The Hunt
by Friend of Methos

Saturday morning dawned clear and several degrees cooler than had been forecast by the local weatherman. However, it was not quite dawn when Merryll's alarm clock buzzed. Barely able to open her eyes, she realized her nose was freezing cold. She pulled the covers over her head, rolled over and groaned softly into her pillow. Loathe to leave the warmth of the down coverlet and the luxury of silk sheets against her skin, she seriously considered a pass on the hunt for a moment, but for only a moment. Since this might be her only opportunity for a genuine, formal ride to hounds at a genuine English estate, something Merryll had read about since she was a child, she felt compelled to participate. And, she felt obligated for reasons that she readily acknowledged to herself did not truly matter to her, and probably would not matter to anyone else. But something urged her on and she wondered if it might be the prospect of riding the Commodore. That exciting thought was quite enough to decide the matter for her.

Although her limbs felt leaden, Merryll forced herself to throw the covers back, noticing with some surprise that her muscles were not so terribly sore after all from her brief practice ride the day before. Tomorrow, she thought. I'll really feel it tomorrow. The chill set her teeth to chattering, and just as she was reaching to pull the covers up again, a soft knock came at the door. She went quickly to answer and found a maid there who had come to help her dress. The girl was pleasant and Merryll welcomed her help. Even more welcome was the tea and croissant she brought, as well as the steaming wash cloth in a silver charger. Merryll preferred coffee, but the tea was steaming and the cup warmed her cold fingers.

The maid helped her with the brace Gerard had given her for her ribs, then pulled thick warm tights up over Merryll's hips. She helped Merryll into the teal-blue riding habit made of velvet; then Merryll sat on the bench in front of the dressing table while the girl caught her shoulder length hair in a beautifully coifed roll along the sides of her head. She caught the rest of Merryll's hair and shaped it into a knot at the nape of her neck. Then she wrapped the long white silk scarf round and round Merryl's neck, looping it expertly into a smooth ascot just below her chin.

Merryll was just finishing her makeup when a second knock came at the door. It was Duncan, looking splendid in his white riding pants, shiny black boots and scarlet coat. Merryll drew him into her dressing room, turned him around, and gave a low wolf whistle. The maid giggled; she obviously also thought Duncan looked marvelous. He grinned good-naturedly then pulled Merryll over to stand beside him in front of the full-length mirror. Her mouth dropped open. She hardly recognized herself. No matter how many costumes she had worn in her career, and no matter how many different characters she had played, Merryll was always surprised at the transformation that took place once a costume was fully in place. She thought she rather liked this look.

"You look fabulous, milady." Duncan gave her a warm smile in the mirror, his eyes sparkling, his dimples showing.

"How could I have forgotten to bring my camera? Duncan, you look..." she gazed at his reflection beside hers, then continued softly, "as if you'd climbed out of one of those life-size paintings in the hall." A chill ran over Merryll as she heard her own words, then another, and she shivered as her scalp tingled. The maid excused herself and left, unnoticed.

Duncan answered, "I'll let you in on a little secret."

"What's that?" Merryll turned and smiled up at him, feeling a bit giddy and suddenly rather breathless.

Duncan leaned toward her. "So do you!" Their eyes met. He held her chin between his thumb and forefinger and leaned forward, head bent. Merryll thought, Oh! He's going to kiss me!

"Last call for riders to hounds." Adam's voice floated through the doorway, and Merryll jumped, then drew back. The moment was gone. Duncan's hand dropped to her shoulder and he said smoothly, "Here, turn around, Meredith, and show us how great you look. Look here, me...um, at me and Meredith, Adam. Mostly Meredith, though. Doesn't she look great?"

Adam saw the color in Merryll's cheeks and he noticed Duncan's hand on her shoulder. He murmured, "Lucky for us I brought a camera. Go ahead. Strike a pose. Say cheese, you two." Duncan put his arm around Merryll and pulled her close to his side. Adam snapped the photo. "There we have it...forever on film. A memory captured in photographic...um, whatever." Merryll laughed. She was in high spirits, Adam noticed, unusually high.

Duncan bowed gracefully and asked, "Are you ready, milady?"

"Quite ready, milord. And you will stop calling me that, won't you?" Merryll laughed up at Duncan and placed her hand in the crook of his arm as they stepped into the hall. Adam watched them, a quizzical look on his face. He could swear Merryll was flirting. And if he were not mistaken, so was Duncan. Then he thought, Oh, probably my imagination. She's just excited about the hunt, a bird out of her cage after weeks of recuperation. Just then, her silvery laughter floated down the hallway. Hm, Adam thought, I'll just join them for breakfast and be ready with the camera. He looked at the camera in his hand. Yes, good idea, that, the camera. He followed Duncan and Merryll downstairs, rather closely, to the dining room.

*************



Merryll turned around and for the third time, bumped into Adam. "Oh, sorry," Adam said. She barely saved her food from flying off the plate and onto his sweater. "Um, sorry again. Guess I'm just underfoot, or...um..."

Merryll stood quite still and looked at Adam. He was wearing a navy cashmere turtleneck, a gray tweed jacket with charcoal-colored elbow patches and matching charcoal colored slacks. He really does look handsome, Merryll thought, but not terribly comfortable. She grinned as he dodged two more scarlet-coated guests and a manservant balancing, rather precariously, a huge silver tray filled with food. Breakfast was served from the buffet this morning, and the noise was growing in proportion to the large number of guests filling the vaulted dining room. Merryll said, "Adam." He was glancing about the crowd. She raised her voice to be heard above the din. "Adam."

He turned to her. "What's that?"

"Out of here," Merryll mouthed the words, nodding toward the door.

"Oh, right."

As Merryll turned to go, she saw Duncan practically hemmed in by three women who were surrounding him at the buffet. Adam saw them at the same time and grinned at Merryll who half-smiled and rolled her eyes a bit. He skillfully made the way for them through the crowd and out of the dining room, carrying Merryll's juice and coffee. She held his elbow and followed with a plate of eggs and hash brown potatoes, a soft roll and a spoonful of orange marmalade. Adam led them to a quiet place on the wide staircase in the main hall. Merryll sat down with a sigh of relief, the divided skirt of her habit spread around her. The hall was drafty and quite cold, but Merryll did not mind the chill as long as she was away from the crowd. Adam stood nearby. She looked up to find him still glancing around to be sure there was no one else to dodge.

Merryll said, "Adam." He looked at her. "Aren't you going to sit down?"

"Soon as I do, somebody will want to get by," he replied.

"Well, if they do, they can trundle up the other side of the staircase. Here. Sit by me. And Adam," Merryll was smiling "you're not under anybody's feet."

"Thank you, Merryll," Adam sat and offered her the orange juice. She took the glass and set it on the step behind her. He placed the coffee beside it.

"So, you're not riding this morning." Merryll stated the obvious.

"No. I don't really care much for tearing across the countryside before the sun's up in frightfully cold weather, I might add, at breakneck speed on one of those bloody great creatures with twice as many legs as me and feet as hard as rocks." He sat leaning forward, elbows on his knees.

Merryll laughed and patted his arm. "Oh, Adam. Horses are wonderful, magnificent animals."

"Yes, well, that may be, but I'm not terribly keen on riding one simply to chase some little fox and give it the fright of its life." He heard his own words and sighed at the irony of them. Then he remembered how much he loved irony, and a smile played about his mouth.

Merryll's smile disappeared. "Yes, you're right about that. Poor little thing." Adam angled his head to watch her as she spoke. "That's the one reason I never expected I'd do this--ride the hunt-- for sport, I mean. And I really don't like that part. Honestly, I just wanted the chance to ride the Commodore."

"Yes, right, well, now you've brought it up," Adam noticed she was eating with some enthusiasm, "I don't think it's such a good idea, your riding that horse, Merryll."

"Oh, Adam, don't be such a spoil sport."

He leaned back, resting one elbow on the step behind him, his attention fully on her. "Call it what you will, he's too unpredictable. You heard what the stable master said. Not to mention the owner!" Adam was genuinely concerned for her. "Merryll, what if you're somewhere miles away and he decides to throw you off and leave you where you land? Hm? What then?"

She swallowed her food. "Well, I guess I'll just have to walk back. If I can't stay on him, I deserve what I get."

"Now, Merryll, really. You should be more sensible about this. A strange horse, and riding like a bat out of hell all over the countryside with these yahoos..."

"Sshh, Adam! Don't say such things."

"Well, it's true. I think--"

"If you're so worried," Merryll interrupted, "maybe you should come with me."

Adam's mouth dropped open for a second in surprise, "Well,um, don't...don't try and change the subject, Merryll. You've got no business doing it. You're hardly strong enough yet to swat a fly, let alone control that great brute of a horse."

"Adam, really! I rode him yesterday and we did just fine," She swallowed another forkful of her food and swigged some juice, then made a face. "Ack. That doesn't taste good! Blech! Yuck!"

"Here, let me see," Adam took the glass of juice, sniffed it, tipped it up, then rose hastily and spewed the contents in his mouth into the pot of a ficus tree standing nearby.

Merryll gasped, "Adam! What are you... are you all right?"

"'Gads, that was awful. Wonder if the whole lot was spoiled. That was bloody rotten. Don't drink anymore of that, Merryll."

"Don't worry." She grinned at him, then giggled behind her hand. "You probably killed the poor plant."

"Well, you didn't expect me to swallow it, did you?"

"I wish I hadn't!? she murmured, then said, Do sit down and be still a minute."

Adam obeyed her wish, once again stretching his long slender legs over several steps. He leaned on his elbow close to her, watching her eat. She glanced up, saw him watching her and asked, "Aren't you going to eat?"

"Once the crowd thins a bit. I do hate crowds."

"Oh," she said, chewing, mouth full, "me, too."

"Um-hm." Adam gazed into her eyes and allowed his dimples to show. He knew Merryll liked his dimples. Merryll smiled back. Then, to hide the blush she felt rising in her cheeks, she turned to have some coffee. She took one swallow, then made another face.

"What now?" Adam asked, amused.

"Weak as pond water," Merryll whispered. He grinned broadly at her colloquialism, then chuckled. She giggled again. He watched her, glad to see her so animated. He spoke thoughtfully, "You better save your strength, Merryll. These hunts can be bloody awful--long and cold and miserable. And you're coming off quite a lot of time in bed and--"

"Excuse...excuse me, please?" a man's voice requested room to pass. Adam gathered his long legs under him and stood to let the man go by, irked at having to move because there was enough room on the staircase to go around them for anyone who wished to pass. He noticed the man's interested, inquiring look at Merryll. "Recuperating!" The word shot out of Adam's mouth aimed pointedly in the face of the man, who then moved along, glancing back at the two on the stairs more than once. "Bloody cretin," Adam muttered. Merryll laughed and leaned back against the stair banister.

"You're going to give me a reputation whether I deserve it or not, Adam, if you don't mind how you say things and who hears them."

He settled again as comfortably as was possible on the steps, moving the coffee cup a little, smoothing her skirt a bit. He angled his head again to look at her. "Are you nervous?"

Merryll laughed, "A little," then she whispered, "but don't tell." Adam gazed at the color in her cheeks and her sparkling eyes. "Have I told you yet how beautiful you look?"

"At least three times," she smiled and Adam watched as the dimple just to the left of her mouth appeared. Adam liked that dimple very much. "Well, make it four. You look gorgeous. Your eyes look...that color is just... See here, Merryll, why not forget about this ridiculous hunt business and stay here and we'll have a lovely quiet game of backgammon by the fire in the library and..."

