caught Marcus before he’d toppled and laid him carefully on the ground.
Marcus was still there, exactly as Thomas had left him, when, beside Lucilla, Thomas stepped clear of the enclosed path.
Lucilla halted and looked down at her twin, then she crouched and touched his cheek, his neck. Apparently satisfied, she reached into Marcus’s jacket pocket, rummaged, and drew out a small notebook and pencil. She opened the notebook, flicked to a blank page, and started writing.
Thomas shifted, impatient to get on. The sense of urgency that had sent him racing to the Vale was escalating with every passing minute.
“Trust me.” Lucilla’s words were clipped. “Neither you nor I want to leave him without an explanation.”
Recalling the level—warning—look he’d received from Marcus the last time their paths had crossed—at the Hunt Ball—Thomas had to accept that she knew of what she spoke. Cynsters were not known for being understanding over territorial incursions, and knocking Marcus out and whisking his twin sister away was not going to endear him to Marcus.
Thomas frowned. “Your parents are away, so he’s running the Vale.”
Lucilla nodded. She glanced at the sky, which remained clear, then tucked the open notebook into her twin’s hand. Then she rose. “As long as he knows—from me—where I’ve gone, he won’t come after me. Not unless I send for him.”
Thomas inwardly admitted that Marcus turning up unannounced was one encounter he was happy to know he wouldn’t have to face. He reached for Lucilla’s arm. “We need to get going.”
Lucilla allowed him to keep a light grip on her arm as they made their way over the rough terrain to where she’d left her horse. A flighty but very fast black, the mare pricked up her ears as they approached. Lucilla untied her reins. “What’s the fastest route from here?”
She asked the question to distract him—and herself—as she drew the mare around. She would have to allow him to lift her to her side-saddle; there was no other option.
Steeling herself against his touch, she stood beside the mare and waited.
Somewhat to her surprise, Thomas’s lips set, and he looked almost grim—almost as steeled against the moment as she. “North,” he replied, then he closed his hands about her waist and hoisted her up.
He released her the instant she was stable, but the few seconds of contact, the sensation of being entirely within his control, had been every bit as riveting, as senses-stealing, as she’d expected.
As exhilarating, as transfixing.
Ostensibly busying herself settling her boots in her stirrups, from beneath lowered lashes, she watched him stride to a big gray that had been cropping the sparse grass a short distance away. She watched him grab the gray’s reins, then swing effortlessly up to the saddle, the movement drenched with male power and grace, and a certain sense of reined aggression.
Realizing that she’d stopped breathing—that the moment had only set an edge to the need that, with him close once again, was rising within her—she drew in a tight breath, raised her head, lifted her reins, tapped her heel to the mare’s side, and trotted forward to join him.
This might not be anything like the reunion she’d hoped for, but in the circumstances, she would take whatever situation the Lady handed her. And once she’d done her duty for those the Lady held within her care, she would turn the opportunity to her own purpose—to fulfilling her own very real need.
Thomas was waiting, every bit as impatient as she. Without further words, they set out, riding as fast as safety allowed for the Bradshaws’ farm.
* * *
They rode up to the Bradshaws’ farmhouse as the last glimmer of daylight was fading from the western sky.
Lucilla reined in before the farmhouse door, kicked free of her stirrups, and slid to the ground; she didn’t need the distraction of feeling Thomas’s hands close about her waist at that moment. Untying her
Marcus was still there, exactly as Thomas had left him, when, beside Lucilla, Thomas stepped clear of the enclosed path.
Lucilla halted and looked down at her twin, then she crouched and touched his cheek, his neck. Apparently satisfied, she reached into Marcus’s jacket pocket, rummaged, and drew out a small notebook and pencil. She opened the notebook, flicked to a blank page, and started writing.
Thomas shifted, impatient to get on. The sense of urgency that had sent him racing to the Vale was escalating with every passing minute.
“Trust me.” Lucilla’s words were clipped. “Neither you nor I want to leave him without an explanation.”
Recalling the level—warning—look he’d received from Marcus the last time their paths had crossed—at the Hunt Ball—Thomas had to accept that she knew of what she spoke. Cynsters were not known for being understanding over territorial incursions, and knocking Marcus out and whisking his twin sister away was not going to endear him to Marcus.
Thomas frowned. “Your parents are away, so he’s running the Vale.”
Lucilla nodded. She glanced at the sky, which remained clear, then tucked the open notebook into her twin’s hand. Then she rose. “As long as he knows—from me—where I’ve gone, he won’t come after me. Not unless I send for him.”
Thomas inwardly admitted that Marcus turning up unannounced was one encounter he was happy to know he wouldn’t have to face. He reached for Lucilla’s arm. “We need to get going.”
Lucilla allowed him to keep a light grip on her arm as they made their way over the rough terrain to where she’d left her horse. A flighty but very fast black, the mare pricked up her ears as they approached. Lucilla untied her reins. “What’s the fastest route from here?”
She asked the question to distract him—and herself—as she drew the mare around. She would have to allow him to lift her to her side-saddle; there was no other option.
Steeling herself against his touch, she stood beside the mare and waited.
Somewhat to her surprise, Thomas’s lips set, and he looked almost grim—almost as steeled against the moment as she. “North,” he replied, then he closed his hands about her waist and hoisted her up.
He released her the instant she was stable, but the few seconds of contact, the sensation of being entirely within his control, had been every bit as riveting, as senses-stealing, as she’d expected.
As exhilarating, as transfixing.
Ostensibly busying herself settling her boots in her stirrups, from beneath lowered lashes, she watched him stride to a big gray that had been cropping the sparse grass a short distance away. She watched him grab the gray’s reins, then swing effortlessly up to the saddle, the movement drenched with male power and grace, and a certain sense of reined aggression.
Realizing that she’d stopped breathing—that the moment had only set an edge to the need that, with him close once again, was rising within her—she drew in a tight breath, raised her head, lifted her reins, tapped her heel to the mare’s side, and trotted forward to join him.
This might not be anything like the reunion she’d hoped for, but in the circumstances, she would take whatever situation the Lady handed her. And once she’d done her duty for those the Lady held within her care, she would turn the opportunity to her own purpose—to fulfilling her own very real need.
Thomas was waiting, every bit as impatient as she. Without further words, they set out, riding as fast as safety allowed for the Bradshaws’ farm.
* * *
They rode up to the Bradshaws’ farmhouse as the last glimmer of daylight was fading from the western sky.
Lucilla reined in before the farmhouse door, kicked free of her stirrups, and slid to the ground; she didn’t need the distraction of feeling Thomas’s hands close about her waist at that moment. Untying her
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