The Wild Child (Bride Trilogy) Page 8

  Then, as a voice shouted in horror behind her, she stepped into the air.

  “Meriel! Meriel!” Heart pounding in terror, Dominic bolted up the stone steps three at a time, shouting as if his voice could halt her suicidal plunge from the wall.

  He raced to the spot where she had jumped and peered over the battlements. The river was far, far below. Surely no one could survive such a fall, but still he scanned the waters, hoping for some sign of her. Nothing.

  He swayed dizzily, wanting to vomit, as he fought the impulse to dive in after her. Not to save her—it was too late for that—but as penance for having driven an innocent to a horrific end. Meriel had lived here in peace for many years, until he arrived and destroyed whatever fragile restraints guarded her mind. He had begun to think of her as a fairly normal girl who merely had some odd quirks. Because of his stupidity, his lack of understanding, her broken body was being battered by the icy currents far below.

  Then a flicker of movement caught his eye to his right, at the far end of the castle wall. He turned his head and stared. Green fabric? Wondering if his imagination was playing tricks, he leaned out the embrasure and looked straight down.

  He’d thought the castle wall stood right on the cliff edge, but in this area there were several feet of margin between wall and cliff. Directly below him, centuries of gentle decay had caused earth and greenery to accumulate into a narrow shelf that rose to within eight or ten feet of the bottom of the embrasure. If someone dropped down to that shelf, it would be easy to edge along the base of the castle wall to safety.

  He squinted and saw a faint impression of small bare feet in the damp soil. She was safe. Safe. He sagged against the wall, weak with relief.

  Relief was swiftly followed by outrage. The little witch had deliberately tried to scare him out of his wits! He was as sure of that fact as he was of his own name. Maybe she was punishing him for his thoughtless attempt to take her outside Warfield.

  Too angry for caution, he stepped from the wall and dropped onto the ledge. He landed hard, and the earth crumbled under his weight. He began to fall, and for a horrifying instant he knew he was doomed.

  A wild swing of his hand caught a stout, wind-shaped shrub barely in time to save him. He clung to the gnarled branches, shaking. Meriel had probably landed more lightly, and she must know this castle like the back of her hand. Even so her trick had been damned dangerous. Maybe she didn’t understand the peril of what she had done. He simply had no idea how that crooked little mind worked.

  When his nerves had recovered, he flattened his back against the wall and began to inch his way along the cliff after Meriel. She’d had her fun, but by God, if she thought she’d lost him, she had better think again.

  Chapter 9

  Concealed in a clump of shrubs by the faint depression of the old moat, Meriel waited without impatience for Renbourne to appear. With most of her attention on the main gate, she almost missed seeing him emerge from behind the castle wall by the same route she had used. Foolish man! He could have got himself killed trying to follow her.

  Still, he was clever to realize so quickly what she had done. Once she’d played the same trick on a disagreeable physician who had been dogging her steps to observe her madness. The dolt came tearing out of the castle, screaming that the river must be dredged. The ladies had sent him away after that incident.

  Expression furious, Renbourne stormed down the hill toward her hiding place. Smiling, she slid away, taking care to stay out of his sight.

  At the base of the hill she entered a broad belt of woodlands, since the fog wouldn’t offer concealment much longer. Eventually she’d work her way back to the house for some food, but for now she was content to follow a favorite path through the woods, enjoying the chorus of birdsong.

  She was in the most densely treed area when she heard another sound, low and filled with pain. She paused, frowning. The sound came again, a rough noise between a growl and a whimper. Somewhere nearby an animal was suffering.

  She followed the sounds to a small clearing. A pair of foxes were there, the dog fox pacing anxiously around a whimpering vixen whose forepaw was caught in a sharp-toothed metal trap. Pure rage blazed through Meriel at the sight. Poachers.

  Earlier in the spring she’d seen this pair of foxes at their courtship play, and her throat had tightened at the sight of their mutual enchantment. Now they were raising a litter of cubs nearby. In a careless moment the vixen had probably sprung a concealed trap that had been set for a hare. She lay on her side, panting, the vertical pupils of her eyes wide with pain and shock. Her right forepaw was a bloody mess.