Merryll's eyes were dancing with laughter when she asked, sotto voce in her best French accent, "And weel zee Co-lo-nel Mus-tard be there?"

Adam grinned and leaned toward her, "Absolutely, and with berries to share!" He found their private joke deliciously enjoyable.

A horn blasted outside, startling them, and they both jumped. Merryll's eyes widened and her eyebrows went up. "I think he's playing my song."

Adam put a hand on her arm. "I really wish you'd reconsider, Merryll. There's no need to take such risk as riding that bloody beast all over creation with these bunch of dressed up yokels... really, why not just..."

Merryll covered his hand with hers. "You're such a dear to worry about me. But don't. The Commodore and I have already bonded."

"Oh, really?"

"Yes."

"'Bonded', have you?"

"Um-hm."

"Merryll--" The horn sounded again.

"Adam," Merryll touched his face and smiled. "You don't need to worry about me. But, " she leaned over and placed her cheek next to his and spoke softly into his ear, "I admit, I kind of like it that you do." And she kissed his cheek. Then she drew back and said, "I must be off, dear boy." She patted his face sweetly, and with that, Merryll stood and went lightly down the steps toward the door.

Adam watched her walk, tall and elegant in the velvet habit and black boots, and shook his head. He said softly, "Well, if you must, then I suppose you must." Then he raised his long form off the steps and followed her outside.



Not realizing Adam had followed her, Merryll made her way quickly to the stable area. She avoided using the well-laid out paths that spiraled out from the main house, cris-crossing and bisecting each other as they led to the various outbuildings. She chose instead to use a short cut which one of the gardeners had pointed out to her the day before, and by-pass the first and second barns, where grooms were leading horses out and guests were preparing to mount them.

The path led Merryll through Glyndebourne's beautifully landscaped gardens whose rose bushes and other flowering shrubs, yet to bloom, glittered with a light frost in the early morning sunlight. The chilly air cut straight through Merryll's riding habit so that by the time she arrived at the Commodore's barn, her teeth were chattering. Her face felt nearly frozen, and she wondered if Adam were not correct after all, that today was a day for backgammon by the fire instead of a wild chase on horseback through the countryside.

She pulled the door open and the warmth of the small barn flooded over her. As she entered, the sight of the Commodore drove every other thought from her head. She saw Harry Gallagher's back and his hand holding the Commodore's lead as they walked the length of the barn. Merryll stood quite still and watched as they reached the far end, then turned to retrace their steps. The stallion took a step, spotted Merryll, then stopped in his tracks, flung his head and blasted a whinny. Harry grimaced at the sound. Merryll laughed and called, "Good morning."

"Mornin' to you, miss," his words were drowned out by another blast from the black.

Merryll laughed again and spoke to the horse, "Well, I did say 'good morning', didn't I?" She approached them slowly.

"He's been expectin' you, ma'am."

"You've already had him out this morning?" she asked, looking the black horse over with a knowing eye.

"Yes, indeed, miss, and full of beans he is, too."

"Is he, now?" Merryll was smiling.

"Aye, it's the weather, miss. Cool like this makes him frisky as a colt, and it bein' spring and all-well, and he knows what's goin' on, too, no doubt about it." Harry's Irish accent was pleasant to Merryll's ears.

"I can imagine," she murmured holding a carrot toward the horse, who stretched his powerfully broad neck and flip-flopped his velvet lips till he could grasp the treat. She moved around beside him and spoke softly, "You don't mind a little treat for him, do you, Harry? He looks gorgeous with his hooves all shiny and. My goodness, Harry! You've got him looking absolutely grand!"

"Yes, miss, I'd have to say, he does at that." The stable master managed a smile.

"I see you unbraided his mane." Merryll ran her hand over the horse's neck, which was warm and only slightly damp. Then she touched the mane she had so carefully braided two days before. It cascaded in long rippling waves to the horse's shoulder. "It's beautiful." Her voice was a caress and the Commodore's ears flicked back, listening intently to her. "Is he ready to go then, Harry?"

"Aye, miss. But he is a handful and I do wish you'd consider just riding him around the paddock, or even in the practice ring once they've all gone."

"Oh, I couldn't do that," Merryll responded, caressing the Commodore's slender face. He rolled an eye, watching her every move. "It wouldn't be fair to him, not to mention me!" The horse nodded and nudged her gently with his head. She glanced up to see Harry's expression and decided she should offer some reassurance. "Look, I just want to feel how he goes. I'll take a jump or two, then come right back to the barn. How's that?"

"Well," the horseman sighed, "Better than going the whole way, Miss Meredith, believe me. A hunt to hounds can be not only exhausting but dangerous. Many more than one person's lost his life on such an outing."

Merryll smiled at him. She liked this kind man. He must be about her age, she guessed, or perhaps even a few years younger. She knew that he cared for the horse and that his concern for her was genuine. "I'll be careful, Harry Gallagher."

"Please do miss. And you'd do well to stay away from the crowd. They tend to bunch up heading into the jumps and that's when it gets truly dangerous. These folk don't seem to think about that. They don't really care who gets hurt, horse or human, I sometimes think. Just tear about like chickens minus their heads, intent on bein' first at the kill. You must watch and stay clear of 'em, miss, else when they go down, they'll take you with 'em."

Merryll nodded. "I will. I'll remember what you said and do my best. We did have a good practice ride yesterday, don't you think?"

Harry sighed and smiled ruefully. "Well, and a few turns with just him all by himself in the ring is a sight different from riding him after hounds with all these folk and their mounts. It's a bit like a crazy auto race without rules. You never know when one of 'em might hit the wall and spin out of control, if you follow me?"

"Indeed I do, Harry." Merryll looked thoughtfully at the black stallion's lowered head. His finely shaped ears pointed inward toward each other as he pricked them, then flicked them back to listen to her. As the horse gently whiffled her hand with his soft nose, inhaling her scent and looking for another carrot, Merryll noticed again the scars around his ears and on his neck and something rose up in her chest. She patted him tenderly and repeated softly, "Indeed I do."

The stable master helped her mount the horse, then adjusted the stirrups for her and handed her a pair of leather riding gloves. "You'll need these for sure, miss."

"Thank you." Merryll liked the softness of the black kid gloves as she pulled them on.

"How's the fit, Miss Meredith?"

"Like a second skin. They're perfect. And please, just 'Meredith'. No 'miss' is needed."

He smiled and nodded, then passed her the riding helmet and continued, "Do remember, now, if he takes the bit, just rattle him a wee bit with the reins. Tug opposite what he expects and likely you'll get it back." She raised her eyebrows at that and Harry added, "The way I showed you yesterday."

"Right you are, Harry. I remember." She did not sound completely convinced, even to her own ears.

Gallagher led the horse to the door of the barn, then stopped, turned his back to the door and looked up at Merryll, his hand on the horse's mane near the pommel of the saddle. "Meredith, are you sure you won't change your mind?" He lowered his voice. "There'd be no shame in it, just a...a re-thinking of the situation." The Commodore snorted, then stood perfectly still, attention riveted to the front as he caught the scent of other horses beyond the barn door. Harry saw Merryll's vivid blue eyes sparkling as she smiled down at him.

She gazed at the horseman and felt genuine fondness for him. "I do thank you for that, Harry Gallagher." She covered his hand briefly, then withdrew her hand to pull the gloves securely on. "If I'm not back by 2:00, send out the search parties!"

"Oh, miss, don't even joke like that! Please!"

Merryll simply gathered the reins and asked, "Ready, Harry?"

"You don't mind if I lead him up to the group, do you? And we'll keep back just a ways?"

"That's fine. You know best about that."

"Yes, miss, er, that is, Meredith." Gallagher looked close to miserable, but he managed an admiring smile for her. She did have spunk, he had to admit it, and she was a striking figure in the bright blue outfit.

A groom opened the barn door and cold air whooshed over them, ruffling and lifting the Commodore's mane. Harry led them out into the morning light. Merryll noticed for the first time that a light fog seemed to hang about in bits and pieces, here and there, over the practice ring and among the lower branches of the fir trees beyond it. She heard the Commodore's hooves thump in the soft soil at the entrance to the barn and, at the same moment, felt a ripple of anticipation go through him. Her insides quivered a bit with her own anticipation and Merryll realized she was excited to be riding this horse, this beautiful, cold morning.

Adam, standing in the shadows, watching and hearing every word, waited a moment, then followed.

As they approached the gathering of riders and horses at the first barn, the Commodore was stepping lively. Merryll laid a reassuring hand on the black horse's shoulder and felt the Commodore's tension in the muscles of his powerful body. She admitted to herself that Harry might be correct after all, that it would indeed be better not to ride the Commodore in the hunt today. But for Merryll there was no turning back now. She stretched her hand forward and let it rest on the stallion's neck. His skin jumped nervously at her touch and his ears flicked back for a second, then strained eagerly forward as he gazed intently at the crowd several hundred feet away. Merryll felt his ribs expand under her, and she shook slightly in the saddle as he whinnied mightily. She grinned and murmured, "Here we come, you fancy bunch."

Harry muttered, "Well, and I guess that got their attention right enough."

The rather peaceful tableau in the huge paddock turned into a flow of constant movement that became ever more frantic the closer Harry, Merryll and the Commodore came. Harry held the lead attached to the bit ring, as well as the reins of the bridle just under great horse's mouth, pressing down on the bit to restrain him. The Commodore's huge neck was bowed deeply, and his coat, already wet with sweat, was a glimmering sheen of blue-black. He pranced slowly on the tips of his shining hooves, switching his magnificent tail that reached nearly to the ground, and blowing through his nostrils.

Already mounted, Duncan watched their approach with growing trepidation. He muttered under his breath when the black shied suddenly and crab-stepped. To her credit, Merryll stuck to his back like a veteran jockey aboard a fractious thoroughbred. Duncan knew a less experienced rider would easily have been unseated. He watched Merryll lean forward speaking to the horse, calming him with her hands and voice. The stallion's ears moved back and forth. Good, Duncan thought. At least the creature was listening to her. Whether he would obey was another matter entirely.

Duncan maneuvered his tall bay mare, breaking free of the crowd at last, and headed quickly toward Merryll. He did not have far to go as she had moved up to about fifty yards from the rest of the riders. Duncan watched as Lord Welbourne on his big gray gelding, and a man Duncan knew to be Clifford Davis-Whyte, Welbourne's solicitor, riding a rangy roan hunter, both rode toward Merryll. Duncan observed words passing between them and hurried his horse to reach her side.

"...Back from the crowd, Ms. DiAngelos," Lord Welbourne was saying. "I told you to find her another mount, Gallagher." The words were cold, as was the look Welbourne turned on the stable master.

Merryll spoke as Harry turned the horse away. "It's not his fault, Geoffrey. I'm the one who..."

"That horse is not for you to ride!" Welbourne's tone was so curt, Davis-Whyte turned to look at him in some surprise. Welbourne amended his statement. "The beast is too unpredictable." His voice was still raised, however, and he was clearly very angry.

At the sound of Welbourne's voice, the Commodore shied, whinnied, and shook his head trying to rid himself of the man holding so tenaciously to the reins. Harry would not be shaken loose; however, he was clearly struggling to maintain control over the huge horse.

