“Do tell since you will never let me rest until I hear the end of it.”
“Medusa served faithfully in the temple of Minerva the goddess of... chastity.”
Abigail’s neck turned a rosy hue at my explanation. I decided to spare my delicate friend the more sordid details. “In that temple, Medusa, who happened to be the most beautiful woman with curling blonde hair—”
“You lie,” Abigail interjected as she tugged on a springy curl escaping from her bonnet. Unlike my uncouth locks, which could only be termed afright wigorfrizzled, her hair matched the perfection of Greek tales.
“Nay, Ovid tells the story quite distinctly. She had blonde hair not unlike yours, although her looks could hardly compare to yours. Unfortunately, one of the gods desired her beauty for himself.”
“A male god cursed her?”
I regarded the mosaic, thinking of Neptune’s treachery with the beautiful maiden within Minerva’s temple. The tale was full of twisted motives and misplaced vengeance.
“Actually, it was Minerva who cursed Medusa with snakes for hair and eyes that turned people to stone when they met her gaze.Minerva also later sent a favorite hero, Perseus, to behead Medusa. He had no qualms using her asp-covered head as a weapon to quell monsters and men alike.” Poor Medusa, ruined and abandoned by the ones she had worshiped. Used and destroyed by her fellow man who ought to have been her hero, instead of her conqueror.
My friend curled her upper lip, not so dissimilar from Medusa’s disdainful expression. “Why would a goddess not protect her own?”
A fair question. I had asked it of God when He took Mama away from me during that season we dubbed the Scarlet Spring when so many succumbed to sickness. He had not heard my cries for her when her fingers slipped from my grasp as she breathed her last. Nor had He saved my wayward brother.
Did God even exist in the shadows of so much pain and loss? Was He just as much a myth as my Greek and Roman legends? I didn’t know if I could trust a heavenly Father when my earthly father remained so distant.
Such traitorous, rebellious thoughts clogged my soul. Before I could answer Abigail’s question, a pounding shook the ground, scattering debris upon the mosaic. I leaped to my full height. Mr. Perry had dug deep enough into the ground that I stood lower than Abigail, but I saw enough to make my blood run cold.
“La! We have company!” Abigail struggled to stand, her slipper catching the edge of her gown.
The large black horse, the one I’d dreaded seeing again, galloped across the fields toward us. I spied the new lord astride, with two other men struggling to keep up.
Although my mind demanded that I should do something...Move... I stood pinned to the spot, helpless as those massive hooves pounded closer and closer.
7:Bridget
Life is very short and anxious for those who forget the past, neglect the present, and fear the future.
SENECA
The viscount halted in front of us, his expression fierce in the sunlight. No, I had not imagined the flash from that narrowed gaze the night before. In fact, I felt the full force of it. Ice mingled with heat.
Despite my resolve to appear fully in control, I shivered beneath that stare.
He glared at me and then at Abigail. “My steward told me I had trespassers in my fields. I scarcely believed my ears, yet here I find two recalcitrants digging holes onmyproperty.”
The Good Lord gave me a tongue, and I found it just in time. “We’re not trespassing. This is Mr. Perry’s land.”
His eyes widened at my confident answer. Mouth pressed into a line, he swung himself off the horse, but as soon as his bootstouched the ground, his left leg buckled. He grabbed the saddle and averted his face. I recognized pain in his face.
“Sir, are you all right?” I called out as I attempted to climb out of the pit to assist him. The wet soil would have none of it, squelching its loud protest, and my soggy leather slippers, better suited to a drawing room, provided no grip. To my chagrin, I stepped on the hem of my dress and staggered forward with my arms flailing in the most undignified way as I fell and Abigail squeaked.
When I tried again to climb out, my feet sank farther into the mud left uncleared. I stumbled and lost my footing. With a clenched jaw, Lord Hawthorn approached me and held out an ungloved hand, for which I stared at him rather stupidly.
“Take it,” he ordered. “Or you and I shall be forced to continue our conversation under the present circumstances.”
Well, I did not like the idea of him towering over me so much that he blocked out the sun. Of course, he would loom over me regardless, but it was rather difficult to answer a man with confidence while stuck in a hole. And I couldn’t climb out without pulling up my gown by a fistful and raising my legs to be viewed. I wouldn’t have minded with only Abigail present, but with three men goggling, I had no intention of providing further entertainment.
I blew out an exasperated breath, and after a long pause, wrapped my fingers around his. His hand felt warm as he pulled me from the pit with one strong motion, plunking my slight frame onto the ground beside him.
My mouth suddenly dried. He was strong. Very strong. Yet I could have sworn his skin blanched even with the action.
“I don’t believe we have been properly introduced,” he said, slightly winded as he released his grip. He brushed his fingers free of the dirt I hadn’t even noticed on my appendages. “I am Lord Hawthorn.”
