Free On Gentle Wings by Patricia McAllister Page B

her ankle,” she concluded wistfully,
convinced that only such a tragedy would revive their father’s instinctively chivalrous
nature.
    Grace considered her sister’s words. Anne was right. If Isobel
had a little accident, their Papa would be forced to rescue her, maybe even
carry her back to Ambergate ! And with Isobel right in his arms, how
could he deny she was perfect for them all? How could he ever let her leave?
    But Isobel had refused to resort to such chicanery, even to
secure Kit’s attentions. What a pity, Anne remarked, that Isobel had to be so prim
and proper when it came to winning Papa’s heart. After all, they hadn’t much
time left now. Only four days, and that horrid old toad would come back and
steal their Isobel away!
    Grace knew she couldn’t let it happen. After glancing at
Anne, who was still absorbed in the scene outside, she quietly picked up
Judith, her doll, and left the nursery. She ran downstairs and out the rear
door of the house. There, she slipped past Susan, who was furiously whacking at
a Turkish carpet with a broom, and proceeded to the garden where she’d first
met the mysterious lord.
    Only he wasn’t like any other lord Grace had ever seen.
Those Papa had brought home from court in the past ware dandified rakes who
sported curlicued hair and funny pointed beards and fashionable sneers. This
one looked like Saint Nicholas himself, all plump and jolly and rumpled, though
he’d denied any relation to a saint with a twinkle in his eye.
    He actually glowed, too, as if the Star of Bethlehem itself
was suspended behind his head. He’d told Grace the most wonderful stories about
kings and queens and knights of old; but best of all, he assured her that
Isobel was meant for her Papa and Destiny would eventually triumph over the
crafty machinations of men.
    But right now, Grace realized, Destiny needed a helping
hand. Or a subtle shove.

Chapter Seven
     
     
    K it hadn’t felt
so alive in months. Or years. Riding always brought out the best in him, but
today it was better than ever; and the only possible reasons he could attest it
to were that Elspeth was gone or that Isobel was here.
    The latter possibility startled him. Riding alongside
Isobel, atop his own golden mount Aurelius, Kit felt liberated. It was a
beautiful day. It had been a long time since he’d even bothered to notice
whether it was cloudy or sunny; and yet the very air seemed vibrant now, heavy
with the rich scents of summer, exhilarating to the depths of his soul.
    Dear Jesu. He was in love. The emotion was almost foreign to
him, so rarefied that he hadn’t recognized it for what it was. He loved his
girls, of course. With all the fierceness and devotion a proud father was
capable of. But this was different. This was the love of a man for a woman.
    What woman? Surely not Isobel, his coltish little ward, the
brown-haired waif with her great grey eyes! Nay, Kit thought, it must be simple
lust, the sort of desire a lonely man feels upon meeting a likely wench. A
wench like that dazzling Madame Mysterie from the masque.
    ’Twas the first natural male impulse he’d felt in years.
After all, he’d been without benefit of female companionship for a long time.
In twelve long years, Elspeth had never welcomed his affections; and aside from
one brief, ill-fated affair, he’d never stepped outside the bonds of matrimony
to seek relief. He was, Kit thought bitterly, the consummate family man. The
consummate fool, more like.
    Many men kept paramours at court. Lord knew he’d had enough
offers. Obvious offers delivered via batting eyelashes and coy simpers. Nothing
mysterious about that, he supposed, though he was intrigued by “Madame
Mysterie.” She was the first woman to truly capture his interest. It hadn’t
merely been her luscious figure; but of course, there was no overlooking the
prospect of that …
    “How am I progressing?” Isobel asked. She sounded
breathless, but not nearly as nervous as she had been just a