The Tender Vine (Diamond of the Rockies #3)(24)

She sighed. “I was writing to Papa.”

“You haven’t gotten very far.” The page was blank.

She laid the pen down.

“Letting him know we’re coming?” Did he imagine her flinch?

“Yes.” But she made no move to take up her pen again.

“What did the doc say?”

Carina glared. “He said I’m so well you should take me to the mine.”

Quillan reached across the table and took her hand. Staring straight into her face he said, “Tell me that again.”

She bit her lower lip, then threw up her hands. “I’m tired of these walls!”

“That’s easy enough.” Quillan stood and took her coat from the hook. He raised her to her feet and slipped the coat up over her arms, covering her hair to the neck.

She tugged it closed in front and fastened the buttons. “You’re taking me to the mine?” She seemed both surprised and eager.

“No horseback, remember?”

She frowned, almost a pout. But then she was Carina Maria, daughter of Angelo Pasquale DiGratia, friend of Count Camillo Benso di Cavour, prime minister to Victor Emmanuel II, king of Sardinia-Piedmont. At this moment, she looked every bit of it. He opened the door, allowed Sam to whisk out before them, then scooped Carina into his arms.

She caught her hands around his neck. “What are you doing?”

“We’re paying a call.”

“To whom?”

“Alan Tavish. He’s missed you, lass.”

She laid her forehead on his jaw and laughed. “Very well. But so little way I could walk.”

He pulled the door shut behind them. “It’s slick. You don’t need a fall.”

She leaned over to examine the sheen on the snow-packed street. “And my two-legged steed is surefooted?”

“It’ll be my back taking the brunt if we go down.”

She nestled in against him. “It’ll be good to see Alan and Daisy. Poor mare, she’s been neglected.”

“With Alan? Never.” Quillan made his way to the livery, amazed how little it took to carry Carina the four blocks down and across. Again he sensed her fragility. And those men had beaten her with sticks. He forced back the hateful thoughts. He’d taken plenty of beatings in his life and found the strength to forgive. It was different when the victim was Carina.

Quillan heard voices when he entered with Carina still in his arms. Alan had company already, but whoever it was, they weren’t perched near the front in Alan’s normal spot. He returned Carina to her feet and looked down the first row of stalls. Alan was around the bend, and the voice speaking now was familiar. Quillan started that way with Carina on his arm. She seemed reluctant.

They rounded the corner and saw Alan in discourse with Alex Makepeace outside the stall of his huge steel-dust stallion. Both men turned. Both reacted to Carina’s presence. Quillan wished it were Alan’s reaction he noticed more. Beaming, Alan doffed his cap. Alex looked as though he’d buried his mother.

“You’re a sight for these old eyes, lass. Up and well, ye are.” Alan gripped her hand between his own.

“If you count being carried all the way here.” Carina’s tone was light, but Quillan sensed the tension in it.

Inside he cursed Makepeace for being there, for ruining his visit. Then he tried hard to find a charitable thought and failed. If the man had any civility he’d excuse himself, but he seemed rooted to the spot. Alan was oblivious and chatted to Carina about the cold, the snow, and the mare stabled beside Makepeace’s stallion. Daisy looked like a runt.

Makepeace drank in Carina’s presence, though it was obvious he tried to hide it. “They’re plenty warm, Carina,” he interjected. “This new barn gives good shelter and warmth with the stoves.” He patted his steed’s muzzle. “Happy as horseflesh can be this season.”

“Not that she doesn’t miss your touch, lass. ’Tis grateful she is to see you.” Alan’s words were borne out by Daisy’s whicker as she raised her snout toward Carina’s stroking hand.

Makepeace’s face matched the mare’s. Quillan stiffened. “We shouldn’t overdo it, Carina. Though it may be warm enough for horses in here, it’s anything but snug.”

“Come along by the stove, then.” Alan angled past, thwarting Quillan’s escape.

Maybe Makepeace would bow out now. But the man seemed stubbornly oblivious to the turmoil he was producing inside Quillan’s belly. How had they spent hours alone together, when just moments in Carina’s presence could bring Quillan to the point of blows? He caught Alan’s glance and realized the old man was hardly oblivious. He knew, too, what Alan would say. Pray. Quillan may as well do it on his own.

Lord, help me here. You said love your enemies. Makepeace isn’t even an enemy. Under other terms, I’d probably like the man. If it weren’t for Carina. And . . . oh, hang it. He caught himself. Did one think so disrespectfully while praying to Almighty God? Sorry, Master. Cleanse my thoughts. Make them right. He took his place against the wall so close behind Carina her back rested against his hip as she sat on the barrel.

Alan had offered the rocker, but she had refused. It was so much the old ostler’s chair it had taken on his shape. As he stood, Quillan felt the tension subside. He looked at Makepeace and realized what the man suffered. He hadn’t asked the Lord to show him that, but it was there, almost as though he were reading the man’s heart. He understood how it must be, how it would be for himself in Makepeace’s shoes. How could anyone not love Carina?