Read Online Improper Advances by Margaret Evans Porter - Free Book Online
Authors: Margaret Evans Porter
Ads: Link
nearer the bed.
” Ta , and a good thing it is. I’ll be needing my strength, for Benainshtyr says I may teach her all my songs.”’ With a sheepish grin, he asked, “Could you find a comb for me, before she comes again? I must be a fearful sight.”
Dare perceived that he wasn’t the only one whose peace of mind was disturbed by Oriana Julian.
With a low laugh, Ned said, “Eh, you needn’t be worrying, Mainshtyr Dare, I’ve not lost my heart to her. She could never fancy a broken-up miner. She’s an English lady, and the fairest I’ve ever seen. Her singing’s so fine it makes me want to cry. But for all that, she treats me like I’m no different than her. Like you do.”
Mrs. Stowell brought in a plate piled high with the promised oatcakes, and a mug of buttermilk for her patient.
“Where is Mrs. Julian?” Dare asked her.
“She went down the glen to buy Mrs. Gill’s goat. But she’s been a long time returning.”
Lost in the hills, he thought ominously. “I’d better look for her.” It was lucky he’d come on horseback instead of by gig; he could conduct a more thorough search of the neighborhood.
Dare returned to the stable yard and mounted Envoy once more. He soon reached the claghan used by generations of glen dwellers to ford the stream. Mrs. Julian must have crossed here. He imagined her moving from stone to stone, holding her skirts high to keep them clear of the splashing water.
A breeze stirred the green sycamore leaves. Farther on lay the broad path giving access to his mining operation. Guessing that she would keep to the main track, he pressed forward.
He was acquainted with the many hazards hidden among the splendors of this landscape. A flicker of alarm teased him as he recalled every disused mine shaft and abandoned cellar hole. There were countless paths, steep and treacherous, best suited to sheep—not delicate London ladies wearing frivolous shoes. If she slipped, she could twist her knee, or sprain one of those lovely slim ankles …
Pausing at each cottage, he questioned the crofters in their native tongue, but none had noticed the lady of Glencroft passing by. Deeply superstitious, these people expressed concern that she might have fallen victim to the glashten and mooinjer veggey and the fer obbee roaming the glen and uplands. Dare doubted Mrs. Julian’s serenity would desert her if she did encounter a ghost or the little people, or even a wizard. She’d find a way to charm them into submission.
Envoy carried him deeper and deeper into hills golden with gorse, grazed by rough mountain sheep. A peregrine soared overhead, seeking young rabbits to feed upon. The zigzag track led him to remote crofts, and there he received encouraging news. A short time ago, Oriana Julian had crossed through the pasture and stopped to feed the pony a handful of grass. His sense of urgency faded.
“A while ago she came, that ferrish, as if from nowhere—like out of the old legends. I’ve sent lhienno to the house, so the fairy woman wouldn’t steal them.”
She ‘d probably prefer to have the pony, thought Dare. In Manx he asked her where the strange woman had gone.
“Dys shen —there.” The crofter pointed him toward a meadow path.
Because it circled around to rejoin the lane he’d followed earlier, Dare expected to overtake his quarry. His faith was soon rewarded.
Envoy’s thudding hoofbeats made the wanderer turn around. “Sir Darius.” Her voice was expressionless, neither cool nor warm.
“Mrs. Julian.” He bowed low.
“Why do you follow me?”
“I feared I might lose you.”
“I daresay you’d be thankful if you could.”
He swung himself out of the saddle. “One of the crofters thought you were a fairy woman, seeking to steal her children.”
“I never noticed them. I was making friends with the pony.”
He grinned. “As I suspected. Were you also being friendly when you offered Mrs. Gill four shillings for her goat?”
“I’d never seen that
” Ta , and a good thing it is. I’ll be needing my strength, for Benainshtyr says I may teach her all my songs.”’ With a sheepish grin, he asked, “Could you find a comb for me, before she comes again? I must be a fearful sight.”
Dare perceived that he wasn’t the only one whose peace of mind was disturbed by Oriana Julian.
With a low laugh, Ned said, “Eh, you needn’t be worrying, Mainshtyr Dare, I’ve not lost my heart to her. She could never fancy a broken-up miner. She’s an English lady, and the fairest I’ve ever seen. Her singing’s so fine it makes me want to cry. But for all that, she treats me like I’m no different than her. Like you do.”
Mrs. Stowell brought in a plate piled high with the promised oatcakes, and a mug of buttermilk for her patient.
“Where is Mrs. Julian?” Dare asked her.
“She went down the glen to buy Mrs. Gill’s goat. But she’s been a long time returning.”
Lost in the hills, he thought ominously. “I’d better look for her.” It was lucky he’d come on horseback instead of by gig; he could conduct a more thorough search of the neighborhood.
Dare returned to the stable yard and mounted Envoy once more. He soon reached the claghan used by generations of glen dwellers to ford the stream. Mrs. Julian must have crossed here. He imagined her moving from stone to stone, holding her skirts high to keep them clear of the splashing water.
A breeze stirred the green sycamore leaves. Farther on lay the broad path giving access to his mining operation. Guessing that she would keep to the main track, he pressed forward.
He was acquainted with the many hazards hidden among the splendors of this landscape. A flicker of alarm teased him as he recalled every disused mine shaft and abandoned cellar hole. There were countless paths, steep and treacherous, best suited to sheep—not delicate London ladies wearing frivolous shoes. If she slipped, she could twist her knee, or sprain one of those lovely slim ankles …
Pausing at each cottage, he questioned the crofters in their native tongue, but none had noticed the lady of Glencroft passing by. Deeply superstitious, these people expressed concern that she might have fallen victim to the glashten and mooinjer veggey and the fer obbee roaming the glen and uplands. Dare doubted Mrs. Julian’s serenity would desert her if she did encounter a ghost or the little people, or even a wizard. She’d find a way to charm them into submission.
Envoy carried him deeper and deeper into hills golden with gorse, grazed by rough mountain sheep. A peregrine soared overhead, seeking young rabbits to feed upon. The zigzag track led him to remote crofts, and there he received encouraging news. A short time ago, Oriana Julian had crossed through the pasture and stopped to feed the pony a handful of grass. His sense of urgency faded.
“A while ago she came, that ferrish, as if from nowhere—like out of the old legends. I’ve sent lhienno to the house, so the fairy woman wouldn’t steal them.”
She ‘d probably prefer to have the pony, thought Dare. In Manx he asked her where the strange woman had gone.
“Dys shen —there.” The crofter pointed him toward a meadow path.
Because it circled around to rejoin the lane he’d followed earlier, Dare expected to overtake his quarry. His faith was soon rewarded.
Envoy’s thudding hoofbeats made the wanderer turn around. “Sir Darius.” Her voice was expressionless, neither cool nor warm.
“Mrs. Julian.” He bowed low.
“Why do you follow me?”
“I feared I might lose you.”
“I daresay you’d be thankful if you could.”
He swung himself out of the saddle. “One of the crofters thought you were a fairy woman, seeking to steal her children.”
“I never noticed them. I was making friends with the pony.”
He grinned. “As I suspected. Were you also being friendly when you offered Mrs. Gill four shillings for her goat?”
“I’d never seen that
Similar Books
