around on this mountain anymore so it don’t matter anyway.” This little woman was mouthy, something his own sister was anything but. She was glowing and full of life as she talked to him, looking him straight in the eyes.

  “Who is she?” The words slipped out before he could catch them.

  “Children, enough.” The black man who had been at the counter of the hotel interrupted them with a stern voice. “There is no need to bother him with stories. Especially ones that are none of his concern.” His eyes sent a silent message to the children. “He will get his horse in the morn and be gone. Y’all need to get home before that storm hits here.”

  None of the children argued. It was as if someone had removed every one of their tongues. All of them nodded at him as they disappeared out through the door into the night after thanking him for dinner.

  “What were they talking about, a black stallion?” Lucien asked the unsmiling man.

  “Nothin’, sir. Children like to tell stories. That is all. Nothing more, nothin’ less. Your horse is here and you can see him in the morning. Will there be anything else that I can get for you tonight?”

  “No. Thank you. That will be all.”

  “Goodnight then.” The man departed as silent as the children had, leaving Lucien to digest it all. The kitchen maid came and took his dishes and before long he was the only one still in the room.

  He went up to his small room. The bed was big enough for him, but just. This was a strange town. It was as if they had a secret to protect. Secrets had always intrigued Lucien and his juices were flowing. They were hiding something.

  He paused at the footsteps coming down the hall, and whispers. He listened.

  “They spoke of the black stallion. He wanted to know more. The children also mentioned her. I know when a man is curious. Should we warn her?” The black man’s voice reached Lucien through the thin walls.

  “She can handle herself. She is a special girl. Besides, she isn’t over here. She is on her mountain. My guess is the black will be over there. I don’t think this one will try to go and find the ‘heart of the mountain.’ You stopped the kids before they could say anything else.” This time it was a woman who spoke.

  Heart of the mountain? What are they speaking about? Her mountain?

  “Besides, once he sees the bay he will leave. The money from the horse will help out for the families coming in. She will make sure that Marie will see to that. Don’t worry so, Abe. Come to bed.” The voice seemed a bit strained.

  “Yes, dear. It’s just that she is all alone and I worry about her.”

  “She is better protected than we are here in town and you know it.”

  The voices faded as a door shut.

  Something was going on. Lucien lay on the bed as his mind whirled about what he had heard and he fell asleep with thoughts racing through his head about this heart of the mountain. Whatever that was. Who was she and why was she better protected than they were in town?

  * * * *

  The next morning, Lucien, anxious to see this horse, ate a fast breakfast and headed once again down the main street of town. Paul was there to lead him to his destination and, before he thought about it, Lucien asked, “Whom were you speaking about last night? The her that you mentioned, who is it?”

  Even though the tone he had was the one that made most people just do his bidding, it didn’t work.

  Paul didn’t look at him, instead squared his shoulders and kept walking. “Nobody. We were talking. That’s all. The livery is over there. Good luck. I gotta go.” He ran off before Lucien could blink. All traces of being in awe over a man who had sailed the seas were gone.

  After he entered the livery, Lucien saw a large man bent over as he pounded on iron in the back of the building. The noise ended when he loudly cleared his throat a few times. The man stood upright, and for once in his life, Lucien found himself looking up at another man.

  He was huge, about a head above Lucien, who was a big man. This man had coal-black skin and sweat poured down his face even at this early and cool time of the day. The man turned to wipe his face and slip on his shirt. As he did, Lucien saw crisscross marks all over his back. There was no doubt what they were from. A whip.

  Turning around, the man smiled and held out his hand. “Morning, my lord. You must be here to see the bay. I just brought him in last night. Follow me. He is out in the corral.”

  Aside from the American accent, the man could have been in a drawing room in England with his speech. Lucien shook the offered hand then followed the man out to the corral.

  The bay shocked him. His coat gleamed in the morning sun. Small defined head, powerful hindquarters and a deep chest. Lucien walked up to the fence and smiled. He would indeed be hard pressed to find cattle like this at Tattersall’s on a good day. There looked to be some Arabian in him but he wasn’t sure.

  The horse screamed speed, endurance and all that he knew his father would want. His father had one of the top stables in England and the duke was always looking for ways to increase his stock. The only reason he wanted this stallion was because he’d heard he was fast, amazingly so, and since he knew that Lucien wanted to have a racing stable he bought him before his son could.

  To add insult to injury, he had ordered Lucien to fetch the horse for him. Anger pooled in his gut as he looked at the horse and thought of what his father had done.

  “He’s a beaut, isn’t he? He knows it too.”

  “Yes. I would look at him closer.”

