Patricia Veryan - [Sanguinet Saga 04] - Love's Duet Read Free Page B

propel along the boil of
the water. The bridge
looked
safe enough, but hovered scant
feet above the turbulence. Clay had refused to order the chaise across.
He had walked over with her, carrying her most necessary possessions.
At least the rain had lessened, now becoming a steady light fall so
that she was not drenched as she waited through Clay's brief conference
with his groom. Smithers swung down from the chaise with obvious
reluctance and crossed to the carriage to climb up beside James.
Clay
was going to drive the chaise across! She realized with a pang of fear
that he'd judged it too hazardous to require his groom to attempt it.
    The greys were balking, frightened by the cacophonous uproar. Sophia
held her breath as Clay guided them expertly onto the timbers. It was
little short of idiotic, she thought angrily, that the Marquis chose to
live in such a godforsaken spot with this one rickety bridge providing
the only means of access.
    And then her heart jumped into her throat. The bridge moved! She
heard a scream from the carriage. The greys began to plunge, and Clay
sent the whip snaking over their heads. "Dear God!" she whispered.
"What have I done?"
    A great mass of debris rushed on the crest of the littered waters to
slam deafeningly against the pilings. Smithers jumped down from the
carriage, ran over the swaying bridge and clung to the back of the
chaise as it shot forward. The horses had barely reached the far side
than an uprooted tree hurtled into the weakened structure. The greys
screamed with fright. For an instant the chaise seemed to hang over
empty space as the bridge disintegrated with an ear-splitting roar.
Then the wheels bounced onto the bank. The horses strove, eyes rolling
in panic. Clay, his face white, flailed the whip, and with a wild
plunge, they were clear.
    Sophia swayed, weak with terror, and then was crushed close in her
cousin's arms. She clung to him, half sobbing, "Oh, Marcus!" He kissed
her, said a cheerful, "Silly chit!" just as Stephen would have done,
and bustled her into the chaise while Smithers shouted to James to
await them at "The Wooden Leg."
    From the top of the rise, Sophia viewed the Priory with a sinking
heart. The rutted apology for a drive swept around a small pool, beyond
which lay the great sprawling building, stark and unwelcoming in the
gloomy afternoon. The central structure was flanked on each side by
long wings extending back to create a wide "U" shape. The windows were
narrow, deeply inset, and few. The front door crouched under a heavy
Gothic arch, and only faint gleams of light showed from those lurking
windows. There were some fine old trees, but the lawns were a
collection of weedy grasses bearing little resemblance to the velvet
turf surrounding her own Kentish home.
    Dismayed, she felt inclined to run back to the chaise. It was little
short of miraculous that they had not overturned when the wheel, badly
sprung when the chaise had bounced onto the river bank, had split.
Tired of watching the men struggle to repair the damage, she had set
out in search of the Priory, which, with his usual optimism, Marcus had
assured her was "just around the next bend." Instead, she had tramped
at least a mile. She was cold, and her feet hurt from the long walk in
shoes not designed for such endeavours. But she was here at last! She
climbed the steps and approached that forbidding door.
    No baying of dogs, no grooms, no welcoming footman or butler greeted
her. The Priory seemed to leer malevolently, defying her to persist in
her invasion. The wind howled, sending her hood flying. She pulled it
back up and, finding no bell, pounded on the heavy door defiantly.
Silence. She pounded again and gave it a few angry kicks for good
measure. It creaked open. Alarmed, she jumped back, then ventured to
peer inside. She saw a vast hall panelled in dark wood that added to
the depressing dimness. It was sparsely furnished with only one huge
old table, which held a branch of flickering candles