Read Online Black Eagle by Gen Bailey - Free Book Online Page B

of the beauty from his mind, but not so the cinches. He would go in search of Thompson and make his demands.
    As he finished rubbing down the last of the three animals, he sniffed at the air around him. Was it the stables, or did he reek of horseflesh?
    A stream, deep in the forest that skirted the Rathburn property offered a simple and easy solution, and he washed up there, donning the best clothing he had. After all, Thompson might be at the ball.
    His other clothing he washed in the stream, hanging them in a hollowed out cavity in a tree. It was a very old and large tree, one he had taken special notice of as he had scouted the Rathburn property.
    As he stepped back toward the big house, an airy melody washed over him, and Black Eagle sighed, reminding himself he was not attending the ball, he was looking for Thompson. Unfortunately, he was all too aware of the yearning of his heart.
    Â 
    Â 
    As Marisa stepped with her partner in time to the music, she hid a smile. She was happy. Not for herself, of course, but for Sarah. Indeed, Marisa had succeeded; she had bested her step-uncle in a battle of wills. True, it had been a test of spirit, but she had persisted, had made it perfectly clear to her step-uncle that he was in the wrong, not only in regards to his future plans for a particular Pennsylvania Dutch settlement, but also as concerned Sarah’s past.
    This ball, which Rathburn had arranged in honor of Sarah and Marisa’s departure, proved her success. Undoubtedly, the ball was a simple affair in many ways. Necessity had made it so, due in part to the fact that both she and Sarah were leaving forthwith—the very next morning. But, though there were probably no more than fifty guests in attendance this evening, no expense had been spared. Strategically placed torches and candles lit the room, while the scent of burning wax, of food—roast meat and freshly baked bread, cakes and pies—permeated the hall.
    Gentlemen and ladies had adorned themselves in their best, causing the interior of the room to be awash in color schemes of pink and coral silks, as well as the hues of blue and gold. White wigs, with the required two curls at each side of the face sat atop the natural color of the hair. The orchestra was a simple affair, as well, a few violins, a cello, bass and flute.
    Their music filled the hall now, lending the atmosphere a certain gaiety and a rhythm that kept the guests stepping around the floor to the music of a minuet; sweep, step, step, sweep, step, step, promenade forward, turn to face one another, step up, step back, bow, curtsy.
    Her partner coughed, and Marisa smiled at the gentleman whom she had favored with the dance. The young man, who was of medium height, with a wave of sandy hair that peeked out beneath his wig, was most likely the handsomest man in the room tonight. But though he smiled at her adoringly, Marisa was not so easily impressed. Indeed, not.
    For years her heart had remained untouched. There was no reason for it to be different tonight. Indeed, for all she knew, it might always be so.
    But why? Though there were young men of whom she was fond, her affections had never progressed farther than mere attraction. Truth be known, Marisa had never been kissed; not by a man, a boy, a relative . . . no one.
    Again, why?
    Was it because she had never met a man to whom she might shower her devotion? Or was it most likely due to the reality that, as she had recently told Sarah, she might likely have no say in the matter of her own marriage?
    Marisa frowned. If the latter were the case—and she did suspect it was true—why did she think this?
    As if asking the question brought on the memory, a recollection, long looked for, but much forgotten, flashed in her mind. For a moment, she was distracted. She trembled, and daintily smiled at her partner to offset a feeling of being ill at ease. But like a book that once opened, refused to be closed, her mind replayed a scene from