closely at her face, trying to discover what color her eyes were, but they remained a mystery to him. If he had been close enough to see their color…
Regretfully, however, he watched as the spirited bareback rider halted the mare in front of the dark-haired girl, who had been viewing the acrobatic feats with cries of pleasure and encouragement. Dismounting, the beauty with the unbound hair patted the mare on its rump and sent it and the colt back out to graze. She accompanied the dark-haired girl to where the fair-haired one had almost managed to complete her toilette, except for hooking up the back of her elegant gown, the voluminous skirts threatening to consume everything in sight.
Sadly, he watched as the other two pulled on their petticoats and then their gowns, which, not surprisingly, were far less elegant than the fair-haired one’s. Soon, they had hooked themselves inside the concealing folds of linen and muslin and propriety, their carefree abandon seeming to disappear along with their tender flesh. For several minutes, they seemed to be searching for the remaining articles of their clothing, because the dark-haired girl, who had disappeared somewhere behind the cart, held up a slipper with a cry of triumph.
Suddenly a shrill cry of terror reverberated across the meadow. The man instinctively reached for the rifle at his knee. Pulling it from the holster and cocking it, he had already taken aim, ready to pull the trigger, when he suddenly began to laugh softly.
The fair-haired young woman’s screams had turned into shrill, angry words. Out of one of the baskets, a harmless garden snake had slithered across the quilt, causing the fair one’s initial fright. When the dark-haired girl, who was obviously far more stouthearted than the others, had captured the snake and held it up for their perusal, the fair one’s voice had become piercing with her objections.
He was surprised to hear the laughter of the other two, who seemed interested in taking a closer look at the snake, but the fair-haired one refused, preferring to maintain a safe distance.
The danger past, especially when the dark-haired one had freed the frightened snake, the rider uncocked the rifle and slid it back into the leather scabbard hanging from his saddle. Far too quickly, they had loaded the baskets into the cart and folded up the quilt. With the pony hitched to the cart, and the fair-haired one and the dark-haired one settled inside, they began to cross the meadow, the mare and colt walking docilely beside their mistress as she guided the pony with a gentle yet firm hand. The shadows were lengthening and the shafts of sunlight slanting down through the trees had deepened to a burnished gold as the afternoon fled.
The rider’s gaze never left the cart’s progress across the meadow—or the beautiful young woman walking barefoot through the tall grasses, her unbound hair fiery with the touch of the sun, and crowned by a wreath of wildflowers. In the afternoon light, she was warm and golden, and he longed to reach out and touch her and know that she was real.
Far too soon for his peace of mind, the little caravan disappeared into the trees on the far side of the meadow. Leaving the shadowy confines of the glade where he’d remained hidden from view, the rider, with a packhorse following on a lead behind, crossed the meadow—silent and empty now that the three young belles had left. Despite himself, the rider began to wonder if it had all been an illusion, especially as he reached the place where the vision of loveliness had stood brushing her hair.
“Thirsty, boy?” the rider asked softly, patting the big bay as they neared the stream that had first attracted him to this enchanted meadow.
Suddenly, the rider grinned, for his hawkish search of the area had rewarded him. Within arm’s reach, caught on a bramble bush was a single stocking, the finely spun silk of the palest shade of blue. Holding it to his face, he breathed deeply of
Regretfully, however, he watched as the spirited bareback rider halted the mare in front of the dark-haired girl, who had been viewing the acrobatic feats with cries of pleasure and encouragement. Dismounting, the beauty with the unbound hair patted the mare on its rump and sent it and the colt back out to graze. She accompanied the dark-haired girl to where the fair-haired one had almost managed to complete her toilette, except for hooking up the back of her elegant gown, the voluminous skirts threatening to consume everything in sight.
Sadly, he watched as the other two pulled on their petticoats and then their gowns, which, not surprisingly, were far less elegant than the fair-haired one’s. Soon, they had hooked themselves inside the concealing folds of linen and muslin and propriety, their carefree abandon seeming to disappear along with their tender flesh. For several minutes, they seemed to be searching for the remaining articles of their clothing, because the dark-haired girl, who had disappeared somewhere behind the cart, held up a slipper with a cry of triumph.
Suddenly a shrill cry of terror reverberated across the meadow. The man instinctively reached for the rifle at his knee. Pulling it from the holster and cocking it, he had already taken aim, ready to pull the trigger, when he suddenly began to laugh softly.
The fair-haired young woman’s screams had turned into shrill, angry words. Out of one of the baskets, a harmless garden snake had slithered across the quilt, causing the fair one’s initial fright. When the dark-haired girl, who was obviously far more stouthearted than the others, had captured the snake and held it up for their perusal, the fair one’s voice had become piercing with her objections.
He was surprised to hear the laughter of the other two, who seemed interested in taking a closer look at the snake, but the fair-haired one refused, preferring to maintain a safe distance.
The danger past, especially when the dark-haired one had freed the frightened snake, the rider uncocked the rifle and slid it back into the leather scabbard hanging from his saddle. Far too quickly, they had loaded the baskets into the cart and folded up the quilt. With the pony hitched to the cart, and the fair-haired one and the dark-haired one settled inside, they began to cross the meadow, the mare and colt walking docilely beside their mistress as she guided the pony with a gentle yet firm hand. The shadows were lengthening and the shafts of sunlight slanting down through the trees had deepened to a burnished gold as the afternoon fled.
The rider’s gaze never left the cart’s progress across the meadow—or the beautiful young woman walking barefoot through the tall grasses, her unbound hair fiery with the touch of the sun, and crowned by a wreath of wildflowers. In the afternoon light, she was warm and golden, and he longed to reach out and touch her and know that she was real.
Far too soon for his peace of mind, the little caravan disappeared into the trees on the far side of the meadow. Leaving the shadowy confines of the glade where he’d remained hidden from view, the rider, with a packhorse following on a lead behind, crossed the meadow—silent and empty now that the three young belles had left. Despite himself, the rider began to wonder if it had all been an illusion, especially as he reached the place where the vision of loveliness had stood brushing her hair.
“Thirsty, boy?” the rider asked softly, patting the big bay as they neared the stream that had first attracted him to this enchanted meadow.
Suddenly, the rider grinned, for his hawkish search of the area had rewarded him. Within arm’s reach, caught on a bramble bush was a single stocking, the finely spun silk of the palest shade of blue. Holding it to his face, he breathed deeply of
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