Seacliff Read Free Page A

stiffly. “I’m sure.” And at a rap against the door the coach lurched suddenly into motion, forcing Caitlin to back up quickly and turn her head away from the dust raised by the coach’s large red wheels. Once the air had cleared, Caitlin stared after the departing noblewoman and wondered what she’d said to offend her. She’d only spoken the truth as she saw it, and she had certainly said nothing against the old woman herself. Gwen pulled up alongside her, and Caitlin raised an eyebrow in silent question.
    “I don’t know,” Gwen said. “I didn’t hear all you said.”
    “Oh, dear,” she sighed. “I hope I haven’t done it again.” She rode on silently, reviewing the brief conversation over and over in her mind, trying to pinpoint the moment of offense. But she could not; and the more she thought about it, the more it distressed her, pulled at her, tossing her back and forth between two convergent loyalties—her husband, and her country.
    And in that moment of melancholy, and in an abrupt surge of homesickness, she saw in the June air before her the mocking visage of Griffin Radnor, his long, dark-copper hair flowing behind his rugged face in some impossible breeze. Oh, Griffin, she thought in momentary desperation, why did you let me do this thing? And the instant the thought formed, she scowled. Griffin Radnor was of the past. Whatever she might have felt for him was over, done with. Her father was right, had been all along. Griffin’s past was too dark to brighten Seacliff’s future, and whatever dreams she might still dream about him were simply the lingering fancies of a young girl, not those of a married woman. They would fade soon enough, just as the twinges of her heart would fade until the sound of his name no longer provoked her.
    A sigh, whisper-soft, passed between her lips, and she looked guiltily to Gwen, who returned a quiet smile.
    “You’re thinking of Griff, aren’t you?”
    “No!” she snapped, almost shouting. Damn that girl. Always bringing up his name when it wasn’t wanted. Implying this and wishing that until Caitlin thought she would scream. Wasn’t it bad enough she and Oliver were locked in a marriage that was in name only? Must she always endure Gwen’s sporadic reminders of what might have been?
    A tear welled in one eye, and she wiped it furiously away.
    And in that gesture she snapped back to a time almost four years ago, to a glen nestled in the mountains far from Seacliff’s valley. She recalled a soft spring afternoon and a diamond-sparkling stream, birds of all colors weaving rainbows in the trees and deer by the dozens gamboling down to the banks to cool their thirst. She’d been told shortly before by her father that no matter how wealthy Griffin Radnor was, no matter how large his holdings or how respected, there would be no union of the Radnors and the Evanses. There were too many unpleasant rumors about Griffin’s time in the army, in which he did everything from gamble to wench, and perhaps worse. And wasn’t there Morag Burton’s claim that Griffin was the father of her bastard child? Sowing wild oats was one thing, her father had preached, but doing so in your own back yard was something else again.
    Caitlin had raged and wept, had finally fled the house and ridden into the mountains to the glen where she and Griffin often met… to talk, to dream, to laugh at their elders as children will do when they love those elders. And he had come to her, having heard from Gwen the story of the fight. He had taken Caitlin in his strong arms and comforted her, stroking her until she could no longer stand the anguish of their parting. She had taken his hands and placed them firmly on her breasts, wound her fingers through his hair and pulled his lips down to hers. The warmth of the sun and the salt of her tears, the caress of the cool breeze on her flesh as he disrobed her slowly, like a man at devout worship, came back to her. He said nothing, but spoke with his