  Setting aside her fury in favor of more immediate concerns, Meriel stepped into the clearing. The dog fox gave a high sharp bark and retreated, though she guessed that he would not go far. Slowly she moved toward the vixen, humming to soothe the injured animal. To no avail; when Meriel stretched out a hand, the fox snapped viciously, her plumy tail lashing the ground.

  Meriel snatched back her hand. Usually the wild creatures of Warfield were tolerant of her presence, but the vixen was in so much pain that she might be dangerous.

  Twigs cracked nearby. Renbourne? No, his footsteps were lighter. Guessing that the poacher was coming, Meriel faded into concealment on the far side of the clearing.

  A few moments later a roughly dressed youth with an empty game bag slung over his shoulder emerged from the shrubbery, his gaze going to the trap. A poacher, on her land, killing and maiming the creatures entrusted to her care!

  Meriel gasped when he pulled a knife from a sheathe. He was going to cut the vixen’s throat.

  Screaming with rage, she sprang to her feet and launched herself at the intruder.

  If not for Dominic’s tracking skill, he never would have found Meriel’s trail. She moved over the landscape as lightly as the retreating mists. But here and there she left flattened grass or a trace of footprint, and he’d catch up with her soon.

  Then what? He was tempted to spank her, but he doubted that was appropriate for a young lady of twenty-three. Even one with a deplorable sense of humor.

  His heart congealed when a blood-chilling female scream pierced the woodland air. This was no mock suicide, but a cry of genuine disaster. He broke into a run, wondering what could threaten her. Surely there were no dangerous animals in the park.

  He should have remembered that the most dangerous beast was man. Bursting into a small clearing, he saw Meriel lying on the turf and a strange man on top of her, both of them struggling frantically. A rage unlike anything he’d ever known blazed through him. “You bastard!”

  He dived into the fray and yanked the intruder off Meriel. Then he spun the man around and knocked him to the ground with one furious blow to the jaw. Dominic stood over him, fists clenched as he fought the desire to kick the rapist to a bloody pulp. “What kind of beast would assault a helpless girl?”

  “Helpless!” the man protested in a thick Shropshire accent. Bleeding marks on his face showed where Meriel’s nails had connected. “ ’Twas her that came after me! I’m just tryin’ to keep her from scratchin’my eyes out.”

  Dominic glanced at Meriel, who’d risen from the ground. She did not look like a delicate maiden who had just been attacked by a rapist. Narrow-eyed and self-possessed, she watched the stranger with an expression as feral as a wolf’s.

  A quick scan revealed a trapped fox, a dropped skinning knife, and a game bag stained with dried blood from past kills. “A poacher,” Dominic said with disgust.

  The man lurched to his feet. Meriel instantly sprang, swinging a sharpened stick at his face. Dominic caught her in mid-leap, pulling her hard against him. Her small body was taut with furious strength. Gods above, to think he’d begun to imagine she was more or less normal! If this was an example of the tantrums Mrs. Rector had mentioned, no wonder the girl was thought mad. She was genuinely dangerous.

  But her violence was not random, for she didn’t turn on him when he grabbed her. He gave silent thanks. Subd
uing the little hellcat without one of them being hurt would be difficult. Luckily she fell still, glaring at the poacher with lethal intensity.

  Seeing that the intruder was on the verge of flight, Dominic said dryly, “Stay put or I’ll turn her loose, and she’s fast. Very fast.”

  Watching Meriel warily, the man—or boy, really, he couldn’t be more than seventeen, and skinny at that—said, “I wouldn’t hurt the young miss. ’Tis known she’s not right in her head.” He rubbed his bleeding cheek. “She came after me like…like…”

  “Like an avenging angel?” Hoping that Meriel would behave, Dominic released her before he became too distracted by the feel of her body against his. “No need to attack him, Lady Meriel. The law can handle a poacher. Seven years of transportation. New South Wales, I should imagine. Or maybe Van Diemen’s Land.”

