Chase the Wind (5 page)

Ian’s eyes found her. She could feel them burning into her. She stood in the middle of the crowd and felt them all disappear. The
only other person in the world was Ian, and his deep blue eyes
were devouring her soul.

Mason turned to say something, and Ian tore his eyes away from
Faith and nodded assent to the man. He looked at her again and
Faith felt the impact of his pain; then he left.

Faith ducked into the library. The windows faced the front of
the house, and she hid between one and a heavily lined drape to
watch Ian’s progress down the drive. He turned once, but she knew he couldn’t see her in the dark window. She watched him disappear
in the night, then reappear in the light of the barn door. There was
a flash of copper from his hair and he was gone.

She knew that in order to get to the barn she would have to
disguise herself somehow. She was just considering the merits of
ripping the draperies down when she heard someone come into
the room. She ducked back to the side of the window and saw Randolph’s reflection in the glass. He stood there with a drink in his hand and carefully surveyed the area. Faith held her breath. Someone called to him from the hall, and he turned to leave. She realized that her legs were shaking and she slid to the floor, the satin of her dress pooling around her. She had to get a grip on herself. Her teeth were chattering. She needed a plan.

The first order of business was to get to Ian. The best route would be through the back of the house. Perhaps the servants had left a cloak lying about she could make use of that. All she had to do was get past Randolph, Miriam, her father and the multitude of guests who would think it strange that she wanted to be in the stables instead of the house. She took a deep breath and readied herself for the charge.

It was easier than she thought. She ducked out into the hall and made polite conversation with the first person she saw. She flitted from group to group, keeping a watchful eye out for the enemy. A maid came out of the kitchen, and she slid behind her. She pleaded a nervous stomach to the cook, who directed her to the outhouse and, as luck would have it, gave her a dark cape to wear. She was soon skimming over the frozen ground by the line of trees with her skirts bunched up in her arms. She cautiously peered through the rear door into the dim light of the stable. The place had been well lit earlier but now seemed dim and deserted. Ian’s chestnut was standing in the first stall to her left. His head was out over the door, and he was looking down the row. His ears were flicking and turning, picking up the soft murmur of Ian’s voice. The horse turned his head to her, and then turned back. Faith gently touched his forehead when she went by.

She found Ian two stalls down. He was sitting in the straw with Katrina’s head cradled in his lap. He was speaking gentle words to her. The mare’s eyes were glazed over with pain, and her breathing was labored. Beside him there was a gun. Ian lovingly stroked the mare’s head and neck, and then stood, taking the gun in his hand. “Faith, wait for me outside,” he said without looking up. Faith turned and ran out the way she’d come. She waited in the corner of the fence and stable, her back pressed against the wall. The shot, when it came, made her jump. A few minutes passed, and she waited, trembling in the frosty air. Then he was there. He wrapped his arms around the inside of the cape, and she drew the folds of
it around his back. All he was wearing against the frigid night air
was his shirt.

“I must get you back to the house,” he finally said. Faith tried
to search his eyes but could see nothing in the darkness. He took
her hand and helped her back through the fence. He walked in front of her, pulling her along. He didn’t say a word, but when
they got to the garden, he kissed her and faded back into the trees.

Faith scampered breathlessly back into the kitchen. The cook gave her a once-over and shook her head. “Straighten your skirts,
missy,” she said and pushed Faith into the back hall. “I’m sure they
didn’t even miss you in that crowd.” Faith smiled her gratitude and
went back in. She took a position by the window, where she hoped
the soft pink of her dress would blend into the ivory drapes.

Chapter Three

Faith wearily climbed the stairs to her room. The ball was over, and she reminded herself to thank God in her nightly prayers that she had survived. She had been unable to find a graceful way to escape Randolph’s advances, so she had tolerated them, reminding herself that Ian would soon take her away. Randolph had pulled her out on the dance floor, leered down her dress, tried to get familiar with her behind by sliding his meaty hands down her back while escorting her to a chair. Her head was hurting, her feet were hurting, and her wrist was raw from the grip of his hand. She had in no way encouraged him, but he had hung on to the bitter end, even to the point of handing her into the carriage and calling her his “ice princess.” When they had finally driven home, the stable was quiet and dark. Her father commented that the stable hands had put a horse down that night. Faith had been too weary to reply.

She gratefully shut her door and locked it. The pink satin gown slid to the floor, and she kicked the hated thing into a corner. She pulled the pins out of her hair and picked up her brush. That was when she caught his reflection in the mirror.

Ian was sitting in the chair in the comer between the two windows. She had missed him in the darkness. She crossed over to
where he sat and picked up the hand resting wearily on the arm of the chair. He pulled her down onto his lap and buried his face
in her hair.

“How long have you been here?” Her finger traced the curve of
his ear.

“Since I took you to the house. I just couldn’t stay there any
longer.” His voice cracked as he spoke. She felt the heat of his arms
through the thin silk of her camisole. Her stocking-clad legs hung over the side of the chair, and Ian was running his hand down the
length of them.

“Miriam found your footprints before,” she said softly in his ear.

“The ground is frozen; there will be no sign tonight.” He drew
his head back to look at her. The moon reflecting in her eyes made
them turn silver. He ran his hands back up the length of her legs
until he came to the top of her stockings. He hooked a finger in
the top of one and pulled it down. Faith felt a stiffening underneath
her and caught her breath. In the next instant she was on the bed and he was on top of her, kissing her, pressing her into the mat
tress. His hands were wild in her hair, and his kisses were draining her. She held on to him, because that was the only way she could
keep herself from spinning off into space.

