Dewey Lambdin - THE GUN KETCH

She was almost shrieking with laughter as he tried to scale the stout trunk to the lowest boughs. "Come down here, at once! Oh, Alan, not an acorn, I beg you!"

"Bloody squirrel, then!" he huffed, springing at the tree once more and clawing his way up about six feet off the ground.

"William Pitt fetches me quite enough squirrels, thank you! Do come down, Alan! I'll settle for a leaf! Just a leaf!" she cried, in stitches at his antics. "I'll take one that's fallen. My kingdom for a fallen oak leaf! God, but you do look foolish! Is that the way you scale the rigging on your ship?"

"I'm graceful as a bloody monkey!" Alan crowed, and began singing a suggestive chantey called "The Holy Ground." He finally dropped to the ground and scooped up an entire pile of oak leaves and brought them to her, dribbling a trail behind him. He knelt at her feet and heaped them round her boots. "For you, my lady, queen of the hill! Oak leaves for your kingdom!"

"Arise, Sir Knight! I dub thee knight of my realm!" She giggled, touching him on both shoulders. He stood, and there was not a handspan between them, and they stopped laughing. She looked up at his face, uttered a tiny, hitching litde sound that sounded like a sob, and threw her arms around his neck. Her cool lips pressed upon his, her breath warm and clean on his mouth, and he put his arms around her, lifting her off her feet to drape against him. She felt so light, so slim and completely encirclable in his arms, and Alan's head spun with the scent of clean hair and soap, of the light, citrony and balsamed tinge of the Hungary Water she had dabbed on.

Burgess, forgive me, but I think I want to tup your sister! he thought. And what your family thinks of me after that, bedamned!The sound of hooves interrupted them, two sets of hooves at the least, of horses being urged up the hill to them, and he set her down and stood a little back from her, full of regret that the moment had passed. His groin was on fire, and his heart was pounding such as he had never experienced with common lust, or the fine edge of expectation before consummation. Caroline Chiswick made him dizzier and woozier to hold and kiss than anyone he had ever known!

And I've had my share now, haven't I, so I ought to know, Alan told himself. Damme to hell, but I think I'm in love with her, not… not just afire to have her! Damme if I ain't been toyin' with the thought of her since '81!

Caroline brushed his cheek with her gloved hands, and stepped forward for one last, too-brief, open-mouthed kiss, then took a few steps away, composing herself to see who was coming.

"Have they sent someone after us?" he asked softly.

"I don't know… Heavens, it might be something wrong with Father! I can think of no other reason. Dear God, no! Alan, pray for him, a short prayer to spare him, now!" she commanded in a fret.

Two riders topped the rise, and Alan, turning to look at her, could see the tension still in her pose, for it yet might be bad news of Mr. Sewallis Chiswick. But the light in her eyes, and the joy on her face that he had put there a minute before fell away like an extinguished sunset when she beheld who led the pair of horsemen.

"My dearest Caroline!" the Hon. Harry Embleton exclaimed as he drew rein to lord over them from horseback. "Your uncle said he thought you might have come this way. Had you forgotten that he had given us permission to take a morning ride together this day?"

"Good morrow, Mister Embleton," Caroline nodded coolly. "And good morrow to you, Mister Lane. You have met Mister Lewrie, I think."

"Mister Embleton, sir," Alan grinned, touching the right side of his cocked hat in greeting like a casual salute to a deck-officer. "And I believe I met Mister Lane, Douglas Lane, is it, yesterday, at the Red Swan? Your gamekeeper, is he not, sir? Joy of the morning, sir."

"Mister Lewrie," Harry Embleton replied, sounding a bit arch as he squinted his close-set eyes at him, then just as quickly lost interest and turned his gaze to Caroline. "Well, shall we have our ride, my dear?" he asked, turning almost cloyingly mild.

"Mister Embleton, I do recall that my uncle did give us his permission, but I considered that was dependent upon whether I gave my consent to it," Caroline replied. "In fact, in the excitement of Mister Lewrie's arrival, I quite forgot it. Perhaps you should talk with Uncle Phineas, and me, for another time."

God, the girl has steel in her backbone, Alan exulted!

"Well, since we are all here, that is…" Harry suggested, looking extremely miffed and hunching down into his coat collar.

Since there was no way to turn him down without being rude, she heaved a small sigh to show the slightest bit of exasperation at his intrusion, and allowed as how they might ride for a piece together.

"If you would assist me, Alan?" she asked after he brought her mare to her. Embleton sprang down from his saddle to come to her side but Caroline was already taking Alan's offered hand to steady her as she put a booted foot in the stirrup and got aboard. "My thanks to you, Alan." Leaving Harry flicking reins on his boots foolishly.

"Any time, Caroline." Lewrie smiled, looking up at her. And it mattered to him to see how she would handle this; most women he'd known would have exulted in having two men snarling over them, and would have gotten a certain joy out of the heightening of a bad situation.

Alan crossed to his gelding and mounted, then walked up to her side. "Well, where to, now? Down towards that middle stream you told me of? After clawing up this hill, I'm sure the horses could use some water."

"Yes, that sounds pleasant," she replied, and led off without a backward glance. Harry and Alan caught her up and rode to either side of her.

"A lovely morning," Harry Embleton said. "D'ye know that we put up a fox on the way over. Be good sport. Wish we had the hounds with us. Do you hunt, Lewrie?"

"Not for a long time, in Kent. Cruel, it is," Alan replied.

"Blood sport not t'yer taste, then? My word, you've come to the wrong place, hey, Caroline?" Harry guffawed.

"I was speaking of the horses, sir," Alan smiled evenly. "Too much neck-or-nothing, like a steeplechase, these days. Now a proper hunt, you have to stop and let the dogs have their scent, take care of your animals. I've seen too many fine horses put down to some fool's carelessness to suit me."

"I do think it cruel as well to kill a blooded horse for the momentary joy of chasing a fox, whose pelt price would not buy a new saddle-pad, Mister Embleton," Caroline added. "Much as I love riding and going hard 'cross-country, I'd never lash little Sabina here to her death." She patted the neck of her mare lovingly. "And the hunt does result in a lot of damage to crops and such. Surely, snares are to be preferred to keep down the fox population."

"Foxes be too clever t'snare, Miss Chiswick," Lane said from behind." 'E takes too many rabbits'n hens. An' it's good sport!" "Caroline has ridden on our hunt, haven't you, my dear? I had no idea you disliked it so," Harry pouted.

"I did not say I disliked it, Mister Embleton. I merely said that some are too heedless of their horses." She replied without turning to look at him. "Now, last fall, you lost that fine gray taking a fence, when the gate was open not a furlong farther down to let the dogs through. And think of the colts you could have had from that black that fell going down the steep bank. A thousand guineas lost!"

"Don't trouble your head about profit or loss, Caroline," the Honourable Harry stated with a little titter of amusement. "They gave good sport in their lives, and that's what horses are for. And we own enough of them. Mister Lewrie, I say, you ride well, I see. Perhaps you might be interested in taking a look at Douglas's mount there. I think you could appreciate his formation. Douglas, here, you ride with Mister Lewrie for a span, whilst I and Caroline go ahead."