Standing a few feet back, Adam saw several riders move closer to see what was happening. "Great!" he muttered to himself. "Just great!" He would have given a lot to have a horse under him right then, despite what he had said earlier to Merryll. Adam's attention went to Welbourne, who was not content to let the matter drop. He continued his rebuke of the stable master, moving ever closer to Merryll and the black horse. His lordship's gray gelding was nervous about the proximity of the stallion, Adam could see, but the owner used his crop and forced the gray forward. He was followed closely by Davis-Whyte and several others from the group of guests.

Fools! Adam thought, bloody fools, all of them! If anyone should be hurt, and it appeared that was a fair probability, Welbourne would have no one but himself to blame. Adam tried to figure how he could best help Merryll. She appeared calm aboard the powerful stallion who was obviously strung taut and ready to explode across the courtyard. Adam blinked and it seemed to him that he truly saw the great horse for the first time. The Commodore's conformation was exquisite. His chest and shoulders were massive, and his hindquarters equally so. Adam felt a touch of awe as he regarded the horse's movements. The animal looked like one of Michaelangelo's sculptures come to life; the powerful chest muscles might have been chiseled from smooth granite, and the legs were long, the ankles slender. The face was sensitive - almost, but not quite, too delicate--and the ears pointed so far inward toward each other as they were pricked that they almost touched at the tips. His eyes were bright and terribly intense, as he watched the crowd, and it seemed to Adam that the horse managed somehow to keep one eye on Welbourne at all times.

Adam caught Harry's attention and motioned that he could help. Harry shook his head. He had actually succeeded in getting the Commodore to go in a small circle. Still on the tips of his hooves, the horse was snorting with each step, his ears working madly as he alternately listened to Merryll, then to Welbourne, who clearly was the cause of the black horse's distress. Adam moved as close as he dared, anxious for Merryll.

Working to calm the Commodore, Merryll was thankful for Harry's hands and weight holding the horse. She listened as Geoffrey, Lord Welbourne berated the stable master until she could stand it no more. "Really, Geoffrey. That's quite enough, don't you think? There's no need for public humiliation. There was not another horse available in five counties around. What's done is done. We'll be just fine if you stay back."

"If I...!" His lordship's face registered the surprise and displeasure he felt at being spoken to in such a manner. How dare she contradict him? His eyes narrowed as he spoke loudly enough to be heard by at least half the company of riders. "So, Ms. DiAngelos, you think with a lump of sugar and some sweet words you can actually conquer that brute?" He urged his reluctant mount forward, and when the horse hesitated, Welbourne spurred him and brought the crop down hard on the gelding's rump. The gray grunted in pain and jumped forward.

Though chilled by the cold air, Merryll felt anger seethe through her at the man's arrogance and rudeness. The root of her anger, however, lay in the knowledge that this haughty man had abused not only the magnificent animal on whose back she sat, but his own mount as well. She called out, her voice cold, "Please, Geoffrey, stay back. You're upsetting him. We won't come any closer and we'll be just fine if you stay back as well."

She saw the man's face go white with fury. "Are you telling me to stay away from my own horse?" His words cut like the crack of a carriage whip.

"Well, you hate him, don't you?" she tossed over her shoulder as the horse turned and her back was to the owner of the estate.

Geoffrey noticed that a number of guests were listening to the exchange and replied sarcastically, "Don't be absurd. I wouldn't waste my energy hating a mere animal, especially not that brute." And he laughed. It was a mirthless sound. A few nervous titters ran through the crowd.

Merryll felt fury surge through her again so fast it was almost dizzying. Yet, she was detached enough to be amazed at the intensity of her feeling. She hated liars, most especially cruel men who lied. And Geoffrey, Lord Welbourne was a cruel man, and a blatant liar, as well.

Amazingly, Harry had the Commodore somewhat calmed and under control as the horse stood with his back to the guests and their mounts. Merryll murmured to the Commodore as she patted him and gathered the reins and softly asked Harry to release the lead. He said, "No, Meredith, please. Wait till they leave."

"Harry," Merryll leaned forward and spoke softly, "if I wait till they leave, he'll just run that much harder to catch up. Please. Let him go." Her voice sounded calm and assured. Harry looked up and saw steely blue eyes, and he knew she was determined to ride. He knew, too, and that he must let the horse go, though he feared it would be the worst mistake of his life. Reluctantly, he released the lead from the bit ring, but kept his hand on the horse's neck.

"Besides," Geoffrey was continuing rather loudly, "that bloody beast is stubborn as a mule and refuses to obey. The bastard is not worth two figs." He smirked significantly at the crowd and several laughed and commented to one another.

Merryll glanced over her shoulder and spoke, her lovely voice carrying clearly in the morning air. "Then sell him to me for a thousand pounds." She looked up again quickly in front of her and was pleased to see Adam standing just a few steps away. Their eyes met, and he frowned slightly and gave his head a little shake. Merryll dropped her right eyelid in an inconspicuous little wink.

Her words brought laughter and a spatter of applause from the crowd of onlookers. Apparently they were familiar with the horse's reputation and with their host's opinion of him. Merryll guided the Commodore so that his back remained to the company. She could feel him playing with the bit and he was prancing lightly under her, snorting with each step. She felt jostled and wished he would stand still, or simply walk. He suddenly shied to the side at nothing Merryll could see, then bucked a little under her tight hold on the reins. She caught a glimpse of Welbourne moving closer and she called out, "Stay back, Geoffrey, please!"

"You don't really expect me to sell that horse to you for a mere thousand pounds?" he called out in disbelief.

She answered, "Well, I understand the glue factory pays only 250." The Commodore swerved under her, determined to have Geoffrey and the gray in his line of sight. As he did so, Merryll caught a glimpse of the crowd of guests. She was surprised to find them mounted and most of them watching her and the Commodore. She was also surprised to see how close to her they had moved. The Commodore saw the crowd, as well as the man who had tried to beat him into submission. Tossing his head, the stallion squealed an angry whinny and pulled hard to get the bit between his teeth. Merryll circled her hands, wrapping the reins around them for a better hold, sticking to him as he tried to lunge forward, almost running out from under her. She spoke softly to the horse, who tossed his head and came around. Merryll then looked up and her eyes met Lord Welbourne's. She tilted her head slightly and said, "Nine hundred."

Laughter followed her words. She felt irked and wished the crowd would shut up. Harry moved closer and reached up to grab the reins again, but the Commodore smoothly side-stepped him, tossing his head. The crowd fell back a ways as the black stallion swerved his powerful hindquarters around, narrowly missing several of the horses. Geoffrey was incensed. "Nine hundred pounds?" You must be joking. With his papers and bloodlines, he's worth at least...at least--"

"Two figs?" Merryll asked. She knew she was being incorrigible, but she did not seem able to stop herself. And after Geoffrey's behavior the night before, she did not really want to stop. This entire bizarre scenario had been set in motion and she felt a perverse urge to carry it out to its end. Some of the company laughed outright at Merryll's reply. Others merely watched. She called out, "Eight hundred pounds."

Davis-Whyte, gloved hands resting on the pommel of his saddle, spoke loudly enough for all to hear. "Best take that offer, Geoffrey. Seems the market's falling fast."

Suddenly, the black swerved yet again under Merryll, his huge hindquarters brushing the gray's chest. The gelding snorted and half-rose on his hind legs, trying to get out of the stallion's path. Infuriated, Geoffrey yanked the reins, pulling him down, then snapped at Merryll, "How dare you!"

Pulling the rein and bringing the Commodore around, Merryll said, not at all regretfully, "Sorry, Geoffrey. I don't think he likes you."

"That beast is a menace. Get him out of here!"

Merryll said brazenly, "I asked you to stay back, Geoffrey. You obviously upset him. Wonder why that is."

Welbourne responded acidly, "He's my horse. I'll come as close as I like!"

The Commodore was fighting Merryll for the bit. She said, earnestly this time, "Geoffrey, please. I'm trying to bring him round. If you'll just give us some room..." Squealing a whinny, the angry stallion lunged toward Welbourne. Merryll pulled hard on the reins. The Commodore turned his head, but his lunge carried him forward so that his chest bumped a glancing blow against Geoffrey's leg and the gray's side. Fighting, Merryll was able to turn the black once more, this time to the right, so she did not see Geoffrey's quick move. He used spurs and crop to force his dappled gray hunter closer.

Merryll was able to hold the Commodore as he moved, trying to keep the crowd and Lord Welbourne in his line of sight. But in the moving, her position was changed so that it was she, rather than the Commodore, who felt the heavy lash of Geoffrey's crop across her shoulder as he struck out with it. She was utterly shocked and instantly, completely infuriated. She swung the black around in one quick, tight motion. Then Merryll moved without thinking. She dropped the rein from her right hand into her left and snatched the crop from Geoffrey's hand as the Commodore lunged forward under her. With her left hand she clutched at the stallion's mane, then fumbled, crop in hand, to regain her grip on the reins. Suddenly, the Commodore stopped and Merryll pitched forward. But fortunately for her, the horse held his head up so she was able to remain on his back.

As she sat back up, struggling to regain her balance, Merryll saw Duncan in front of her. He had guided his horse straight across the path of the Commodore, preventing the stallion from lunging into the crowd of guests on their horses, and thus saving Merryll from flying off the horse?s back. Her eyes met Duncan's for the briefest of moments as she grabbed the loose rein and turned the snorting Commodore completely around, again on his heels, to face Lord Welbourne.

Standing just a few feet away, Adam was amazed at the way Merryll handled the powerful horse, which stood trembling under her hold on the reins. His body glistened with sweat and his muscles rippled as he snorted and pawed the cobblestones, a barely restrained mass of hatred for his owner. Adam heard a slight tremble in Merryll's voice as she spoke. He knew she was furious. "How dare YOU, Geoffrey! That was outrageous, unconscionable behavior!"

Welbourne spoke stiffly, "You must believe me, I never intended for you--"

She shot back at him, "If not me, who?" Her voice rose. "The horse?" Welbourne said nothing. "You foul, cruel bully! And when you had whipped him, what did you expect to happen? That he would have thrown me onto the cobblestones? Was that what you really wanted?"

"I didn't think--" he began, not meeting her blazing eyes.

"Oh, right. Right!" She shook with fury and spoke through clenched teeth. "You didn't think!"

Amazed at the expression he saw on her face, Adam almost expected to see Merryll charge into Welbourne. The noble-man's face was a mask. Merryll opened her mouth to speak and was surprised herself to hear her own words. "Seven hundred pounds for the horse and I won't sue you for criminal assault."

Suddenly, everything seemed to grow quite still around Merryll. It appeared to her that the crowd of guests receded into the background. No longer individuals, the group had become a sea of red, their scarlet coats blurring and blending together, bright splashes of color against the backdrop of gray dawn. The only sounds she heard were the Commodore's blowing and snorting and her own heart pounding in her ears. It seemed to her that her body sank more deeply into the saddle, and that she was melting into the horse, actually becoming part of him. She could no longer tell where her legs ended and his sides began.

She felt the great horse tremble and move beneath her, and thought how easy it would be to loosen the rein just a bit. No one would see it, but the Commodore would feel it. If she let the rein slip just a bit through her fingers, he would without doubt seize the opportunity to plunge forward into Geoffrey and the gray, knocking them over and trampling them under his furious hooves. No one would blame her--the horse was simply too wild. Geoffrey should have gotten rid of him long ago. And now it would be too late. Geoffrey and his gray would lie trampled to death, a bloody mass of mangled flesh, human and horse alike mingled on the ground, their blood running between the cobble-stones and dripping from the Commodore's hooves. Merryll gave her head a little shake as she recoiled inwardly in horror at the scene her imagination had played out for her in split seconds. She sat quite still on the barely restrained stallion, looking for all to see, as if she were completely cool and utterly calm.

