Anne McAllister - Blood Brothers

It was too dark to make out her expression, but he could see a faint glint in her eye, and hear her soft chuckle.

“What are you laughing at?” he asked in delight.

“Nothing. I’m just happy.”

He pulled her down, feeling her long hair flow over him like a river.

“Be happy, Claire,” he said. “Be happy forever. If only-”

He stopped, entranced by the sound of a gentle snore. Claire was as natural and simple as a young animal that sated itself, and fell asleep, at one with the world.

Possessed by tenderness, he stroked her hair. He, too, was happy, in a way that he’d thought he would never know.

From some mysterious place a memory came back to him. Claire saying, “We don’t really have any say, do we…like someone’s pulling the strings and having a good laugh.”

And he’d said, “Philosophy doesn’t solve any problems. Only feelings do that.”

He wondered suddenly if the feelings of love and passion, mixed in with protectiveness, that consumed him now, would solve any problems.

Or whether some nameless deity was having a good laugh. And if so, what about?

At dawn Claire was awoken by a distant noise. She padded out of bed and opened the bedroom door. Sure enough, the phone was ringing. Pulling on her dressing gown she left Randall sleeping and padded down the corridor to his bedroom, where the nearest extension was situated.

“Lord Randall, please!” said a female voice.

Claire drew in a sharp breath. There it was, the English “toffee” voice she’d so resented in Randall-except that he didn’t really sound anything like that.

“Are you there?” asked the woman sharply. “Kindly fetch Lord Randall for me.”

“He’s asleep. It’s early here.”

“Oh, I see. Are you the housekeeper?”

“No, I live here. My name is Claire.”

“Really. I’m the Honorable Honoria Gracewell. I expect Randall has told you about me.”

“No,” Claire said in a hollow voice. “He hasn’t mentioned you.”

“Never mind. This can’t wait. I must speak to Randall urgently. I might have known there’d be a disaster when he went swanning off to the back of beyond.”

“A disaster?”

“Well I certainly don’t want to be related to Frederica Crossman. The Stantons do have a position to keep up.”

“Does she make it hard for them to do that?” Claire asked tersely.

“She certainly will if she’s allowed to marry Gabe McBride. Randall should be here to put a stop to it.”

“Did you say-marry Gabe?”

“They’re announcing it today, bold as brass. And the wedding’s set for three weeks. I suppose she wants to make sure of him while she can.”

Claire sat down suddenly. Gabe was getting married.

“Are you there?” Honoria demanded sharply.

Claire pulled herself together. But it took an effort to speak. “This Frederica Crossman-what’s she like?”

“A widow with two children. Respectable enough, but not out of the top drawer.”

“But how will you be related to her if she marries Gabe?”

“Because he’s Randall’s cousin, and Randall and I-this is hardly your business, is it? The point is that the Stantons don’t marry nobodies.”

“But Gabe isn’t a Stanton,” Claire said, a tad sharply.

“I suppose you’ve got a point. Maybe his wife doesn’t matter too much, especially if he takes her back to Tennessee, or Wyoming-”

“Montana,” Claire snapped.

“Wherever. But Randall’s wife does matter. Eventually she’ll be Lady Stanton, a Countess, holder of one of the oldest titles in England-”

“That’s not what Randall says,” Claire couldn’t resist interrupting. “He says the Stantons are a load of jumped-up nobodies who bought the title a mere four-hundred years ago, and-”

Honoria’s intake of breath was as sharp as a knife.

“Randall will have his little joke,” she said in a tight voice. “Countess Stanton has to come from suitable stock, but I wouldn’t expect you to understand-”

“Hell yes, I understand,” Claire said. The twang in her voice had become emphatic to the point of parody. If this snooty woman thought she was talking to a backwoods hick then Claire would give her hick with bells on. “That’s just what we say when we’re breeding cows.”

“I-I beg your pardon?”

“Suitable stock. Nothin’ like it. ’Course you’ve got to know your bloodlines. We keep charts. Is that what you do?”

“I-”

“Hell, Gabe don’t never buy a bull ’cept he knows his pedigree. Why, we’ve got one now, biggest thing y’ever saw, with the most eee- nor -mous-”

Honoria audibly gulped. “There’s no need to go into detail. Just tell Randall to call-”

“No need, ma’am, here he is.”

Randall had awoken to find Claire missing, and followed the sound of her voice, puzzled as to why she was talking the worst stage Yankee he’d ever heard.

“Phone for you,” she said. Thrusting the receiver into his hand, she fled.

North, who’d just arrived sleepily in the stables, was alarmed to see her dash in, saddle her horse and ride off as if the fiends from hell were after her.

She rode hard until the ranch house was out of sight and far behind her. She stopped in a clump of trees, tethered the animal, and looked around for something vehement to do. She found it in a lone tree that stood fifty feet away. Snatching up some stones, she aimed them at the tree and had the satisfaction of scoring a bull’s-eye with every one.

Then she sat down on a log and buried her face in her hands. What was she doing, throwing stones like a man? She ought to cry or something, like other females did. But everything about her was wrong. It always had been. She didn’t know who she was or where she belonged. She’d learned all the wrong skills, and she’d never felt so much like a foundling in her life.

Gabe was getting married, and so was Randall. For she hadn’t missed Honoria’s silver-tongued message. They were engaged, near as dammit. She was blue-blooded, and “suitable” to be an earl’s wife. A lot more suitable than a woman who didn’t know who her Ma and Pa were.

She couldn’t blame Randall for last night. Her desire had more than matched his, and she’d gone eagerly into his arms, meeting passion with passion, spurring him on, driven by an instinct beyond reason.

She’d had her moment when love was everything, and she would treasure it forever. But before her eyes rose the vision of the long years, filled with nothing because she was apart from Randall.

And apart from Gabe. And if only she knew which one of them she minded about most, it would be easier. Wouldn’t it?

No, nothing would ever make it easier.

Randall reacted to Honoria’s news with a roar of delight, which affronted her even more. She told him so, at length.

“Hang on there,” he said when he could stem her tirade, “Gabe’s a grown man. He knows what suits him. If he’s found the right woman at last, that’s the best thing for him.”

“The right woman? No name, and no money. You should come home and stop it.”

“I’ll come home when I’m good ’n’ ready. As for trying to stop that crazy Gabe from doing what he’s set his heart on-forget it. I’m not ready to die.”

“Oh, really!” Honoria made a sound that would have been a snort if she hadn’t been an “Hon”. “You’ve always had a streak of foolishness, and he’s made it worse.”

“Either that or he’s brought out the best in me.”

“I don’t know what you mean.”

“No, I’m sure you don’t. You don’t really approve of me either, and you’ll disapprove of me even more as I am now.”