drew in a deep breath now as she prepared to face what lay in store for her behind the huge oak door, friend or foe, she had no idea.
‘It will be all right, Skye,’ Falkner told her firmly as he seemed to read her uncertainty. ‘I’m here, remember,’ he added determinedly.
Yes, he was. And she still had no real idea why he should be. But he had promised to be ‘here’ for as long as she needed him.
As long as it took her to get through this nightmare?
If she ever did!
‘Feel like going for a walk outside?’ Falkner prompted once they had finished with the delicious afternoon tea brought in by his bustlingly friendly Scottish housekeeper.
Within seconds of meeting the middle-aged woman Skye had known she had nothing to fear where the other woman was concerned; Annie Graham treated Falkner like a rather naughty child, and within minutes of their meeting had treated Skye in the same affectionately friendly way, urging her to eat some of the sandwiches and scones with the words ‘you need some skin on those bones’.
No doubt the older woman would have something to say when she realized that neither of them had done justice to the delicious tea, Skye acknowledged ruefully.
Maybe that was the reason for Falkner’s suggestion the two of them go for a walk? A walk that would cause him more than a little discomfort.
‘Or perhaps you would rather go upstairs and rest for a while?’ Falkner realized lightly. ‘You’ve had a busy afternoon so far.’
Skye shook her head. ‘I think I’ve rested enough this last week. But if you have something else you should be doing…?’ After all, he had already spent enough of his day with her.
He stood up. ‘Take a walk with me.’ He held out his hand to help her stand up.
Skye shied away, from that hand, and the idea of going outside. Annie Graham had proved warm and welcoming, but that didn’t mean she would get the same reception from other members of Falkner’s household staff.
Falkner frowned darkly, still holding out his hand to her. ‘Skye, no matter how much you might feel like doing so just now, you really can’t just sit in here and hide from the world,’ he rasped.
She glared up at him. ‘Who says I can’t?’ she challenged resentfully.
‘I do,’ he replied without hesitation. ‘You know as well as I do, Skye, that when you’ve been thrown from a horse, you have to get straight back up into the saddle.’
‘Is that what you did—?’ She broke off with a gasp as she realized how insensitive she was being; of course that wasn’t what he had done, his injuries had been such that he probably couldn’t ride at all any more. ‘This isn’t the same,’ she muttered awkwardly.
‘It is.’ Falkner nodded abruptly. ‘And your father would tell you exactly the same—’
‘Don’t presume to tell me what my father would or wouldn’t say!’ Her eyes glittered furiously.
He gave an impatient sigh. ‘Skye, you’re only angry because you know I’m right,’ he rasped.
Yes, she was; her father had always been a pragmatic man. His philosophy had always been, if you fell or received a knock of some kind, then you picked yourself up and carried on. It was what he had done after Skye’s mother died. During the last difficult six months, too. It was what he would want Skye to do now…
She knew that as well as Falkner obviously did.
But none of that changed the fact that just the thought of going with Falkner, of walking outside with him, where someone might recognize her, made Skye squirm with discomfort.
‘I’m feeling rather tired, Falkner—’
‘Coward,’ he murmured softly.
But not so softly that Skye couldn’t hear him. Or resent him for being right.
She was behaving like a coward, and her father would have been disappointed in her, would have launched into some lengthy Irish parable that made a mockery of her fear.
But, she realized impatiently, Falkner’s method of making her angry had exactly the same effect.
‘Okay!’ she agreed forcefully, ignoring the hand he held out to her, ignoring the pain in her ribs as she struggled to her feet without help. ‘Satisfied?’ she added challengingly, blue eyes sparkling with resentment.
‘Perfectly,’ Falkner answered lightly, opening the door for her to precede him.
Skye did so stiffly. And not just because of her painful ribs; she really didn’t want to do this.
‘Okay?’ Falkner prompted softly a few minutes later as they approached the stables. It was curiously quiet, none of the bustle of activity here today that there had been six years ago.
‘Okay,’ she echoed tensely.
‘This way.’ He turned to the left, leading her down the long row of closed individual stables, his limp more noticeable now.
‘I don’t understand, Falkner; where are we going?’ Skye frowned her puzzlement as she followed reluctantly.
Why on earth was he taking her round his deserted stables? Perhaps this was Falkner’s version of that ‘Irish parable’ her father would have subjected her to, something along the lines of ‘he had succeeded despite no longer being involved in his love of showjumping’, as she would have to survive without her beloved father. If that was what this was about, then Falkner was wasting his time, because she—
‘Almost there,’ he dismissed lightly—that lightness belied by the heavy frown between his brows.
‘I—’ Skye broke off as she heard a familiar sound, her whole body tensing as she turned in the direction of that sound, and she realized not all of the stables were empty after all, eyes widening in shocked surprise as that whinny of recognition was loudly repeated. ‘Storm…?’ she questioned dazedly, hurrying to the open stable door several stalls down, staring in total disbelief as the massive head stretched across the top of the open door to nuzzle ecstatically against her face. ‘Storm!’ she acknowledged chokingly, burying her own face into his glistening black neck, tears falling hotly down her cheeks as her arms clung to him weakly.
It had been the shock of her young life six years ago when, three months after her initial meeting with Falkner, a horsebox had arrived late one evening at her father’s stable, the door opening to reveal a very disgruntled Storm.
Skye had turned to her father dazedly as she’d easily recognized the horse.
‘Falkner changed his mind,’ her father told her with satisfaction. ‘He telephoned me one day last week and offered to let me buy Storm, after all.’ He shrugged. ‘I didn’t tell you because I wanted it to be a total surprise for you,’ he added happily.
A total surprise had to be an understatement. Falkner Harrington hadn’t looked like a man who ever changed his mind about anything, and after the blistering rebuke
