web of lies and discovered that there was no kingdom of Battenburgia, no king and queen with subjects eager to reinstate them, certainly no princess waiting for her prince to arrive. The reality was a long series of debts run up by two charlatans with no intention of ever paying anything back.
She’d been fortunate not to have been indicted with them.
“Don’t blame Alexandrina,” Mrs. Fosgrave had said from the stand the day the judge had pronounced sentence, those blue eyes brimming with tears. “She never knew the truth. She isn’t even our daughter. We found her abandoned when she was about two, and we thought she’d make a nice addition to the story.” Her gaze had pleaded with Rina for understanding. “We did become fond of her.”
Rina’s hands were fisting in her lap now just remembering the moments before the judge had sent the Fosgraves away to prison, allowing her to go with no more than an order not to follow in their footsteps. No one in Framingham had been willing to befriend her. Her darling horses had been sold to help pay the debts.
She’d managed to convince the judge to let her sell most of her clothing for living expenses rather than to pay off the Fosgraves’s debts. The only other things she’d kept were Mr. Fosgrave’s pocket watch and a miniature of the three of them, buried safely in her trunk. When she’d seen the advertisement in the paper about Asa Mercer’s expedition to bring schoolteachers to Seattle, she’d known what she must do.
She might not be a princess, but she’d been raised with the education of one—having been tutored in every town by the very best instructors. Her education was the one thing they could not take from her. It was the one thing she could give to someone else.
She forced her fingers apart and pressed her hands into the smooth fabric of her gown. Everything she had believed had been a lie. That didn’t mean she couldn’t believe in something else, even if she hesitated to believe in someone else.
James Wallin was the perfect example of someone she should suspect of telling tales for his own profit. He was confident, and he was glib. He was relaxed behind the reins, as if nothing and no one could shake him. Didn’t he realize that they were driving farther from the safety of Seattle every second? Shouldn’t he be looking for catamounts, bears, savages? Was he even armed?
Catching her watching him, he grinned again, and despite all her thoughts, something inside her danced. Dangerous fellow. She refused to be taken in.
“Tell me about Wallin Landing,” she said. “What prompted you to start a school?”
“It was Catherine’s idea,” he said. “You’d have to ask her.”
A vague answer, but she supposed he might only be the messenger. He certainly talked as easily as he laughed, going on to tell her all about his widowed mother, four brothers and sister, the addition of Catherine to their group. But what impressed her more than his easy manner was his skill behind the reins.
Her father had taught her to drive early, on a lark, he’d said. Now she could only wonder whether he had been preparing her to help make a quick escape if needed. Either way, she’d learned to love the feel of the reins in her grip, knowing that all the power of the team was hers to control.
Sitting beside other gentlemen who pulled on the leather and sawed at the bits had been painful in the extreme. James Wallin gave the horses their heads, only correcting them if they strayed too far from the path. He guided them effortlessly, as if from long practice. And he seemed to trust them as she’d trusted her team.
“I haven’t seen many steeldusts in Seattle,” she ventured at one point.
“Steeldusts?” He gazed at his team. “Is that what they are?”
She’d never met a man who didn’t know the sort of horse he owned. Her father had examined every aspect, from the size of their ears to the conformation of their hindquarters. He’d known breed and lineage, could gauge strength and stamina. Or at least so he’d claimed.
“I believe that’s the name given them in Texas,” she said, suddenly doubting. Had her father made up the name like he had everything else? Maybe she didn’t know as much about horses as she thought. “I heard they are prized by cattlemen.”
“Well, I’m hardly a rancher,” James said with a laugh. “My family prefers oxen. I’d ridden with friends from time to time, but these are my first horses. I bought them off a fellow in town who was giving up his stake. They had a certain dash.”
She smiled. “Oh, they have dash, all right. See those high haunches? All power. A steeldust can run a quarter mile on good track in a few seconds.”
He glanced her way. “You seem to know a lot about horses.”
His tone was admiring, but her stomach sank. When would she learn? She had to guard every word now, not to protect a so-called family secret but to prevent being tarred by it. “My...family owned a team much like yours,” she told him. “They raced a few times. Not that I condone the practice.”
“We can’t control our families,” he assured her as if he knew firsthand. “Though that doesn’t keep us from trying.”
Her breath came easier. He wasn’t going to press her for details. “What are your team’s names?” she asked.
To her surprise, he glanced ahead as if to estimate the distance to their destination. When he spoke, he lowered his voice. Did he fear the trees would overhear him?
“The fellow who sold them to me didn’t think much of naming horses,” he said, gaze more serious than she’d seen. “Neither do my brothers. Drew says you don’t name your tools or your saw.”
To her, horses were far more than tools. They were intelligent, caring creatures whose loyalty you were blessed to earn. Yet if he didn’t believe in naming them, he probably wouldn’t understand that.
He turned toward his team once more, and she could see their ears twitching back to listen to him as he spoke again.
“I disagree with Drew,” he said as if making a confession. “My horses are more than bone and muscle, meant only for turning a field or tugging out a stump. I rely on them, and I know they rely on me. They believe in me when no one else does. I think of them as Sir Lancelot and Sir Percival. Lance is a little bigger and prouder, but Percy has the greater heart.”
What beautiful sentiments! His look was soft, paternal even. Rina had to fight the urge to touch his shoulder, tell him she understood.
And he knew the legend of King Arthur? Perhaps Le Morte D’Arthur had been one of the books his father had left him. She couldn’t count the number of times she’d read it, believing that her parents’ kingdom was as marvelous as Camelot.
Now it wasn’t a kingdom awaiting her, but a frontier schoolhouse. After traveling thousands of miles and counting off the months, she was about to achieve her dream of teaching. She could hardly sit still as James guided his team out of the woods at last. A clearing opened up around her, wide pastures surrounded by curly-topped cedar and fir pointing to the darkening sky. A large, two-story log house sat across one end of the clearing, with a barn to the south of it. But what drew Rina’s eye was the building at the back of the clearing, up against the hillside.
The newly peeled logs gleamed gold in the setting sun. The brass bell on a stand outside the planked door looked as if it would ring for miles. She could imagine children lining