  The poacher turned white. “Please, sir, I meant no harm. What are a few more hares to a lord like you? You don’t need them. Nor does she, with a fortune to last a thousand lifetimes.” He bit his lip, looking very young. “If I’m transported, my mam and the little ’uns will starve. It’s been hard since my pa died. There’s no work.”

  Dominic’s anger began to fade. He’d never approved of the law that made it a major crime for a landless man to take small game for the cooking pot. “I think Lady Meriel’s fury stemmed from the fact that you hurt that fox, and to what purpose? Foxes are vermin, not game animals.”

  “If you’re hungry enough, a fox isn’t bad eating,” the boy said bitterly. “Though a hare would’ve been better.”

  Dominic studied the boy’s bony face and shabby, outgrown clothing. Such stark need put his own situation into perspective. He might be a younger son with no expectations, but he’d never missed any meals.

  He dug into his pocket, hoping he had some money with him. Finding a coin, he pulled it out and tossed it to the boy. “Take this and buy food for your family. And if you value your freedom, don’t ever set foot in Warfield Park again.”

  The boy gasped as he caught the gold sovereign, but Meriel flashed Dominic a darkling look. Tersely he said, “It’s hard to condemn a man for trying to feed his family.”

  Perhaps she understood. Though she shifted rebelliously from foot to foot, she didn’t make another move toward the poacher.

  “Th-thank you, sir,” the boy stammered, still staring at the coin. It was quite possible he’d never held a sovereign in his life.

  Dominic frowned. A piece of gold could feed a family for a few days or even weeks, but it wasn’t a permanent solution. “Tell me your name. I’m merely a guest at Warfield, so I can’t make any promises. However, if you think a job would keep you from poaching, I’ll ask the steward of the home farm if he needs laborers.”

  “Oh, sir!” The boy looked stunned. “I’ll do any honest work.”

  A laborer made little enough, but at least the boy wouldn’t risk being transported and leaving his mother with a cottage full of starving children. Dominic bent and picked up the fallen game bag and knife. “You can take these, but the trap stays here.”

  The boy nodded with resignation. There was no way he could use the trap legally; in fact, he could be arrested and convicted of poaching if he was even caught carrying the wretched thing. “Thank you, sir. My name is Jem Brown.”

  “Jem Brown. Very well, the day after tomorrow, present yourself to the Warfield steward. I’ll have talked to him by then. Now go.” Dominic donned the fierce scowl he’d learned during his brief career as a cavalry officer. “And don’t forget what I said about staying out of the park.”

  Jem darted away before Dominic could change his mind. Meriel made a sound like a hissing cat as she watched him go. It would have been funny, if her behavior didn’t underline how far she was from normal.

  Putting aside that painful thought, he said, “It’s time to see what we can do for that poor vixen. Just a moment.”

  He had passed a small brook on his way to the clearing, so he backtracked and soaked his handkerchief in the water. Then he returned to the trapped fox. Meriel crouched near the animal, concern in every line of her body.

  The fox growled when Dominic knelt beside it. Knowing this would be harder than physicking a distressed horse or dog, he looked the vixen in the eyes as he mentally projected calm and good intentions. That he was a friend.

  “There, there, old girl,” he said softly. “Let’s get you free. Then we can look at that leg. No need to worry. I used to think about becoming a veterinary surgeon, you know. I followed the Dornleigh farrier and the cowman and the shepherds around whenever I could, learning how to treat horses and cows and sheep. My father would have died of an apoplexy if I’d chosen to follow such a low trade, though.”

  The talk was mostly to soothe the fox with his tone of voice. He remembered just in time that he shouldn’t say anything that would indicate he wasn’t Kyle. While becoming a veterinary surgeon might be appalling in a younger son, it would be quite unthinkable for the heir to Wrexham.

  Rather than speak more about his onetime ambitions, Dominic switched to talking about the fox—how splendid her white-tipped tail, how beautiful her cubs must be. When he thought she was calm enough, he laid an experimental hand on the thick, springy reddish fur of her shoulder. She quivered a little, but accepted his touch.

  He turned his attention to the trap. The Dornleigh gamekeeper sometimes used traps to keep foxes from destroying the eggs of nesting game birds, but Dominic had never handled one. Wicked metal teeth clamped on the vixen’s foreleg, with the tension supplied by a flat steel spring by the hinge.