The stillness around Merryll ended abruptly when Clifford Davis-Whyte pushed his roan mare into the small space between Merryll on the Commodore and Geoffrey on his gray, which was still standing sideways to Merryll. He said shortly, "As Lord Welbourne's solicitor, I believe I can speak for his lordship, can I not Geoffrey?" Hardly pausing for the brief nod from Welbourne, Davis-Whyte continued, "Sold! Congratulations, Ms. DiAngelos. You've bought yourself a horse. May you ride him in good health. And, on behalf of Lord Welbourne, may I offer profoundest apologies for the inadvertently misdirected use of his riding crop. I would urge you to see a physician immediately, for your own peace of mind, as well as for safety's sake."

Merryll turned her icy stare on the handsome man who spoke so quickly and smoothly for the host of the hunt. He was just a little too pretty to suit Merryll...something about the way his bright yellow hair waved over his eyebrow. She wondered if her lip were curling, and struggled to hide the contempt that she felt for both men. Davis-Whyte was continuing, "And I would just reiterate your offer, that in this transaction, you stipulate no charges will be brought against his lordship." He waited, watching her.

As Merryll stared coldly at him, the attorney suddenly found swallowing a difficulty. She looked furiously angry to him. Her face was set, and though her cheeks were red with the cold, she looked pale around her mouth. Her eyes were the flinty blue-gray of gunmetal as she gazed unwaveringly at him. He blinked, then his eyes widened as he gazed back at her. Davis-Whyte felt a gnawing begin in the pit of his stomach. He thought he had never before seen anyone look as she looked. Fierce, he thought. She looked truly fierce.

The Commodore pawed once, twice, then stood still, mouthing the bit, his great neck bowed so deeply that his chin nearly touched his enormous chest. Merryll felt oddly detached, utterly cold through and through. No one spoke a word. When at last she broke the silence, it seemed to her that someone else was speaking. As if completing the solicitor?s sentence for him, she said, clearly enough for the entire company to hear, "And for the record, and stable master Gallagher's reputation, as well as for my own, the scars on the Commodore are there for all to see, from wounds inflicted by neither me nor Mr. Gallagher at any time."

Just then, Adam moved slightly and Merryll saw him in her peripheral vision. Without removing her gaze from Davis-Whyte, she said, "Adam, would you be so kind as to write our host a check for 700 pounds." She paused, then added shortly, still staring at the solicitor, "You may be sure I'm good for it."

Davis-Whyte felt a bead of sweat roll down his spine. He wanted very much to be anywhere but where he was, directly in the path of the huge, angry black horse and his furious rider. Adam reached into his pocket, produced a checkbook and wrote quickly. He stepped forward and handed the check up. Davis-Whyte gave it a cursory glance, then nodded his acknowledgement. A feeling of relief flowed throughout the crowd.

"And Lord Welbourne," at Merryll's words, everyone froze, their attention riveted on Merryll. Her voice was beautiful in the cool morning air. "You will further agree never to touch, nor even so much as come near me or my horse, the Commodore, again. Is that clear?"

Lord Welbourne gazed silently at Merryll. Suddenly, feeling fury sweep over her all over again, Merryll swiftly lifted her hand, the one that held the riding crop. And she lifted it so swiftly that Davis-Whyte flinched. Several people gasped, wondering if she were about to fling it at Welbourne. She held it aloft, her eyes never leaving Welbourne's face. He stared back, unblinking. The stallion shifted and snorted under Merryll as she slowly unfolded her gloved fingers, one by one, her hand held palm downward. At last, her hand was open and the whip fell silently to the ground.

As he watched from just a few feet away, it seemed to Adam that the short leather whip floated gently through the air and bounced softly on the cobblestones, finally landing at the Commodore's feet. He saw Merryll take hold of the reins with both hands, back the Commodore up three steps, then turn him. She looked splendid on the great horse, the full skirt of her riding habit spread over him so that she appeared to be riding bareback. The bright blue-green velvet was a stark contrast to the horse's gleaming black coat. As if totally aware that his magnificence was on parade, the huge stallion pranced his way across the area, seeming to hang momentarily suspended in space with each proud step. People and horses alike moved back before Merryll and the Commodore's forward progress, opening a path for them to proceed through the crowd.

Merryll appeared regally cool and in complete control. Indeed, the way she sat the horse, it would have been difficult for anyone to say that she was anything but strong and purposeful, a woman with a rod of steel for a back bone. However, Adam, knowing what he knew, wanted to pack her up and get her away from there immediately. He stepped up to Duncan and grabbed his horse's bridle, saying in a low voice, "Catch up to her and let's get out of here!"

Duncan looked down at him and replied, "If you'll let go of my reins..." Adam did so immediately and stepped back, and Duncan kicked the mare's sides. She leapt forward and Duncan was after Merryll instantly.

***********

When he rounded the barn, Duncan was surprised to see how far ahead Merryll already was. He urged the mare into a gallop and from there, quickly into a dead run in an effort to catch her.

Up ahead, Merryll felt the Commodore picking up speed, and she knew they were fairly flying; but her arms were simply too weak to hold him back any longer. And she almost did not care how fast he ran. Like him, she wanted to leave the crowd far behind. She only prayed for clear pastureland ahead, with few jumps. As the Commodore settled into his pace, Merryll found herself flowing with his rhythm as he ran. He truly was a joy to ride. The adrenaline that had rushed through her back in the paddock was still flowing and Merryll found it difficult to think clearly. However, she knew she should try to slow the horse. She sat up straight and tugged gently on the reins, talking to the black. His ears flicked back. For a second Merryll thought he would slow, but she realized that he had caught sight of a low stone wall up ahead. She murmured, "Oh, God, don't let me fall off." She held onto the horse's mane with both hands and gripped with her knees as the Commodore sailed over the crumbling wall and came down easily with barely a break in stride. She patted him and talked to him, tugging gently, asking him to stop.

Merryll did not blame the horse for refusing. He had taken the wall eagerly, and it was clear to her that he loved to run. She knew, then, that Harry was correct. The Commodore was a champion. She could feel his fluid movement and knew instinctively that he had great ability. But she also knew that she must stop soon, for her own sake. Merryll's legs felt so weak that her feet bounced off the back of the stallion's legs twice as she tried to slow him. It was just too long since she had ridden. Aside from yesterday's very brief practice round in the ring, she wondered when she had last ridden. It must have been several months ago in Connecticut at...Merryll's glance fell to the side, and she was amazed at how fast the ground was going by. What a stride the Commodore had! And the way he ran, the economy of movement, his hooves barely touching the ground.. ...The horse's tug at the bit snatched Merryll's attention back to the moment and up from the ground flying fast beneath them. She realized with a shock that she had begun to lean forward over the horse's withers.

God in heaven, help me to concentrate and stop this horse, she thought, sitting back up with some effort. She jiggled the reins and said, "Whoa, boy, whoa there." Just as she felt the horse's pace slowing, she became aware of galloping hooves behind her. The Commodore's ears flicked back. He had heard them, as well. Merryll felt his stride lengthen as he began to push forward again. She pulled and said, "No. Whoa, boy." The Commodore shook his head against Merryll's tight hold on the reins, unwilling to slow so soon after feeling the freedom and joy of running. In three more strides, Duncan was even with her, and leaning forward, he grabbed the reins under the black horse's mouth. It was rough going for a moment, but Duncan was able to pull them up at last. He asked, "Meredith, are you all right? Are you okay?"

She was leaning over the Commodore's withers, her hands wrapped in his mane. Both the horses' breath was steamy in the chilly air, as was hers and Duncan's. As Duncan led them at a walk for a little ways, Merryll slowly became aware of how cold she really was. At last, Duncan stopped them completely, then reached for her hand and untangled her fingers from the horse's thick mane. He unwound the reins from her hands, and slipped them over the Commodore's head, holding them in his own hand. He took hold of her hand again and asked, earnestly, "Meredith, are you all right?"

She was a bit breathless and still leaned a little forward over the black's neck. "Yes, I...I guess so. I feel pretty weak."

"And no wonder, hold on a second." Duncan looked all around them. They were in the middle of a pasture surrounded by meadows and pastures. They seemed to him to be safe enough where they were for the moment. He turned back to Merryll, surprised to find himself speechless before her. Her cheeks were red, whipped by the wind as they had galloped. She had been pale and weak since her arrival in Paris, still recovering from the fall she sustained on the ice in Ireland. Now, to see her looking so vital was something of a shock to Duncan. Merryll gazed at him with wide eyes. They were vivid blue, reflecting the color of her habit. They reminded Duncan suddenly of the skies over Loch Shiel on a sunny summer's day. He thought her eyes were quite beautiful and felt himself about to get lost in them.

He cleared his throat, looked ahead, then back at Merryll. He waited for her to catch her breath, as he held her hand, warming it in his own. Finally, he asked, rather fiercely, "Did that son of a bitch hurt you, Meredith?"

She answered slowly, "I really don't know. I'm ... I feel pretty numb, I think."

"You're cold, sweetheart. We should go back to the house and get you warmed up."

"Wait. Not just yet. Please, let me rest for a bit, all right? I need to rest a minute and I...I'm not ready to come face to face with that crowd again quite yet."

"Sure," he nodded then with relief, gently chafing her hands through her gloves as they sat on their horses. The sun was well up and warmed them a bit as they rested. However, it was not yet warm enough to dispel the morning chill. Just then, they heard the far away sound of the bugle, and the distant yelping of the dogs. Merryll looked questioningly at Duncan who glanced in the direction from which they had just come. "I don't see them yet. Can't imagine why they'd come this way."

Another moment passed and the Commodore snorted, shook his head and pawed the ground. "Oh, no," Merryll spoke softly, realizing what the horse sensed.

Glancing around, Duncan said, "I think it would be a good idea to get out of their way."

"Me, too, Duncan. Give me my reins, please." He hesitated, and she said, "Quick, before they come pouring down on us out of nowhere!"

He drew the reins back up and over the black's head. The big horse was restive, sensing the approach of the other horses and riders, and he was anxious to be off. Duncan asked, "Wouldn't you rather I held on to them for you, Meredith?"

"No thanks, Duncan."

"Can you keep him from tearing off with them, though?" Even as Duncan spoke, the stallion, anxious to be away, swung out sideways under Merryll's hold.

"Well, you can help hang on to him, if you want. That's fine. But it's too dangerous for me not to have hold of the reins." Duncan saw that her hands were full as she worked to calm the black, and he nodded, then looked back again.

They heard the sound of many hooves thundering over the earth and the frantic yelping of the hounds as they drew ever nearer. Suddenly, the Commodore blasted a whinny and whirled around, half-rearing and almost unseating Merryll. Duncan exclaimed, "Look there!" and pointed. Merryll looked and saw the fox, a mere wisp of red, tearing along the ground, desperate for cover of any kind. Suddenly, it cut and turned directly in front of them. The Commodore snorted in surprise and half reared. The fox passed so closely by that Merryll could see its markings, a single spot of white on its forehead and black whiskers on its muzzle. It sailed over a low stone wall up ahead and disappeared. Merryll was able to bring the Commodore down, but he had gotten the bit between his teeth, and in two lunging strides was after the fox. Duncan heard Merryll saying, "Whoa, there, whoa!" but the horse was already galloping.

