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“Marita!” Santiago loomed over them suddenly, coming up without any of them realizing it, his face dark with anger as he spoke sharply to the gypsy girl in their own language. An argument raged briefly, ending with Marita flouncing away with a resentful glance at Celia.
“Forgive my daughter,” Santiago turned to say, “for she is very impetuous and speaks rashly. You have come to ride, yes?”
“Yes,” Carolyn said when Celia didn’t reply. “We were told there are suitable mounts for us to ride.”
Santiago took them to the stables, clapped his hands sharply together, and after a moment, Mario appeared with two horses saddled and ready.
“Oh,” Carolyn said, “I prefer sidesaddle, please.”
Santiago looked nonplussed. “There is only one here, I’m afraid. The other saddle needs repair.”
“I’ll ride with this saddle,” Celia said quickly, and stepped forward to stroke the muzzle of the small gray that stood docilely by the gate. Riding astride would be much easier than managing a sidesaddle, and besides, now there was no risk of damaging herself, was there? No, not since last night.…
“Celia!” Carolyn looked worried. “Are you certain? I don’t know if it’s safe.…”
“It’s much safer than trying to balance sidesaddle,” she replied, “and I’ve ridden this way before.”
That was true enough, though it had been when she was only a little girl and Papa had put her atop his own horse to ride while he walked her about.
Mario brought forward the platform used for ladies to mount their horses, and Celia took his hand as she stepped atop the gray mare. It was a beautiful animal with dark liquid eyes that were half-closed, the sleek charcoal coat well brushed and gleaming. Gingerly she settled into the saddle, legs straddling the horse and her skirts hiked up a bit, showing her ankles. While Mario held the bridle, she managed to cover her legs, then sat up and took the reins in both hands. When she glanced up, she happened to meet Marita’s sullen gaze, but looked away.
Carolyn’s mount was brought out after a few minutes, and she settled into the sidesaddle with obvious ease, hooking her leg over the horn and arranging her skirts in a graceful drape.
“I’m ready,” she announced gaily, and Celia mimicked her actions, touching her heels lightly to the gray’s sides like Carolyn did as they took off at a sedate walk.
It wasn’t so difficult, she thought as they rode down the curved drive toward the gatehouse, though a bit more bumpy than she’d thought it would be. She watched Carolyn closely, and kept the same firm grip on the reins, elbows held close to her body, spine erect. When she felt more comfortable, she actually began to enjoy the ride, the freedom of being independent, with the wind in her face and the sunlight warm on her head. Slowly the tension in her stomach eased.
The little mare seemed quite docile, and willing to follow Carolyn’s horse as they rode along the dusty track that wound in front of the estate. Brisk air smelled of the sea, that inimitable scent of salt and wind and faraway places. An occasional house crouched beside the road, stone or half-timbered, but always shielded by fence and hedge. Trees twisted by constant sea winds thrust huge gnarled branches into the air, bright red autumn leaves whirling as gaily as gypsy skirts, Celia thought.
Half-formed thoughts tumbled in her mind, images of Marita dancing with Northington, of their easy familiarity with one another, and then later—
God, she just couldn’t keep from thinking about it!
Hadn’t she lain awake all night remembering his hands on her, his mouth, and her own response to him? Yes, and it was with her still, those searing memories that had the power to make her ache. There was no retreat now; she’d gone too far, let him take her too far. And she could blame only herself for it. How weak I am…
Just ahead of her, Carolyn pulled her horse to the side, turning with a smile to wait for Celia to catch up. Her bonnet was awry, ribbons half-undone, and her eyes were alight with excitement.
How innocent Caro was, and how carefree, riding her borrowed mount with no thoughts other than the lovely day and the serenity of her life. It had been amusing to hear her speak of her tedious existence—amusing and maddening.
But it was understandable. What else had she known?
“Isn’t this glorious, Celia?” Carolyn enthused when she reached her. “A most magnificent day! The sea makes me want to run out into it.”
Celia pulled back on the leather reins, and the gray mare halted beside Carolyn’s horse. Perched daintily atop the horse, Carolyn’s gaze shifted to a thin path that ran parallel to a line of chalky ridges.
“There’s a path, and I think it leads down to the water, Celia. Shall we try it?”
Uncertain of her riding ability, Celia hesitated. It had been easy enough on a relatively flat plain, but how would she do on a steep decline?
“Carolyn, really, I’m not at all sure if I want to go that far,” she began, but her cousin had already turned her mount toward the trail threading between a line of trees. After a moment’s hesitation, Celia muttered, “Damn!” and followed Carolyn.
It wasn’t steep at first; stunted bushes grew in haphazard clumps along the pocked slopes. Seagulls wheeled overhead, drifting on air currents, their cries seeping down through the noise of the wind in her ears. The ribbons of her hat fluttered, pink tongues licking at the air. Ahead of her, Carolyn maneuvered her mount down the descent.
Beyond the trail, the gleaming expanse of blue-gray water stretched, blurring to an indistinct haze on the horizon. A salty tang filled the air. Sunlight gleamed on stark white cliffs, porous surfaces absorbing slanted heat and giving it back. The sea was a steady rush of sound.
Celia’s mount snorted, tossed its head in a jangle of bridle chains, and she tightened her grip on the reins. It wasn’t much farther now to the bottom; Carolyn was well ahead of her, the blue of her skirts flapping as the wind caught them.
The day was truly beautiful. The sky was a polished blue, so bright it hurt the eyes, and lazy clouds puffed overhead. Carolyn had reached the beach.
