AllFreeNovel
Share Us
Marita grinned impudently, and gave a shrug of her slim shoulders. “You said you could ride, so I believed you. What else was I to think?”
“Never mind that. What do you know about those men who fired at us?”
“Only that they were firing at you, not at the handsome lord. Oh, does that surprise you? Did you think you have no enemies?”
“No one has any reason to fire at me,” Celia said curtly, though she couldn’t help but recall the evening at the opera. Perhaps they hadn’t really tried to kill her, but someone definitely didn’t mind harming her. “And how would you know anything about it?”
“Because I am here all the time, and I learn things. I do not stay all day in the camp but go places, and I know. I know more than you, it seems, for you do not even believe me when I tell you this.”
But she did believe her. Despite the resentment between them, there was the ring of truth to Marita’s claim that she had seen the men that day, and had followed them.
“I meant only to follow you, because I knew you had lied and that the horse would throw you,” she said slyly. “But then I saw what happened. Men like to drink, and when they drink they often like to talk to beautiful women they think have no brains, or no ears to hear what they say.”
She shrugged. “So I listen, and I laugh, and I let them think I do not understand. And that is how I learn what I know—that you are not what you pretend to be.” She sidled closer. “And I know he does not know it. He thinks you are so honest, but all the time you lie, lie, lie.”
“Prove it,” she said flatly, and Marita’s eyes narrowed angrily.
“Do you think I cannot? I will. Oh, I will prove it to you and you will know I am not what you think—a lying gypsy girl with no honor!”
What could she possibly know? Celia wavered between denial and fear. Not fear for herself, but fear that she would be exposed before she had a chance to explain, to tell Jacqueline, and yes, Colter, that it was true she had come under false pretenses, that she’d lied, but now she wanted to tell the entire truth.
Torn with indecision, she’d spent several sleepless nights agonizing over what to do.
And then last night a message had finally come from Colter that she was to meet him away from the gypsy camp. Bold masculine script was a terse scrawl on paper bearing his seal, and now that the moment she’d been dreading and anticipating was here, she found herself calmly accepting it.
Marita was to take her to him, not to Harmony Hill but to a more private spot, the brief note stated. “Go with Marita. She will bring you to me.”
It was signed
with just his initials, but the seal pressed into fine parchment was unmistakable. She had seen it on glassware, stationary, even reproduced on towels.
Santiago, who had given her the note, gazed down at her with something akin to sympathy in his dark eyes, and his usually booming voice was soft.
“You look so sad, but you should not. Are you surprised that I see it? I may not know all the reasons, but I do know that whatever your fear, it can only be conquered with the courage you have inside. It is all that is left us at times, that strength to do what must be done. You are much stronger than you think. And he is more honorable than is said.”
He’d not needed to specify who he meant, for they both knew who mattered most to her. Was it that obvious? Yes, it must be, for hadn’t Marita known it even before she did? It had gleamed in those exotic black eyes from the very first, the recognition that there was far more in her feelings for Colter than she’d admitted to herself.
And now she would face him at last and tell him the truth of why she had come to England. After that, she would know if she had a place here.
So this morning, as the snow frosted ground and trees, she met Marita at the far edge of the gypsy camp.
“Come along,” Marita said softly, and motioned to her from the fringe of trees just beyond the camp when Celia moved toward the horses. “I will choose a horse for you, eh?”
“If you don’t mind, I think I’ll choose my own,” Celia replied tartly, and knew from her disappointed pout that she had foiled another of Marita’s tricks.
Mounted upon a rather docile, small mare, she followed the gypsy girl down a winding track; it was so quiet in the trees, snow muffling hoofbeats and even the sounds of birds muted, as if in a church. Peace shrouded the land, so that she could almost hear the whisper of snow striking bare limbs and dead stalks of grass that rustled in a light wind. The air smelled of the sea.
They rode out onto a lane that looked vaguely familiar, and Celia thought it must be very near Harmony Hill. She had ridden this way with Carolyn that day, though it had looked so different in soft sunlight and with gentle breezes. Now it was barren, with leafless trees standing sentinel along the edge. It curved near the top of the cliffs, finally in a thin ribbon.
A stone cottage squatted on a spur of land, remote and almost forlorn by itself. There was no sign of life, so that she frowned when Marita reined in her mount. The girl looked satisfied with herself, her voice loud to be heard over the rushing wind that smelled so strongly of the sea now.
“Not here. There. He waits for you. Oh, do you doubt me still? You will see for yourself that I speak the truth.”
“I see only a roofless hut, and no horses—”
“No, no, foolish one, beyond it. Do you not see? It is a good place to hide and wait, there in that granary.”
“Really, I do see the granary, but it’s as deserted as the hut.” Exasperated, she shot the girl a disgusted glance. “It’s not in much better condition. I have no intention of waiting in it. Nor do I see Northington’s horse. If he was already here, he would have come out to greet me. I’ll wait for him where I am.”