  The large man nodded as he picked up a rope and sent it sailing over the neck of the stallion. Murmuring in low, soft tones, he approached him and, when the horse was secure, the man led him over to Lucien.

  The horse was every bit the arrogant stallion he had been promised. Excited at the prospect of being on the back of such an animal was a shock to the man who rarely got that way about anything. Even his trips to his mistress were done in a cool and calculated way, no emotions allowed. He wasn’t referred to as The Black Marquess for nothing.

  “I would ride him.”

  If the blacksmith was surprised by that declaration, he showed
no signs of being so. Saddling the horse, he stepped back and looked at the man.

  Lucien stared at the saddle. It was not what he was used to, that was for sure. He grabbed the reins and swung up into the unexpectedly comfortable seat. The stallion tensed as Lucien’s cloak settled over his haunches but made no other notice of it.

  As he swung open the gate, the blacksmith looked at him and spoke before he stepped out of the way. “Stick to the paths, my lord. We don’t want you to become lost.”

  Lucien bit his tongue to keep his retort in his mouth. He was no milksop. He did not know this place as well but he did not need anyone to babysit him. The stallion below him was prancing and anxious to be off. The breath from his nostrils could be seen in the cool morning air. The contained power beneath him was obvious as he moved the horse forward.

  Lucien took the street out of town and found himself looking out onto a field of green flowing grass. Without a second thought, he touched his heels to the horse and they shot away. The horse had speed, and as they flew across the ground Lucien couldn’t help but be at peace. He lost himself in the ride and the fluidity of the animal between his legs.

  Pulling the horse to a stop, he looked around him. The view was unbelievable. The grass that flowed in the breeze, the wildflowers, and the stream sparkled beneath the morning sun as it ran along the edge of the field toward another mountain covered in snow. There were no signs of human life anywhere and he felt as if he were the only person in the world. A snort made him look in the direction of the stallion’s gaze. What he saw took his breath away.

  On the side of the mountain, next to the one the town was under was a horse the color of ebony. He gleamed in the sun as he stood and surveyed his domain. He could have been a statue carved out of black marble for he was so still. His ears forward, neck arched, mane and tail the only thing moving. What he spied presented such a gorgeous view that it took Lucien a moment to realize what he was seeing was not fake but flesh and blood. This must be the black stallion they had been talking about at the hotel.

  The horse beneath him started to prance and blow. Automatically, Lucien brought him under control. Lucien watched as the free horse in the next second pinned back his ears and let out a squeal that chilled him to the bone. His horse reacted as if he had been shot. He reared up and screamed a challenge back at him.

  The one on the ridge tossed his head, then, as if he had wings, turned and ran from view. As he struggled to keep control over the horse, Lucien failed to notice the clouds rolling in. Fast, dark and ominous.

  His mount sidestepped and almost tossed him. In the time it took him to regain his seat, the stallion had grabbed the bit and headed up the other mountain in hot pursuit of the black horse. Lucien settled in for the ride, knowing his best chance was to hang on.

  Higher and higher the stallion took him. When the rain came, he didn’t slow or even stop. They had taken so many turns that Lucien was not sure at all where he was. Lightheaded—he was lightheaded from the thin air. As man and horse burst into a clearing he saw the black horse at the other side. His stallion’s sides were heaving from exhaustion, but the bay still issued a challenge to the other horse.

  Lucien wrested control back from the irate equine and as he sat there, what had begun as rain turned to snow. The temperature dropped even further, and he contained a shiver, grateful for what little protection his cloak offered. He was in real trouble. His mount had a desire to fight another horse and he didn’t have a clue as to where he was.

  A crash through the trees followed a low lumbering growl. His horse was no longer fixed on the black across from him, but the thing headed at them. An angry bear came thundering into view. It stood and roared at them all. Lucien’s horse spun and lunged away as the bear dropped and headed for them.

  As his mount ran from the enraged bear, Lucien prayed he would get out of this. The air rushed by him as the ground rose to meet him. He had been thrown. The bear, after taking a swipe at the horse, turned his attention to Lucien. For the first time in a long time, since he had first entered the army, he experienced pure fear.

  The last conscious thought he had was that he was going to die in this bloody country. No one would know where he was and his father would probably say only “such a bloody shame he didn’t bring me the horse.” He smelled the foul breath as the bear ripped at him with its teeth and claws.

