HIS WEDDING-NIGHT HEIR by Sara Craven

Author:Sara Craven [Craven, Sara]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 0101-01-01T00:00:00+00:00

CHAPTER SEVEN

In SPITE of her inner turmoil, Cally was unable to ignore the

beauty of her surroundings for long. She had to admit that the

grounds were looking at their best, poised on the verge of

summer, and the scent of the grass and newly turned earth

brought a kind of peace.

But only for a while. As she wandered restlessly across the

lawns, the sun warm on her back, she found herself imagining

that the past months had rolled away as if they'd never existed,

and Nick was walking beside her, his fingers laced with hers,

talking softly, his mouth and eyes smiling as sometimes he

paused to kiss her. The way she'd once dreamed it might be.

Crazy, she thought, giving herself a mental shake. I'm going

completely crazy. Living in never-never land.

As she reached the formal garden she saw that an elderly man

was working with a hoe on one of the borders, and he

straightened, beaming, as she approached. 'Good to see you,

Miss Caroline. Beg pardon—Lady Tempest, I should say,' he

added hastily.

Cally smiled back. 'Miss Caroline is just fine, Mr Robins. I

can't get used to anything else. But I didn't know you were

working at Wylstone.'

He looked faintly embarrassed. 'Six months or more now,

your ladyship, and I've two lads to train as well. Things move

on, you know, and a lot of the people I used to work for, like

your grandpa, aren't here any more, so I'm glad of the secu-

rity.' He nodded. 'He's a good man to work for, Sir Nicholas.'

He paused. 'On your way to the stables. I dare say?'

'Oh—er—-yes,' said Cally, her mind on other things. A good

man to work for... Was that a way of surviving the months to

come? she wondered wryly. To regard herself somehow as

just another employee of a generous boss?

Maybe it was—if she could only keep her wayward and futile

dreams safely under control, she thought, suppressing an

unhappy sigh.

She said goodbye, and found herself turning towards the sta-

bles. She'd not planned a visit there, but it was either that or

return to the house. And she wasn't ready for that. Or not yet.

There was no one about in the yard, and she followed the

worn track down to the paddock, shading her eyes against the

sun, which was sinking towards the treetops now.

There were three horses turned out in the field. Two were

grazing quietly together, and the third stood alone in the far

corner, head down, tail swishing wearily against marauding

flies.

Cally, resting her arms on the fence rail, stared across at the

solitary horse. There was something about him, she thought

with bewilderment—his stance, maybe, or his colour—that

was strangely familiar.

As if aware of her scrutiny, he lifted his head and began to

move towards her across the paddock, his speed increasing as

he approached, whickering softly. And, she'd swear, joyfully.

Which was when she knew for certain. And the world blurred.

'Baz,' she whispered chokingly. 'Baz, my beauty—my won-

derful old boy.'

As she climbed the fence to get to him, her dress caught on a

splinter and she wrenched it free, uncaring. She stood beside

him, her wet face buried in his neck, one hand stroking his

muzzle as he

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