Page 25 of A Stranger’s Promise

Flustered, Charlotte squinted at her reflection. Her cheeks stood out as two bright pink spots under her wide hazel eyes. She looked terrified. Perhaps, because she was. The maid tucked her unruly stray curls into her bun in the back, she worked on the front. Her gown, though serviceable, had begun to look a little frayed and worn. She’d do well to find another dress or two, before Lady Cassilis complained over the state of her clothes. Biting her lip, Charlotte focused on her hair, but when a curl she’d already tucked into place for the third time sprang out again, she dropped her hands and blew the remaining hair out of her eyes with an exasperated huff.

“It’s impossible,” she said with a rueful smile to the young woman still vainly trying to tame her curls. “My hair goes whither it will. If it displeases her ladyship, then I will go whither the wind blows. I can change, but I fear, my hair cannot.”

The maid laughed shyly. “Aye, it is good enough, and with the wildness of the winds outside, we’ll all suffer the same fate. Who’s to notice only yours?”

Lady Cassilis, Charlotte thought pointedly, but she knew better than to say such things aloud. The woman had the eyes of a hawk, and no doubt, the ears of an owl.

They hurried down the servants’ stairs to the foyer. When they neared the door, Charlotte slowed while Meg continued outside to the tail-end of the servants’ line that stretched from the castle entrance to the drive. Charlotte couldn’t take her eyes off Alistair, who waited with his friend Nicholas at the driveway to greet the approaching carriage. Her heart began to thud. Wind whipped a light mist. His hair tossed against his forehead. He looked so tall and handsome in his tight gray trousers, Hessian boots, and dark blue cutaway coat with its brass buttons, long tails, and standup collar.

Charlotte halted at the door. She didn’t want to face him. She glanced around, tempted to duck away and hide, but Lady Cassilis chose that moment to sweep down the grand staircase. Charlotte hurried out the door. Gusts of wind tugged her hair. In seconds, the primping of the moments before was undone. She winced, wondering how long they would have to wait.

From the corner of her eye, Charlotte glimpsed Lady Cassilis emerge from the castle. Despite the wind and rain, she paused to inspect the servants as she pulled on her long, white gloves. Their eyes met. Charlotte quickly glanced away and swallowed. There was no running now. The jingle of harnesses and the crunch of wheels on gravel announced the final arrival of the carriage as the coachman pulled rein and Alistair and Nicholas stepped forward to open the door. Charlotte spied a small, delicate shoe and the hem of a fine pink gown before something flashed in the corner of her eye. Startled, she glanced up. Her heart leapt into her throat.

Oliver.

Wearing a bright green hat with a red feather, the boy dashed to the side of the drive and along the low, stone wall, headed toward the clock tower.

Her heart sank. Whispering a hasty “Excuse me” to the servants flanking either side, Charlotte hurried down the steps, then took off at a dead run after him. She followed the stone wall, calling his name. But the fierce winds ripped the words from her mouth, and he was far too quick on his feet. She clapped a hand to her cap. Before she’d closed the distance half way, he darted under the clock tower and disappeared from sight.

Charlotte burst into the clock tower courtyard right after him, only to find it empty. Turning in a circle, she gasped between breaths, “Oliver! Come here, at once!”

There was no response.

At the sudden whinny of a horse, she darted through the back archway and down a short drive leading to a long, low stone building perched near the edge of the cliff and protected from the sea below by a stone wall. The smell of horse and a mound of hay near the open door, told her she’d reached the stables. Charlotte yanked up her skirts, ran to the door and darted inside. At once, she spied Oliver’s green hat poking above a nearby stall.

“Oliver,” she called, pausing to catch her breath. “Come out. Immediately.”

He didn’t move.

“I had had enough of your games, Oliver,” she said firmly.

Her gaze caught on the stall opposite her. She jumped back as a wild looking stallion peered back at her, pawing the ground with his massive hoof. Charlotte retreated another step, eyes on the mighty hooves visible beneath the half-stall door. The beast flattened its ears and tossed its head, letting out a vicious snort to announce its unhappiness with her presence.

Charlotte inched along the wall toward Oliver’s stall, hissing, “It’s dangerous here, Oliver. We must go now.”

Still, the boy refused to answer.

The stallion whinnied again.

Charlotte drew a shaky breath. “You’re such a lovely horse,” she crooned, inching past and added wryly, “Whatever are you afraid of, Charlotte? The animal is locked safely in its stall.”

The horse continued to snort and paw the ground, as it watched her every move. Gathering courage, she scurried to Oliver’s stall only to discover the green hat dangling on the handle of a pitchfork.

“What the devil?” Charlotte snatched up the hat.

Giggles overhead made her look up. She froze. He scampered among the low rafters. Low, but not low enough for her to reach up and drag him down by a leg.

“Come down, at once.” She gasped when he leapt from beam to beam. “It’s far too dangerous, Oliver! Whatever are you thinking?”

He jumped to the beam over the stallion’s stall and balanced on the rafter, looking down at her with a devious glint of mischief—then his eyes widened and his arms flailed.

He fell.

Charlotte lunged toward the stall and yanked the latch. The stallion screamed and reared, its massive front hooves slicing the air. Then it charged her. Strong hands seized her arm and yanked her out of the stallion’s path, and into the opposite stall, as more horses galloped past. She stumbled and fell, landing hard under a muscled chest as the stallion thundered past. Men’s voices rang out.

Overhead, Oliver scrambled into the safety of the rafters. Charlotte closed her eyes in relief. When she opened them again, she came face-to-face with Lord Cassilis who lay on top of her, his green eyes inches from hers. Her heart thundered.

His mouth thinned in a grim line. “That stallion is wild, Miss Atchenson.” A strand of dark hair fell over his face. “It’s dangerous.”