He called out, "Wait! Not that way!" and quickly dug his heels into the mare's sides, urging her to follow. Holding her head up and her tail high behind her, she sprang into action, full of spirit and ready to run. Duncan saw Merryll pulling wide and hard on the reins, trying to turn away from the fox's trail. The black shook his head as he galloped half sideways, and Merryll nearly lost her balance over his shoulder. She gave in, then, and the stallion leaped forward. Duncan urged his mare to a fast gallop, trying to catch up to them.

The black took the low wall easily, snorting as he landed. Merryll was able to hold on. She need not have worried. The Commodore came down lightly, sure of foot and with great ease. She heard a shout and knew Duncan was behind her; but Merryll dared not turn around at the pace they were already going. She had taken a serious fall as a teenager doing just that--turning around while her small horse was at full gallop. She was badly injured then, and she was not about to make the same mistake again.

The hounds, close now, gave voice behind her. They were hot on the fox's trail, and Merryll knew that the galloping mob was not far behind. In only seconds, the Commodore had crossed the plot of grazing land and they were fast approaching a rail fence, something of a rarity in the English countryside. There was no stopping him now, Merryll knew, so she held on and prepared herself for the jump. As they approached the railing, she felt a split second of amazement when she saw the height of the fence. Then, she felt the stallion's powerful shoulders moving between her knees as he reached for the air, and the mighty thrust of his hindquarters lifting them up and over the fence with what seemed little effort. They landed smoothly, cleanly, never even grazing the rail with so much as the edge of a hoof. The black was clearly enjoying himself.

Merryll was amazed. She had ridden some good horses, and several really fine horses, but never one like this. The Commodore was so powerful, it seemed to her that they skimmed the ground, his hooves barely touching it as he ran. And when he jumped, she felt positively airborne. She was thrilled beyond words. There was no other feeling like this in the world! The Commodore was all she could have hoped for, all she expected and more. He was the horse of her childhood dreams. He's marvelous! Merryll thought, then grinned. And he's mine!

Just then, Merryll caught sight of some woods to her left. She felt certain that was where the fox was headed, and she wanted, suddenly very desperately, not to enter those woods. The Commodore seemed inexorably headed in that direction. As Merryll wondered how to get him to change his mind, she noticed that the ground was littered with small branches, and it looked to her as if rocks and small stones lay everywhere. She felt a moment of fear. What if he stumbled? Then, immediately ahead, rising out of the ground before them loomed a fallen tree. Merryll gasped and felt a shiver of fear go through her even as she felt a stab of pain through her ribs. Again, there was no time to alter course, the horse was moving so swiftly. She felt the Commodore adjust his stride slightly, and with a tremendous surge of his strength, he lifted them up, up, and over the obstacle. Merryll need not have feared. He knew exactly what to do, and she realized at that moment, instantly, she could count on him to do it. He landed so far beyond the tree, that Merryll thought absurdly, like a commentator calling a hunt competition, And he clears the giant oxer, missing the water by a good two feet!

With that silly thought, an idea struck her. She pulled hard on the off rein, away from the woods, two strides after the Commodore landed, and he followed her turn. "Oh, good horse. Good horsey!" she said softly, grinning to herself, then she giggled. I must be losing it, she thought, realizing, somewhat dimly, that she felt giddy, almost intoxicated. She knew that ought to frighten her and shook her head slightly in an effort to clear it; but the adrenaline was flowing again too strongly. She felt euphoric.

Because he had obeyed her pull on the reins, Merryll was able to direct the horse away from the woods and head him toward the open countryside. But he had settled into his pace, and they crossed another field before Merryll was able to gather enough strength to draw back on the reins. Again, absurdly, she felt laughter bubbling up inside her. It was wonderful to her, riding this magnificent horse, flying over the ground. She wished for a moment that she could just urge him on, and go and go, as long as he wanted to go, running and leaping and flying over the jumps.

The next moment, Merryll felt the powerful horse's speed slow only slightly as they ascended a rather steep rise. She saw the opportunity she needed, and worked to pull him back, not knowing what lay ahead. The stallion obeyed her request, further slowing his pace.

She heard a distant shout. The bugle sounded and the hounds yelped. The Commodore slowed again, flicking his ears back as he realized they were out of the hunt. They topped the rise and Merryll saw that in only a few strides, the ground would fall away before them in a steep descent to a stream, which cut through the meadow. She glanced quickly and saw that it flowed toward the woods she had just narrowly avoided. Merryll drew back on the reins again, asking the black not to go ahead. He blew and snorted and slowed as she asked. Standing weakly in the stirrups, she kept him cantering slowly along the top of the ridge, wondering where in the world she was and what in the world to do next. Her knees trembled, and Merryll knew she could not hold on for much more of this ride.

Not far behind, Duncan urged his mare to follow. She was surefooted and still fresh and she took the slope easily. When he topped the rise and saw the steep descent on the other side, Duncan was relieved that Merryll had been able to hold the stallion back. He felt admiration flood through him for the woman riding ahead of him. He thought she was incredible. Duncan urged his mare to catch up to the black horse and his rider, and she did so quickly as Merryll had finally pulled the Commodore from a canter down to a walk.

Duncan slowed to a trot and rode up alongside Merryll. Her face was flushed with the cold and the wind, but she was smiling as she turned her eyes on him, bright with exhilaration. Laughter rippled out of her and the sound was exuberant. Her hand was on the Commodore's neck and she was breathing quickly in short little gasps. "Isn't he amazing?" Laughter flowed out of her again. "I think I should call him Pegasus! Great heavens, Duncan! It feels like we're flying!" She patted the horse's neck and said with awe in her voice, "He's really amazing."

Smiling, Duncan nodded and said, "So are you." They pulled the horses to a stop and both turned to watch as, two fields back, the dogs poured over, through and under the rail fence they themselves had jumped only moments before. Horse after horse followed the hounds over the fence. Merryll saw that, just as Harry Gallagher had told her, they were bunched dangerously close together and the horses bumped and jostled one another. Several riders nearly fell, but with some effort, managed to stay on their mounts and follow the crowd into the woods.

Merryll felt cold in the pit of her stomach and shivered involuntarily. She looked at Duncan with wide eyes and just shook her head. He nodded, understanding only too well. Merryll looked ahead to see that the ridge broadened before them and the land rolled gently downward. As it was directly opposite the path of the hunt, Merryll thought it would be a good idea to continue in that direction. She asked, "Shall we ride down and let the horses get a drink?"

"They're probably all right, Meredith. Why don't we head on back?" Duncan was looking around as he spoke.

"Fine by me," Merryll replied. "Let's just walk for a bit. Do you mind? I'm ...I haven't ridden in a while and I'm a little shaky after all that."

"I don't mind at all, sweetheart."

She unbuckled the strap of her helmet and took it off. "Whew. Gives me headache, that thing."

"Best wear that, Meredith," Duncan admonished gently.

"I will, just...let my head rest for a minute. It's too tight or something." She rubbed her temple, then looked at Duncan's horse admiringly. "You have a good horse, Duncan. Really nice."

"She's Dutch," he responded, "a Hohenbrenner. Pandora's her name. I just hope she doesn't live up to it." Merryll laughed at him and Duncan enjoyed hearing it. She looked vibrant and happy, and Duncan thought she looked beautiful. "I think you're doing a fantastic job with that stallion, Meredith. I had no idea that you could ride so well.? Then, glancing around he added as an afterthought, ?Maybe this trip wasn't such a bad idea after all."

Merryll could not stop smiling as she replied, patting the Commodore's neck, "Oh, it's mostly him. He's a dream. I don't get to ride very often anymore, just occasionally. But I've always loved horses, ever since I was a little girl."

"Um-hm, I remember," he answered, his eyes on her face.

"What do you mean?" she looked rather puzzled.

"You told me about that a long time ago."

"I did?" she asked, trying to remember.

"Yes, you did. When we were at Sardi's after your debut at City Opera, remember? and--"

"Of course I remember Sardi's. But, I told you about my love for horses?"

Duncan nodded. "Just above our booth were pictures of Mickey Rooney and--"

"Young Elizabeth Taylor," she finished for him, recalling and laughing, "from the film National Velvet. Of course!"

"And you told me about loving horses as a girl and going on your summer and Christmas vacations to visit your grandparents' farm."

"I can't believe you remembered all that," Merryll was surprised, but very clearly pleased. Duncan could tell.

He answered, "Oh, I have a pretty good memory sometimes, about some things." His dimples showed as he glanced ahead.

"Yes, you surely do. That was...what, thirteen, nearly fourteen years ago?" He looked so handsome to Merryll with the sun shining on his black hair, and she thought it looked elegant pulled back in the ponytail. He wore no riding helmet.

Duncan nodded, smiling, then said, "I remember that night very well. And the day after. In fact," his voice softened, "I'll never forget it."

Merryll gazed into his eyes, her mouth slightly open, still amazed at what she was hearing. He remembered. He said he remembered it very well. She murmured, "I was so young then, just 25, and so naive--green as grass." She felt her neck and cheeks grow warm, and she glanced away, but not quickly enough for him to miss the blush. He remembered that, too, how lovely she looked turning pink and how frustrated she had become because she could not hide her feelings.

Duncan said gently, "I thought you were incredible, singing your debut at that age. And you carried it off very well, as I recall. The audience really liked you."

"Yes, well, they were very kind," Merryll laughed, embarrassed.

"No, you were very good," he retorted.

She just shook her head, then said as offhandedly as she could manage, "You should wear red more often, Duncan. It's a good color for you."

"Thank you, Meredith." He looked away to hide his smile.

The horses were walking comfortably. They had made a gentle turn and were headed back toward the manor house. "But don't change the subject," Duncan said easily.

"Subject? What subject?" Merryll asked.

"You," Duncan replied.

"Me?" she asked with wide-eyed innocence.

"Yes, you. They loved you. I heard 'bravo's' all over the place that night."

Merryll shook her head a little. "Well, they were a generous, welcoming audience. Not like at the Met. Now, that can be a tough audience."

"Really?" Duncan sounded surprised.

"Um-hm," was all Merryll said. She looked around. They were surrounded by open land, gently rolling pastures that were light green with spring grass and dotted with clover and small blue wildflowers.

Duncan tried again. "So the audience at the Metropolitan Opera is tougher?"

"Um-hm," Merryll replied.

"Why do you say that?"

Merryll did not answer for a moment. She was beginning to feel tired from all the effort she had expended, first in the paddock, then on the mad dash from the barn only moments ago. Her own weakness surprised her, and she had to sit carefully on the horse because her ribs were hurting. After a moment she realized Duncan was watching her, waiting for an answer. "Oh, maybe it's because it's been around longer, the company, I mean. It's more moneyed, and people are just more snobbish about it."

"You're saying that singing there is a sort of status symbol."

"Well, yes," Merryll was somewhat surprised at Duncan's question. "It's a major house. World-renowned singers perform there, and it has a great history." She glanced at him. "But you know all that, don't you, Duncan?"

"Yes. Yes, of course," he replied thoughtfully, "but I guess I had not considered that the audience might be different in some way."

"Believe me. They are." Merryll thought for a moment more, then added, "But then, every audience is different." The sun was bright above them and the sky so blue, it made Merryll's eyes water. However, the sky was quickly filling with puffy cumulus clouds and small scudding mare's tails. A breeze blew across the meadow, cooling Merryll's warm cheeks.

Duncan pursued his thought, "But Meredith, you've sung there. At the Met, I mean."

She replied briefly, "Yes."