  Chapter Three

  Ciara shivered as the cold wind blew around her. I should have worn my heavier coat. Dressed in her buckskins, she did a final check on her winter wood supply. It should last. Her father had made a shed right outside the cabin and she had spent the past few months ensuring it was stocked full. It was. Her food larders were full also. A grin split her face as she gazed over at the valley below her. She took a slow, deep breath of the crisp air and turned to Faolan, who was stretched out on the ground fast asleep. Snow was coming—she could smell it in the air and see it in the clouds.

  “Get up, old man. We have one more stop to make.”

  At her voice, Faolan rose to stand beside her. His head was higher than her hip and he was a sinister-looking wolf. He leaned on her and Ciara knew that the wolf could push her over if he wanted to. Ciara pulled on his ear with affection before she headed off.

  With a quick stop-off at the cabin she picked up her cloak and herb pouch. The rain had started and she knew that by this evening there would be snow on the ground. Ciara started a fire to make sure her cabin would be nice and warm when they returned. After closing the door behind her, she stopped to fix her cloak.

  The thickness was one reason she wore it—the hood helped. The main reason was, however, it was a special cloak. She had made it to suit her needs. It had the ability to cover her from head to ankle to wrap her in a cocoon if she wished or had to sleep on the ground, keeping her warm, but it also could be formed to fit her body like a second skin.

  There was a row of buttons on the back that she could undo so the cloak would split, which enabled her to secure each half to each leg. The part by her waist could be pulled in for a snug fit. She could go from a woman enveloped by a thick cloak to a woman who looked like she wore heavy clothing.

  When she needed to move quickly or carry a kill, she would secure the cloak to her body so there was no loose material. She did so now, not wanting to repeat the drenching experience of last night. Once ready, she set off on her jog she always took through the woods, Faolan by her side.

  When the rain switched to snow, she stopped gathering herbs. She rose and turned to head back to the cabin when she heard it.

  Faolan hackled and faced toward a deeper part of the woods. It was the growling of a bear. Strange, they should all be sleeping now. Ciara moved forward swiftly, albeit without noise, as she headed for the sound, scanning the ground for signs. The ones she saw didn’t bode well for the object the bear had in its clutches because she noticed the prints of a smaller cub too.

  Something came between a mama and her cub.

  She heard another noise in there as well. A cry. A moan. A scream. The closer she got, the more uncertain she became. A scrap of cloth caught her attention. It was from a cloak. A person. The bear had a person in its clutches.

  Without conscious thought for her own safety, she ran into the small clearing where a bear mauled a man, making him look like a rag doll she’d had as a kid. She screamed at the creature.

  “Get away from him! Get out of here!”

  Faolan jumped in, drawing the bear’s attention from the man. Faolan kept the bear moving backward to avoid the attack of the large wolf that held no fear. Every time the bear turned to make a circle back to the man, the canine was there to hold him at bay. When Faolan and the bear were clear of the human on the ground, Ciara ran to him. He was alive, but not by much, and unconscious.

  She worked fast to make a paste from some of the herbs and falling snow to help staunch the flow of blood. When she had ripped his cloak, what was left of it, off she sucked in her breath.

  Thi
ck, silky black hair was plastered to his head. His skin was pale from blood loss, but she knew that it would be a golden tan when he was healthy. Ciara shook her head to regain her wits. He would never make the night here.

  Ciara hefted him to an upright position, unfastened her cloak and put it over the shoulders of the man slumped against the tree. The cloak barely fit him.

  While she scanned for any signs of the bear or Faolan, she bit her lip in concentration when she realized what she had to do for this man to survive. Ciara crouched down in front of him then put her shoulder into his stomach, as she pulled him so he toppled into her.

  She rose slowly as she adjusted the large man who hung over her shoulders, her legs staggering under his weight. When he was secure, she headed off to her cabin. He was carried just like she would carry a kill she made.

  However, he wasn’t like any kill she’d made before. Even in as good shape as she was in, she breathed harsh as she entered the copse where her cabin resided. As she approached the cabin, Faolan came from out of the trees unharmed and hit the latch with his head and let himself in before her.

  Ciara unceremoniously dumped the man on the bed nearest to the fireplace, the one she’d used when her parents had been alive and they had occupied the only bedroom. She shut the door against the increasing flakes and cold. First, she built up the fire even more, then she prepared some more pastes to heal those wounds and draw out any poison from the bear’s claw marks.

  While the paste cooled, she stripped the man on the bed. His chest was broad and covered with a dusting of dark hair. Even with his given wounds she saw he was not a lazy man. He was in good shape so she hoped he would heal without delay, which she told herself was the only reason she looked.

  She bathed his chest and applied the paste where necessary, covering his injuries with bandages to keep the plaster in place. There were three wounds that concerned her, but from the way the bear had sounded and acted, she was worried there might be more.