  Once he’d puzzled out how it worked, he rose and stepped on the spring. The metal jaw opened, and Meriel gently pulled the injured forepaw free.

  “Just a little longer. Then you can go home to your cubs,” Dominic murmured as he let the trap snap shut. He hoped he was telling the truth; if the injury was too severe, it might be kinder to destroy the poor beast.

  Kneeling again, he used his wet handkerchief to carefully clean the damaged leg. He could sense Meriel’s amazement that the vixen allowed the handling, but he didn’t glance at her. All his attention was on the fox, whose sides heaved with distress.

  After he’d washed away the crusted blood, he said with relief, “You’re in luck, old girl. No bones broken, no tendons cut.”

  There was still some sluggish bleeding. If he were working on a lacerated horse or dog, he would apply salve and a bandage. He doubted that would work here, though. The vixen would probably gnaw at the bandage, possibly worsening the damage. “Follow your instincts, Madame Fox.”

  The vixen bent her head and a rough tongue came out to lick the wound. After several minutes of lapping, the ooze of blood had almost stopped.

  “Are you ready to go home now?” he asked softly.

  Shakily the vixen got to her feet. A sharp vulpine bark sounded from the edge of the clearing. The vixen’s head shot up and her ears pricked. Then she bounded away to join her anxious mate. Though she favored the injured paw, she moved well. The dog fox gave a leap of joy before escorting his lady into the woods.

  Dominic sat back on his heels, touched by the sight. “I think she’ll recover. If you know where her den is, though, you might want to leave food nearby for a few days, to help the family out until she’s in better shape.”

  He looked at Meriel, still crouched a yard away. She was gazing after the foxes, wearing an expression of profound gladness.

  Then her head swung around, and for the first time she looked full into his face. He caught his breath, stunned by the depths and complexity visible in her clear green eyes. He’d thought her simple, he’d thought her mad, and from the beginning, he’d believed her to be a poor, deficient creature.

  Now he realized how wrong he had been. Meriel’s mind might be different from the minds of normal women, but she was not simple. She was as complex as he was, perhaps more so. Like a pagan nature spirit, she knew this land, these creatures, and had been willing to defend them no matter
what the risk to herself. Now, because he had helped the fox, she was permitting him a glimpse into her soul.

  She touched his hand briefly in an unmistakable sign of thanks. He wanted to capture that small, strong hand in his own so he could feel her warmth and strength. Instead he drew an unsteady breath. “I was glad to help, Meriel.”

  The awareness between them had been transformed. Any future relationship must be as equals.

  Chapter 10

  Even though he had become fully, unavoidably alive to her, she had not known he was a kindred spirit. Then with his words and touch and compassion he had ministered to the injured vixen. Even she had been unable to do that.

  He had undeniable power. His healing work had brightened the golden energy that swirled around him. Slowly she rose to her feet. He did the same, his expression serious, gaze locked to hers. His eyes were a wondrous blue, alive with humor and intelligence. He looked not just at her, but through her.

  She felt a quiver of alarm that someone might come so close, know so much. Yet like the vixen, her anxiety was tempered by instinctive trust.

  She had thought there was not another being in the world anything like her.

  Perhaps she was wrong.

  After the incident with the fox, Dominic and Meriel returned to the house in companionable silence. Whatever imp had made her flee him earlier had vanished.

  They ended up in the kitchen for an impromptu breakfast. Clearly Meriel’s presence was commonplace, but having a viscount, even a fraudulent one, sent the cook and her assistants into spasms. It was one thing for a lord to order a picnic basket, quite another for him to sit down at a scrubbed pine table and enjoy eggs and toast and tea. He did his best to soothe them, but using Kyle’s reserved manner made the task more difficult.

  After they ate, Meriel headed out the back of the house to the parterre. Each of the raised flower beds was bordered by a low hedge of boxwood. Dominic had seen from the house how the hedges twined into elaborate patterns, with different sections separated by stone paths. From above the effect was beautifully geometric.