"Well, didn't you enjoy it?" Duncan was intrigued. He wanted to know about her experience at the Metropolitan and why she seemed so unwilling to talk about it. He realized suddenly that he wanted to know everything about her life for the past fourteen years, everything that had happened to her, everything that he did not know. He wanted to talk to her and listen to her and hear about her joys and her hard times. From the first moment they had met, he knew intuitively that she was a true artist, despite her youth and relative inexperience. Now, she was a mature woman who had apparently lived a great deal in the ensuing fourteen years. To him, it seemed only yesterday, the day they had met; but he found himself bursting with curiosity about all that had transpired in the mean time. "I mean, didn't it go well for you?" he asked, in an attempt to draw her out. He needed to know.

"Oh, I suppose so." As Merryll adjusted her hold on the reins, she glanced at Duncan. He really looked interested in her answer. "I just think that if I had it to do all over again, I would never start my professional career at such a young age."

Duncan was surprised at that. She had been so anxious to plunge in, he remembered, and so thrilled at the opportunity he had helped arrange for her. "Why not?" he asked.

"Oh, lots of reasons," Merryll replied. She glanced at Duncan again and saw that he was still watching her intently. So as not to sound ungracious, or as if she did not appreciate his sponsoring her in the first year of her opera apprenticeship, Merryll felt she should explain further. "I think I worked too hard far too early. I don't know if you realized it then, Duncan, but I was pretty driven to achieve, and, well...I was just about burnt out after only five years or so." She smiled ironically. "I was ready to retire at 29." She recalled her own intensity and shook her head a bit. "The thing is, your voice doesn't last forever and you have only a few years in this business to make a success. You tend to feel intense pressure to take every opportunity...but you have to be careful, too, or you'll wreck yourself by doing too much.? She paused a moment, reflecting. ?I spent so much energy on my career early on? so much so that time sort of slipped by and...well, I--" Merryll gazed at nothing in particular, lost in thought for a moment. Duncan watched as her expressive face, so clearly reflecting her struggle to find words, suddenly closed, and a noncommittal expression masked her feelings. Merryll said matter-of-factly, "Oh, well, it's foolish to think about what might have been. What's done is done. Life is not a do-over, is it, Duncan?"

Duncan gazed silently at her, masking his own feelings as he heard her words. He remembered very well her intensity, her desires, her motivation, and her youthful optimism. He felt a pain around his heart as he listened to her. He knew far better than she realized the meaning of time and the swiftness of its passing. He knew, too, the pain of never being able to go back and recapture those moments that were so significant. He knew how rare they were, and more importantly to Duncan, he realized how rare she was. A treasure, he thought. She?s a treasure, full of surprises and gifts and talents and wonderful things, so full of life and love and joy. He felt his throat tighten as he gazed at her. Meredith!

She continued quickly to fill in the silence when he didn?t answer, "Well, that's what I heard someone say once and I guess he was right." Merryll wondered how he had pulled those thoughts out of her. She had not considered that subject for some time. It was not a pleasant one to her, and she was determined not to speak of it further. She sighed, looking around. "This is so beautiful. I just love it."

Duncan nodded. "Yes, it is beautiful." He was remembering why he had liked Merryll so much all those years ago. Aside from the physical attraction he felt for her, Duncan found her interesting. She had her own thoughts and ideas, and he wanted to know all of them. He looked at her and felt he could never grow tired of looking at her. She was not what might be called a classic beauty, but there was an indefinable quality about her that drew him. Perhaps it was her smile. She had a lovely smile; it was warm and joyous and welcoming. Her lips were full and luscious, and there was a cute little dimple just to the left of her mouth. Duncan remembered how it would appear when Merryll was about to laugh or say something mischievous. He gazed at her and thought, Perhaps it?s her eyes. Her eyes were big and blue and beautiful, and Duncan thought her eyelashes must be about a mile long. And the shade of blue changed with her mood. Sometimes, Duncan had noticed, they were the color of the piece of turquoise he had found on an Arizona mesa so many years ago. Sometimes, they were a flinty gray-blue, as they were earlier in the paddock when she had confronted Welbourne. And sometimes, like now, they looked clear aqua to him, like the spring skies over Loch Shiel. Yes, perhaps it was her eyes.

He glanced ahead, then back at her. She looked relaxed and happy, more so, he thought, than he had ever seen her. Her eyes seemed to sparkle as he watched her and his memory flashed for a moment on Hamburg and her performance as the Countess in Die Fledermaus. Duncan thought she had looked elegant, positively regal, in her costume, an emerald green ball gown. The German audience, who knew every note and word of the opera, had been smitten by her beautifully sung, mischievous portrayal of the Hungarian Countess at the ball. Watching her now, Duncan felt amazed at himself as he realized he felt almost star struck. As often as he had rubbed elbows with royalty, and men and women of power and position over the past 400 years, Duncan was surprised that he could still feel awed in the presence of anyone. It had been quite a long time since he had felt that way, but he felt it now. With Merryll.

Duncan wanted to pursue the other line of their conversation, but Merryll was speaking again. "...And unusual, isn't it? I mean, an estate this size, these days. Do you suppose all of this land is his?"

"Welbourne's? Yes, I believe it is. And yes, you're right. It is unusual. Heavy taxes and the changes in the economy over the last 40 or 50 years have forced the majority of large family estates to be divided up and sold off."

She looked at him quizzically. "I just said that, Duncan. " The dimple appeared. "Weren't you listening to me?"

"Yes. Yes, of course I was listening!"

Merryll bit her lip but could not completely hide her grin. "Such a shame," she shook her head and continued, "Progress isn't all they make it out to be, in my opinion."

"No? You'd prefer the titled folk keep their lands and rule over fiefdoms and own people, like in the old days?" Duncan was surprised.

"No. Not that exactly," Merryll replied hesitantly. "Although..."

"Although what?" Duncan asked, really curious.

"I just wish..." then Merryll laughed at herself, knowing the futility of her thoughts, "not that wishing does any good, but I just wish things were simpler and times were ...easier, more peaceful. Less turbulent and complicated." She paused and pulled the Commodore to a halt. Duncan pulled his mare up as well, watching Merryll as she gazed all around the meadow, light green with spring grass and dotted with small yellow wildflowers. Then she closed her eyes and murmured, "Listen. Do you hear it?"

Duncan was a little puzzled, but he thought he knew where she was going on her train of thought. "What? I don't hear anything."

"Exactly," Merryll said softly, then opened her eyes and smiled at him. He was dazzled. "Peace. And quiet." She sighed again, then murmured, "I've often thought it, and I used to say, I must have been born in the wrong century."

Fairly amazed at her, Duncan said, "But why, Meredith? Times have never been easy. Life was...well, it was so much harder back then. People died so much more...well, medicine wasn't what it is today and...wait, you mean you think you don't belong in this time, this century?"

"No, I suppose...that is, I'm sure I'm right where I'm supposed to be. And you can keep all the necessities, that's for sure! I didn't mean to do away with all things modern. Just the cars, you know, to slow things down a bit. I think..." she turned to face him, "it seems to me, life goes by far too fast these days, Duncan. Don't you see what I'm saying?"

"Well, I..." Duncan paused, "I guess I do, at that." He smiled at her, struck by the simplicity of what she was saying and at the same time, feeling the impact of the irony of her words. She had no idea...A movement in the sky caught his eye and he pointed over her shoulder. She turned to see a jet making what appeared to be a straight vertical ascent, leaving behind it a long white trail of smoke in the sky.

Merryll turned back to Duncan with a shrug and a smile, "Yes, well, there is that. She rubbed her arms. "Umm, the sun feels good. I think it's warming up." Even as she spoke, the sun went behind a gray cloud and the breeze lifted the Commodore's mane.

"Yes," Duncan replied, "but it's not warm enough really." He glanced at the sky. "It's clouding up. Let's head back now..."

"Oh! Was that a bee?" Merryll interrupted, surprised. "I didn't think it was all that warm!" She chuckled.

"A bee?" Duncan asked. "No, it's too cold yet for..."

"Oh! There's another one! It must be bees, Duncan. I heard them buzz right by me. Maybe we stirred up a hornet's next somewhere." Merryll half-turned and glanced over the ground behind them. "I don't see anything--"

"Meredith, it can't be--" Duncan interrupted her, then stopped mid-sentence. She glanced up to see a shocked expression on his face. "Duncan?" What's the matter?" she asked, concerned. "Did it sting you?"

He clutched at his shoulder and gasped, "It's not a bee, Meredith--"

She felt a sting on her forehead, then, and reacting instinctively, Merryll pulled the reins up and slapped at the air. The riding helmet flew out of her hands and rolled over the ground and the Commodore snorted and tossed his head as she pulled at the reins. Merryll hated bee stings, and she was very allergic to yellow jackets. She swatted at her forehead, and when she drew her hand away, she was surprised to see blood on it.

Duncan gasped, "Meredith, get out of here!"

"What?" she turned back around to him. He was holding his left shoulder, grimacing in pain. "Duncan?" Instantly concerned, she leaned toward him, then saw a dark stain growing on the shoulder of his scarlet jacket. Merryll heard a buzz twice more, one on either side of her head.

Duncan spoke hoarsely, "Get out of here, Meredith. Run! Somebody's shooting at us!"

Shocked, Merryll asked, "What? Are you--" The Commodore squealed a whinny and half-reared. Shocked again, Merryll grabbed his mane and managed to hang on, gathering up the reins just in time to keep him from bolting out from under her. "Oh, God," she said, "oh, God." She saw blood on the black's neck just a couple of inches up from the pommel of her saddle. She stood in her stirrups and shouted with all her might, "Don't shoot!" then sat down hard when knife-like pain shot through her ribs. Suddenly her hands were full as the Commodore tried to lunge forward. Before he could, she wheeled him around on a tight rein, looking frantically around. All she could see was rolling meadows of bright green. Just as she turned, she saw Duncan leaning forward over his mare's neck. "Oh, God. Oh, God," she gasped. She guided the Commodore around Pandora's rump, then came up on Duncan's left side.

"Duncan? Duncan?" she called out.

He gasped, "Go! Get out of here! Leave me. Go on!" Then he groaned softly.

"Duncan, hang on. Hang on!" Merryll jerked the reins from his hand and pulled them over Pandora's head, then put her arm through Duncan's left arm, kicked the mare's side and said, "H'yah! Pandora!"

The mare jumped forward and the Commodore leapt into motion. In two strides, they were in sync, galloping headlong across the meadow. "No jumps, please, no jumps," Merryll gasped, hanging on to Duncan and struggling to stay seated on her own horse. It was impossible to crouch forward, so she just held on and rode. Duncan gasped, "Leave me, Meredith. Just go!" and began falling forward.

"No! Duncan, hang on!" Merryll yelled, dragging at him, pulling up on his arm. She loosened the reins, thinking, the Commodore knows where to go. She held Pandora's reins close, keeping her tight up against the Commodore's side so as to maintain her grasp on Duncan's arm. Her knee was just behind his as the horses hurtled across the meadow. She gasped, desperately, "Oh, God! Help us."

