A Lady Under Siege(59)
“He has. Several times. He’s called me a beauty, and also said he likes the way I carry myself. He thinks I walk elegantly, like a young doe.” She paused, enjoying the warmth of a pleasant reverie. She could see Thomas clearly in her mind, standing by the fireplace in Daphne’s chamber. “Now that Sylvanne’s making nice to him, he’s able to look at her more naturally, more comfortably. Last night they locked eyes, and it was eerie, but I felt he was looking through her, and seeing me. It was the first time I felt that.” She felt her pulse quicken, remembering and reliving that moment. “It’s just so totally unfair. Why do we have to be centuries apart? If he were here, I’d give him my love in a second.”
29
A small brook meandered across a field of golden wheat shimmering in the autumn breeze. Daphne rode in front, on her horse, her very own horse, a sweet old chestnut mare named Mathilde. Despite her protestation that she was a young lady, and should ride as ladies do, Thomas had insisted she wear a boy’s breeches and ride like a boy, straddling the saddle, that being the safer technique for a novice. Behind her he rode next to Sylvanne, who sat side-saddle on her big black horse, as a lady is expected to. Daphne reached the brook, and Thomas called out for her to wait there. When they caught up he allowed his horse to dip its head to the water and drink. He dismounted to take a drink himself in cupped hands.
“My mount is forever thirsty,” he said. “Look how he sucks it up by the gallon, like an elephant’s trunk.”
“Mine wants only to run and run,” Sylvanne replied.
“Let her run toward home then. It’s time we turned back.”
“One more jaunt!” Daphne pleaded excitedly.
“This is far enough,” he told her. “Beyond here the path narrows, the woods grow dense and wild.”
“Oh please, Daddy?” she begged.
“All right,” Thomas relented. “But this may be your last time riding in that fashion. Next time we’ll have you adopt the proper posture of a lady on horseback. Now take your mount no further than that first copse of alders. Then you turn around smartly and come straight back.”
He and Sylvanne watched her horse step cautiously across the rocky, knee-deep stream. On the far side she kicked her heels into its belly, and it began a disciplined canter away over the open field toward the trees. “This outing has brought colour to her cheeks,” Thomas observed. “My physician tells me that’s a bad thing. I wonder what our friend Meghan would say?”
“Perhaps you’ll dream the answer,” Sylvanne smiled, mirroring the look of ease and contentment she saw upon his face.
“I do fall asleep these nights hoping for answers,” he replied. “Last night I was eager to see Meghan, that she might help me to solve the puzzle of your change of heart.”
“And what was her verdict?”
“None. I passed the whole night with Master Derek, for she paid him no visit. To give him credit, he diligently and devotedly perused the medical books Meghan gave him, offering commentary of his own as an adjunct to the texts, addressing me as if I were an old friend. He read deeply on the subject of something called tuberculosis, but neither Daphne nor my wife could be said to perspire much in the night, which is a primary symptom of that malady. Crohn’s disease, and Multiple Sclerosis, if I pronounce it correctly—he seemed to think auto-immune conditions of that sort might be responsible for my poor daughter’s state, but I can only wonder at the meaning of auto-immune. Much of it was lost on me, I’m afraid. Quite frustrating. And on top of it, as I said, I wanted to see Meghan, so she might tell me what you’re up to.”
“Poor thing,” said Sylvanne teasingly. “Left to your own devices to determine my sincerity.”
“I do know what I wish the answer to be,” he said, and for the first time she caught a hint of flirtatiousness in his voice. But just at that moment the mood was shattered—they heard the startled scream of a horse, and in the distance saw Daphne’s mount rearing on its hind legs, terrified by the sight of a wild boar darting out of a nearby thicket. The horse bolted, galloping in full flight toward the woods. They saw Daphne’s feet slip from the stirrups, her body slide dangerously from the saddle, her hands desperately clinging to its mane.
In a blur of movement Thomas pulled his horse from the water and climbed aboard, urgently sending it to a full gallop. But Sylvanne, already aboard her mount, had a head start, and as she turned her horse to the chase she expertly hauled up her dress and swung a leg over the beast to ride full saddle. It was she who reached Daphne’s horse first and, grabbing hold of the reins in one hand, expertly turned the horse’s head, forcing it to take on the pace of her own mount. The horses slowed from gallop to trot, and soon enough to a tranquil standstill. “There, there,” she cooed softly. “Are you all right, dear girl?”