His hand took possession of her breast, and his mouth trailed
down to the valley between. She could feel him pressed against her
thighs and she became desperate to have him. She pulled his shirt up and ran her hands over his wide chest, down his narrow waist,
and dipped her fingers under the waistband of his pants.

“Faith.” His breathing was ragged, his voice hoarse with desire.
“I need you so much.”

“I know, I know,” she whispered. She moved under him. He
rose up over her and began to undo his trousers. She tried to help, but his hand got in her way. He left her hands to accomplish the task and pulled her pantalets down. He started to undo the ribbons on her camisole, but she stopped him and pulled it over her head.
The moon shone down on her nakedness, and he drew in his
breath at the sight of her. He freed himself from his pants and bent
over her, his mouth coming to hers for a kiss.

“Faith, I would like to talk to you.” It was Miriam knocking on
the door. She rattled the knob. Faith and Ian froze where they were,
not even breathing. “Faith?” The word was whispered, not insis
tent. Miriam tried the door again, and then they heard her footsteps
fading away. Ian reclaimed his clothes and moved to the chair, running his hands through his hair. Faith sat in the middle of the
bed, her quilt gathered around her.

“Do you remember the song I whistle to the horses?” he asked
when a stillness had finally settled over the house. His voice was
hushed but clear.

“Good King Wenceslas?” He leaned forward in the chair, and Faith moved to the side of the bed, the quilt still gathered around
her.

“Do you know the legend?” Faith shook her head. “King Wen
ceslas was a good king, and one night he and his servant went out to deliver Christmas gifts to the people of the kingdom. They be
came lost in a blizzard, and an angel of light came and showed
them the way to safety.” Ian ran his hands through his hair again
and reached out to take one of hers. “You’re my angel of light,
Faith; I don’t think I could live without you. Do you know what
that means?”

A tear left a silver trail on her cheek as she whispered, “Yes, I know I can’t live without you either. You consume me.”

“Are you ready to go, then?”

“Whenever you say.”

“Meet me in the woods tomorrow; I need some time to think.”
He went to the window and was gone without a sound. Faith could
hardly follow his progress down the tree and across the yard, he was that quiet. She closed the window behind him and curled up
on her bed and wept.

The Taylors did not attend church the next day. It was doubtful
if anyone of any importance in town did; the cream of society had
all been present at the ball the night before. Faith had not slept
well. She was haunted by visions of Randolph chasing her, then
nightmares of fruitlessly searching the woods for Ian. She finally came down to Sunday dinner, but soon decided that the fare would
do nothing for her mood. She needed to get out of the house to
meet Ian. She hoped that her father and Miriam were still feeling the effects of the previous night and would retire to their rooms.
Before she could excuse herself from the table, however, there was
a knocking at the front door. They looked at each other in surprise before her father threw his napkin down in disgust and went to
answer the summons. They hardly ever had callers, and never had
had one on a Sunday afternoon.

It was Randolph Mason. Faith’s stomach heaved into her throat and she was overcome with nausea. She wouldn’t have to look for an excuse to leave the house, she was about to provide one on the dining room floor. Miriam gave her a look that would kill as her father escorted the man into the dining room. Her stepmother rose from the table to greet their guest. A few pleasantries were exchanged about the ball, and then Mason turned to Faith, who had turned a shade of pale green.

“I should like to get to the purpose of my visit, Miss Taylor,” he said as he came around to where Faith was sitting.

“And what would that be, Mr. Mason?” Miriam asked sweetly. Faith didn’t dare open her mouth for fear of what would come out.

“I would like to have permission to pay court to Faith,” he said, smiling broadly. Faith jumped out of her chair so quickly, it hit the floor with a bang that echoed through the big, silent house. She ran into the kitchen with her hand over her mouth. Miriam found her as the last of her dinner came up into a bowl on the counter.

“What is wrong with you?”

“Something disagreed with me,” Faith gasped from her position over the bowl.

Miriam flung a cloth at her. “Clean yourself up. Maybe we can still save the day.”

Faith looked at her as if she had lost her mind. “I am not going out there, Miriam. I will throw myself in the river before I spend one minute with that man.”

“Do you know what’s at stake here?” Miriam’s tone was venomous.

“Yes, I do. The rest of my life is at stake.”

Miriam slapped her. “You ungrateful little bitch.” The words were pure evil.

Faith took the cloth Miriam had thrown at her and wiped her mouth. She took the bowl she had retched in and washed it out at the pump. She looked out the window at the woods, where she knew Ian was waiting. Her heart ached because she knew she couldn’t go to him now, not with them all watching, not with Mason here. She knew Ian would fight the man if he had a chance, and she couldn’t take the risk.

“Please give Mr. Mason my apologies.” Faith took the back staircase to her room.

*
     
*
     
*

It started sleeting later that afternoon. When the sleet came, Mason
left. He had visited with her father and Miriam in the room below
hers. She could occasionally hear their laughter drifting up through
the floor. She was trapped. As long as they were below her, Ian
couldn’t use the tree to come up. She curled up on the bed with her quilt and hoped he’d been safely gone when the sleet came. She didn’t want him out in the woods waiting for her in this
weather. He was smart enough to see what was going on and wait
for a better time.