Moments passed, and suddenly Merryll realized she could not remember watching their path very carefully as she and Duncan had ridden and talked. And suddenly she realized she had not been guiding the Commodore. She looked frantically ahead and just as suddenly realized that nothing looked familiar. She saw wisps of fog lying silently across the meadow. Where had that come from, she wondered, and how could it possibly... It seemed darker to her and she realized then that the sun had long since disappeared behind clouds that were no longer white, but gray and darkening. In fact, the day looked quite dusky, as days in England often do just before the sun sets. She felt panic trying to rise inside her, a cold, gnawing feeling in her stomach as she wondered desperately where they were and what to do. In that same moment, Merryll remembered the fear she had felt as they approached the high rail fence, and the relief and confidence that surged up in her when the Commodore carried them both over it fearlessly and perfectly. Her memory flashed a picture of the dangerous area surrounding the fallen tree, and the thrill she had felt when the great horse ran effortlessly, missing the branches and scattered rocks, and leaped over the tree, so powerfully overcoming the hazardous obstacles. Feeling her desperation turn to calm, Merryll said, "Go home, Commodore, go home," and she gave the stallion his head.

Still hanging on to Duncan, she looked around, trying to find some landmark, some familiar thing to help her get her bearings, wondering how she could tell where they were. They were being swallowed up in gray clouds of fog. Dear God, where did that come from, she wondered, and how could it be everywhere so fast? It was there earlier, as she walked to the barn and at the paddock, but she thought it had disappeared as the sun rose in the sky. She raised her eyes and thought she saw trees up ahead. Where ARE we? she wondered. She had seen no woods other than the ones she had avoided, and she thought that they surely were in the other direction. Had she somehow gotten turned around? Merryll wondered, feeling almost frantic again. Had they covered so much ground so quickly? Merryll could not tell anymore. She had no inkling of how long they had been galloping. It seemed only a few moments, yet, she could not really say. She knew that the Commodore’s long stride could easily eat up the ground. The fog billowed and swirled around them. She had lost all sense of direction and refused to think about where they might be headed. She thought, Stay together, stay in rhythm. She heard the words over and over in her head, Hide us, hide us, let us hide, running through her mind in time to the beat of the Commodore's hooves. And then, Duncan, Duncan, hang on Duncan!
A sudden thought struck her and she felt fear begin to gnaw at her insides again. This is so dangerous, riding like this. There are walls everywhere. Please, don't let us... "Duncan," she called his name, "stay with me, Duncan! Hang on!"

Merryll looked up. She could see only a few feet ahead. She felt the horses descending, while still galloping and she held on for her life, trying desperately to see ahead, her body tensing for what might be a wall in their path. Duncan felt incredibly heavy in her arms. Merryll suddenly felt a stab of pain and realized that her ribs were hurting and every breath had become excruciating. She felt as though her back would break if she could not change her position soon. Then, just as Merryll thought she could not bear it another moment, praying she would not lose her grip on Duncan, she felt the horses slow as they climbed a slight rise, then down they went into the fog swirling around them, and out of it straight into the woods.

The stallion's pace slowed, then slowed again and she pulled Pandora up as well. The Commodore did not stop, but walked ahead and Merryll let him go. She thought, The deeper in the better. Then, Yes, but not too deep. "Whoa, boy." The horses' hooves were softly muffled on the grassy floor of the woods. The black headed purposefully on, then finally slowed to a standstill. The mare took her cue from him and stopped as well.

It appeared to Merryll that they were in a small opening, a glen of sorts. Here the fog was not as heavy. In fact, there was no fog at all; but the glen seemed shadowy to Merryll, almost dark. The trees were tall and thickly grown together, so that the sunlight filtered through heavily enmeshed branches. The day looked to Merryll more like twilight than the middle of a bright spring morning. It seemed secluded and Merryll thought they would surely be safe there. The only sounds she heard were the horses' movements, their breathing and her own ragged breaths.

Merryll felt frozen in place. She wondered how to keep Duncan from falling on his face to the ground. "Duncan," she said clearly, "Duncan!" He did not answer. She almost sobbed, "Oh, please..."

With aching back, and pain stabbing through her body with every breath, Merryll managed somehow to lean Duncan forward, balancing him over the mare's neck. She said, "Pandora, stay!" then muttered, "How stupid was that? She's not a dog!" But to Merryll's amazement, the mare stayed. She did not move a foot.

Now to get off this horse without falling on my own face, Merryll thought. She leaned one hand on the saddle, her elbow wobbling, and put a hand on the stallions' mane. He snorted, but stood still as she bent forward, struggling to lift her leg over his rump, then clambered weakly down, nearly falling to her knees at his feet. Gasping with pain and fighting for breath, she was able to hold on to the saddle and force her legs to stand. They shook badly and Merryll had to hang on to the horse to remain on her feet.

Instant tears stung her eyes as she gasped desperately, "God, how can I help Duncan if I can't even stand up? Please, help me!" She took a slow, deep breath, then another, and felt her legs straighten. Then she stood fully straight, and feeling himself free of her weight, the Commodore stepped ahead of her. She let go of the saddle as he moved out of her way, only to find Pandora's reins still in her hand, sliding over the Commodore's behind. Merryll took two steps forward and was beside Duncan.

He had made no move. How can I get him down? she wondered, he's so big. Just as she reached for him, Duncan began to slide forward. His foot! Merryll jerked his leg free of the stirrup, then put her arms around his shoulders, trying to ease him to the ground. His weight was too much for her in the end, and her legs buckled under her. In the process, she somehow remembered to release the reins, and Pandora moved away a few steps to stand near the Commodore. Merryll sat abruptly and Duncan landed in a crumpled heap with her, half in her lap. Merryll held him, cradling him in her arms, calling his name. He was pale, and quite obviously still unconscious. She saw the blood on his coat and thought, Pressure on the wound...stop the bleeding...how?... what...? Merryll gasped. She could not swallow, something was choking her. The scarf! With fingers stiffly unyielding and bent as if still grasping reins, Merryll clawed frantically at the long silk scarf wound round and round her neck. At last it loosened and flowed into her hand. She jerked it off and bunching it up, slid it under Duncan's jacket to the wound. She pressed as hard as she could.

"Duncan, wake up! Duncan, stay with me. Duncan! Oh, my God, please..." After a moment, Merryll withdrew her hand from beneath his jacket. She felt shock go over her like a wave when she saw the glove covered with blood. She tried to move, to lay Duncan flat on the ground, but she could not budge him. He was simply too heavy and she was virtually pinned under his weight. She thought, Mouth to mouth...wait, he's still breathing, maybe he doesn't need...*is* he breathing? She could not tell. Merryll jerked at his shirt, once, twice, and it loosened. The gloves! Get the gloves off so she could feel a pulse. But what good would it do? she wondered. He was lying so still. "Duncan!"

She stuck her left thumb under the short glove, just at her right wrist and pulled across her palm. The bloody glove peeled off and she placed icy fingers on Duncan's warm neck, desperately trying to find a pulse. She could not find it. Where was it, for God's sake? There was very little blood on his skin. It must have soaked into his shirt, she thought. Merryll pulled the jacket back and the shirt with it, but it would not open very far. Then she wondered, Why did I do that? I don't want to see the wound. Wait...stop the bleeding. Of course, yes...

Merryll was sliding her hand over Duncan's chest again toward his shoulder when she saw the wound. It was small, and there was not really very much blood around it, not very much at all. It was right there in his chest. How had she not seen it before? Yes, he had a shoulder wound. She had pressed on that to stop the bleeding. But she could not believe her eyes. There was a hole, just a small one and ...oh! another one, on the other side of his breast bone. Right there,close, so close to his heart. No, not that close. Please! Duncan! Oh! oh...

Merryll gulped and gasped as suddenly, the glen faded from view and she saw white on a field of blue, then red and white stripes. She gasped for breath. It was the image of Marines in full dress uniform, folding an American flag, just as they had done at the funeral of her best friend's father. He had been a career officer, with a distinguished thirty year record. He had died suddenly and unexpectedly of a heart attack in February, and Merryll was there. The burial service was at Arlington and the day was cold and clear. Just like this morning, she thought, then pushed the thought away. No! It's not the same! This is different... The chaplain of the corps had stood before them, solemn yet comforting. Merryll could hear his voice even now, reading from the New Testament book of St. John. She knew those words very well. They were included in the liturgy of funeral services around the world. She looked down at Duncan lying half across her lap, his strong, broad shoulders cradled in her slender left arm. His eyes were closed, dark lashes on his pale cheek. His muscular chest with the curling dark hair, so soft under her hand, lay utterly still, unmoving.

Merryll's vision blurred for a moment and just as at the funeral--she heard someone sobbing. No! This was different! It was not the funeral! "Duncan... Duncan!..dear God..." She felt something wet hit her hand. She blinked and saw clear droplets falling, splashing on her skin. Was it raining? She thought, Duncan should stay warm...shock and... Merryll pulled ineffectively at his jacket, then covered the two small holes in his chest with her hand. She gasped as she heard the words...was the chaplain in the woods with them...? "I am the Resurrection and the Life. He that believes in me, though he were dead, yet shall he live. And he that lives and believes in me shall never die."
Merryll heard that poor woman sob again and her heart hurt for her. Then, with an eerie feeling, and a chill running over her body, she suddenly realized that the sob, like the words, had come from her own mouth.

Dizziness swept over her. She looked up and the branches of the trees dipped and swayed and spun round and round. Merryll held tightly to Duncan, thinking, I'll hold on to Duncan. He's not going anywhere without me. "Dear God, please. Don't let him die. Let Duncan live," she gasped and sobbed, "Let him live!" No sooner had she said the words, than Merryll felt his chest move. She gazed at him in wonder. He inhaled sharply, then opened his eyes. Duncan! She felt his heart beating under her hand. And she knew she had not felt it only a moment before. He had not been breathing, not at all. And now he was...Merryll fully believed he was alive again. "...Duncan!" the sound came from very far away.

Merryll looked up to see who had spoken and instead she saw the trees, dipping and swaying in a sort of mad dance above her...the earth was reeling beneath her... She felt the heat of the sun...it must have exploded...She heard it pounding in her ears...and burnt up all the oxygen...She could not breathe...everything around her was turning gray and white...The world was ending and they were all being swallowed up into blackness...

* * * * * * * *

Adam lingered in the smallest barn, for no reason other than that he felt somehow closer to Merryll there. He thought it was probably ridiculous, but he could not shake the feeling that he should go after them, even now. He looked at his watch for the twentieth time in half as many minutes. It was going on eleven and all the horses and riders had returned, some limping, most mud-spattered, but miraculously, none seriously injured. The worst was a broken collarbone and arm one of the guests sustained when tossed from his mount, and another rider had fallen while going over a jump, only to find he had broken an ankle.

Adam shook his head in disgust. They were mad, he thought, this bunch, tearing off as they had, riding hell-for-leather over unpredictable and often dangerous countryside after a tiny fox. As if catching the creature could possibly mean anything. He sighed again impatiently and stood up, brushing straw from his slacks.

Harry Gallagher looked up from his work and studied the slender man standing in his barn. Harry knew Adam Pierson was truly worried for Meredith, as he himself was. Gallagher's eyes narrowed. He got the distinct impression that this studious-looking young man felt more than a friendly concern for the fiery redhead in the blue riding habit. Harry nodded to himself. Yes indeed, that was a very clear impression. He opened his mouth to say, "She'll be all right..."

Adam spoke at the same moment, "Don't you think she--Oh, sorry, what...what did you say?"

"Well, now," Harry stood back from the horse he was working on and brushed the curry comb in his right hand against the soft boar's hair polishing brush in his left, working the horse hair and dirt loose. He banged them against each other, then the side of the stall, then pushed his cap back on his head. "I was about to say, try not to worry yourself, Mr. Pierson. Looked to me as if Miss Meredith was handlin' the black horse pretty well."

"Yes. I know that." Adam felt irritated.

"Especially for someone who hasn't known the horse for very long."

"Yes."

"Nor really ridden him much a'tall either. Yes. She did all right by herself, I'll give her that."

"Mm."

"And by him, too, I'd have to say."

Adam said nothing, simply stared at the bale of hay on which he had been sitting. Harry watched him for a moment, then exchanged the comb and brush for a soft cloth and began rubbing the tired horse with it. The Irishman hummed softly as he worked, soothing the horse with his hands and his voice, and waiting for Adam to speak again.

Adam put his hands in his pockets, then withdrew them only a moment later and sighed again deeply. He bent and picked up a straw and began breaking it in even intervals of about an inch in length, then he tossed the straw aside and said, "It's just...isn't it getting late? Shouldn't they be back by now?" He could not shake the feeling of urgency. Not knowing what was happening to Merryll, nor exactly what to do, left Adam feeling useless.

"Well, now," the canny horseman considered Adam, "I suppose any time now, yes." He paused. "Perhaps."

"Perhaps...suppose," Adam muttered.

"Absolutely. It's entirely possible she'll come gallopin' up, any moment now." Harry wanted to encourage Adam, and he tried to keep his own concern from sounding in his voice.

"Possible...in all likelihood," Adam muttered, then burst out, "bloody hell, Gallagher, you don't know any more than I do what the..." Adam glanced up and found Harry's light gray eyes boring into him and finished in a mutter, "Oh, never mind. Just...never mind."

Harry returned to his present work, rubbing the tired hunter standing quietly in his stall. But a thin line of worry creased Harry Gallagher's forehead as he, too, wondered where in the world the firey, strong-minded American woman could be.

***************

Merryll saw Duncan's eyes close to hers, rich chocolate brown, watching her anxiously. She kept her eyes on his face, praying this dream would not end and she would not wake to find him gone. The dream was so real to her, she thought she felt his hand on her cheek, and when he spoke, she could even hear his voice. "Meredith? Say something, Meredith. Are you all right?"

She reached to touch his hand on her face. It felt warm and real and...alive! It was not possible. He was not breathing only a moment ago. Yet, here he was bending over her, his breath warm on her face. He said, "Meredith, it's me, Duncan. Can you see me? Say something."

She blinked, then reached a tentative hand up to touch his face. "Duncan?" It was a whisper.

"Yes, Meredith. It's Duncan." He felt relief flood over him.

"Am I dreaming?"

"No, sweetheart. You're awake."

"But...but you can't be...you were..."

"I was out cold for a bit, I think, but I'm all right now."

Merryll gazed at his face. "But you were...how...?" her eyes fell to his coat. His shirt was pulled together and his scarlet jacket buttoned.

"You saved us, sweetheart. You brought us here," he looked around the glen, "wherever here is."

"I didn't." Merryll's eyes were wide as she gazed at him. "The horse did. He was...you were..."she could not bring herself to say the word. Duncan's hand was warm and gentle on her face.

"Just rest a minute, Meredith." He placed a damp cloth over her forehead. She wondered where he could have found a cloth, then she saw that it was his silk tie, as he gently touched her forehead and cheeks with it. She placed her fingertips on his cheek again, wonder in her eyes and on her face.

She whispered, "Duncan? I'm not dreaming, am I?"

"No, you're not dreaming, Meredith."

"Oh Duncan," she sighed, sliding her arm around his neck. He bent forward and let her cling to him, then placed his arm around her and leaned back, bringing her up with him. She inhaled sharply, and suddenly she was sobbing. "Oh God...oh Duncan...hold me, Duncan." She embraced him, then drew back to hold his face in her hands as tears streamed down her cheeks. She pulled him close again and they sat embracing each other. He held her with his right arm, leaving his left immobile, for that was the shoulder that had been wounded.

His throat tightened at the sound of her sobs. "Meredith, sh, sh, it's all right, sweetheart. You're all right. We both are. Sh, don't cry, Meredith." Still she clung to him, weeping, believing, knowing, and still overwhelmed to find him sitting up, holding her, talking to her. She drew back at last, to look at him again and touch his face.

"Duncan, you were...gone. You were..."

"Sh, sh, sh. Don't think about it now, Meredith. We're all right now. Don't worry. I must have passed out for a bit. And you said the horse brought us here?"

"Yes," she gulped hard, still touching his face. "We were galloping and I...was holding onto you and your horse and...Duncan, your shoulder--"

"Just a nick," he interrupted her smoothly. "The bullet didn't even go in."

"But...you were..."

"Yeah, what a wimp I am, passing out at the sight of my own blood." He looked as if he were embarrassed and half-smiled at her. "The bleeding's stopped now. Whatever you did was just right, Meredith. Thank you, sweetheart. Are you okay?"

"I'm...um," she drew him close and buried her face in his neck. "Duncan, thank God you're alive."

"Well, of course, sweetheart. It takes more than some crazy hunter taking wild shots to get rid of me. It's you I'm worried about. Are you hurt anywhere?" He slid his hand gently over her back and up over her shoulders to her neck, searching for a wound. She leaned back into his big, warm hand to look into his eyes again.

"No, I'm...I think I'm okay." Her voice dropped to a whisper again. "I'm not as cold as I was. Not now." Her face was close to his, her breath warm against his skin. He saw the streaks of tears on her cheeks and the tears caught in her eyelashes. And her eyes--she was looking at him with so much love, he could not bear the dazzling brightness of her eyes.

He whispered, "Meredith..." Then, without intention, and later he could not even say how, Duncan found his lips on hers, pressing gently, tenderly, feeling her lips tremble beneath his kiss. Ah, Meredith, your kisses are sweet, so sweet.

She drew back a moment, gasping, her eyes still closed. Then her arm tightened around his neck and they were kissing again.

For a moment, the world fell away from around Merryll and she was lost to all but Duncan and his strong arms around her, his lips on hers, his warmth enfolding her, his broad shoulders and chest next to her. Dear Duncan, so strong and sweet and good. Her fingers caressed his face, then slipped around his neck and through his dark hair that hung loose now, nearly to his shoulders. Oh, Duncan, so handsome, my brave, handsome Duncan...alive after all, alive and strong and here in my arms.

Her lips pressed against his and he felt the urgency of her embrace. The woods seemed to spin and move around Duncan as he held Meredith, kissing her, reveling in the warmth and softness of her mouth and her body next to his. He admitted to himself that he loved this sweet woman, more than he wanted to, more than he could allow himself to, more than he should ever admit to anyone, especially to her. And he would not...except for now, for this one moment, when there was no one else in the world, nothing else to think about, no problems to worry about, no enemies, no friends, no responsibilities, no demands...just sweet Meredith, warm and loving and soft in his arms. What blessed relief to let himself go, to feel restraint loosened, if only for a moment, to kiss her passionately with his longing revealed, to feel her pressing herself to him, kissing him back, trembling, not quite believing, then kissing him urgently, hungrily, all caution thrown aside. Ah, Meredith, yes. I do love you, Duncan thought, lovely, loving Meredith...feel my heart for you in my kiss. Let me tell you over and over again with my lips what is in my heart.

He leaned back against the tree behind him, pulling her with him. She moaned softly into his mouth. With his hand on the back of her head, Duncan drew her to him, caressing, holding. At last she slipped down against his chest, her face pressed to his neck, her lips just below his ear. Duncan leaned his head back against the tree and glanced up. He watched the branches sway this way and that. They seemed to have a will of their own as they waved above him. Just then, he did not know how it could be possible, but he could almost swear they somehow grew still and it was he who was moving. Duncan blinked, trying to clear his head. How could it be so dark already? he wondered. The day had only just begun...and here was Meredith, sweet, lovely Meredith so soft in his arms, so warm.

Come with me Meredith, together we'll flee
Beyond hillock and heather, vale and scree...
Sit here before me on Horse's broad back,
And we'll gallop through meadow, down dale and o'er track...
Come and we'll go to a place far from here
Where is no past, no future, no fear...
Come quickly, my love, and let us away,
We have but a moment; it's now, today...
Come; and I'll love you, with body, soul and heart
And in my kiss you'll feel only a part
Of the love, the hope, the joy you inspire,
My lovely friend, my bright star, my sweet desire...


He held her close, tenderly caressing her face, her hair, enfolding her in his embrace, moving with her, until at last he felt her smooth cheek next to his and her sweet lips pressed to his once again. He held her close and felt as if he were slipping, then falling falling into warmth and joy.

Cold, hard steel pressed against Duncan's neck, then the assailant's arm moved insinuatingly over him. Who had followed them? Who could have found them? They were safe in this secret place. Safe...alone...The sword pressed hard against Duncan's neck, bringing him up with a gasp. Startled, the Commodore jerked his head up, snorted, and thumped his hoof three times on the grass. Duncan looked quickly around. There was the bay mare and the black stallion. No one else was in sight. It was not a man, but the horse, after all, and the steel not a sword, but the horse's bit. Duncan looked down to find Merryll in his arms, against the tufted ground, watching him with concern. "Duncan?" she asked softly. "You're all right?" she whispered, her fingertips on his face.

"Yes. Yes, I..." had he been dreaming? He looked at Merryll, then glanced around him again, wondering what time it was and how long he had been unconscious. He had been unconscious hadn't he? The air was clear and bits of sunlight dappled the grassy floor of the glen. As he rolled away from her and got his feet under him, Duncan said, "We should get back before people come looking for us." He stood, brushing himself off, then leaned toward her with a smile, his hand offered. "Feel like heading back?"

"Um..." Merryll looked around as well, blinking and wondering if she had fallen asleep and was just now waking from a dream. "...I guess so." She slipped her hands into his and he helped her up, steadying her with his arm around her waist. She could see no sign of the fog that had rolled in so suddenly, the thick fog that had shrouded them as they dashed across the fields, closing them off from view of their attackers. The glen seemed lighter to her than she remembered it being a moment ago. It was only a moment, wasn't it? She could not be sure. He was speaking, "...right here, and I'll get the horses, Meredith." He placed her hand on the tree to steady her. "There. All right now?" He patted her arm gently and smiled.

"Yes, I...think so," Merryll replied, feeling somewhat stunned for some reason, and she could not think what it could be. Duncan was.... he had been.

"I won't be a minute," Duncan said as he turned to go fetch the horses.

Feeling rather dazed, Merryll looked around the glen, struck by the absolute stillness she felt. She became aware of the smallest sound, the gentle tearing of the grass as the Commodore grazed, the swish of his tail, the thump of his hoof. There was a gurgling, bubbling sound and Merryll was surprised to see a small stream just beyond where the horses stood. For just that moment, the glen was the whole world, there was no other beyond this place. She knew that as long as she lived, she would remember the smell of the moss and the way the air felt cool and damp against her face. Merryll gasped and inhaled, then realized she had been holding her breath. She took another breath, wincing with pain, and heard her own heart beating in her ears. Her hands tingled; and, Merryll, feeling quite weak and very grateful for the tree against which she leaned, forced herself to breathe slowly and deeply in spite of the pain.

The tree's bark felt smooth beneath her hands and Merryll leaned there, waiting. She watched Duncan and heard his steps, soft on the grass, as he walked toward the stream where the horses stood, waiting. She watched him bend in the clear morning light and grasp the horses' reins in his hands, murmuring softly to the horses who whickered softly in reply. She watched him stand up straight, touched by a single ray of sun that found its way through the branches of the trees. She watched Duncan as he turned toward her. And as she watched him, Merryll could not help but think how very tall he looked, how very strong, and how very much alive.

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