Candace Camp - No Other Love

“Of course.” Nicola bared her teeth in a smile.

Richard returned one that was equally false. “Splendid.” He pivoted toward his wife, offering her his arm. “Come, my dear. Let us go in.”

Deborah rose and took his arm, and they started toward the house. Nicola, with a sigh, fell into step after them. She had known it would be difficult to live in the same house with Richard—she had acceded to her sister’s wishes only because Deborah seemed so desperate—but she was realizing that it was going to be even more difficult than she had thought.

She made it through the noon meal by talking little and smiling frequently, doing her best to tune out Richard’s conversation and face. Afterward, she went upstairs and got her kit of remedies, a bag that contained the salves and tonics for which she was most frequently asked. A few weeks ago, when she had been at Buckminster for her cousin’s party, she had been besieged by requests for healing remedies when she visited Bucky’s tenants and the villagers. Since Granny Rose had died, they had suffered without her wisdom and care, and they had turned to Nicola as her student to help them out. She had made certain to bring all her supplies with her this time, anticipating their requests.

With her kit strapped onto the back of her horse, and after firmly refusing the accompaniment of one of the grooms, Nicola left Tidings, taking the back trail through the fields. It was a little more difficult riding, but it cut at least a mile from the journey, and Nicola had always been at home on a horse. Of course, in London she had to be content with a morning’s ride along Rotten Row, but when in the country, as now, she loved to ride.

She breathed deeply, pulling in the fresh air, so different from the City, and felt the tensions of dealing with Richard ease from her shoulders and back. She didn’t know how she was going to get through the following months with Richard. Every time she saw him, she felt as if a serpent had crossed her path. Yet she could hardly leave. Deborah had been so pathetically eager for Nicola to come stay with her, and Nicola had seen this morning how much better Deborah felt with her here. She could not desert her sister in her hour of need. She wished that she could take Deborah back to London with her, but that was clearly impossible, even if Exmoor would have allowed it. Given Deborah’s condition and her past history of miscarriage, a jolting two-day journey would be the worst thing for her.

But such worries gradually melted away as she trotted through the countryside, taking the occasional low stone wall with ease. By the time her mount approached a fence, she and the horse had grown accustomed to each other, and they soared over it. Exhilarated, Nicola emerged onto a lane lined with trees and dappled with winter sunshine. She paused, looking up the lane toward the right. If she went left, she would reach the village sooner. To the right lay the road to the top of Lydford Gorge, where Lady Falls poured down in a torrent. If she went to Lady Falls, she could then take a different path to the village. It would add perhaps an hour to her ride, but she would still have ample time to visit. Of course, there was no reason to go there….

Nicola turned to the right, urging her horse back to a trot. She had to see Lady Falls again. She realized now that it had been in the back of her mind when she had decided to visit the village; after her thoughts the evening before, she knew she could not rest until she had seen the Falls again.

She hardly noticed the countryside now as she rode; the bold upthrusts of rocky tors might have been the green grass of Hyde Park for all the attention she paid to them. All her concentration was on the place to which she was riding.

After a time, she came to the narrow River Lyd and followed it to the spot where it tumbled suddenly down into Lydford Gorge. Her pace slowed, and her heart began to pound. She had not been here since the day after Gil’s death, so many years ago. She dreaded seeing it again. A few weeks ago, at Bucky’s house party, she had accompanied the rest of the group on a picnic to Lydford Gorge below, and even that, looking up at the Falls from the gorge, had filled her with an almost unbearable sorrow. This, she knew, would be worse—to stand at the top of the Falls, in that spot so filled with beautiful and painful memories—yet she had to do it. She could not rest until she had.

She heard the roar of water, faint at first, then growing louder. At last, ahead of her, she saw the idyllic spot where she and Gil had often met during those magical few weeks of love—the tumble of rocks and the greenery growing rampant at the edge of the water, the delicate mist rising from the Falls, creating a dancing rainbow of colors in the air.

Nicola pulled up her horse and dismounted, leading it the last few yards. Finally, close to the edge, the mist from the tumbling spray caressing her face, she stopped and looked around, her heart swelling with emotion.

It was here that she and Gil had often met after the dance at Tidings. They had sat beneath the shade of the trees a few yards from the Falls, and they had talked and kissed, making plans for their future. They would go to America, they said, when Nicola reached eighteen and could marry as she chose. There, Gil had heard, people did not care about one’s birth and a man could make his way on his own merits. He had given her a ring, a heavy, simple man’s ring that was, he said, the only inheritance he had. His mother had given it to him before she died, saying it was his father’s, but she would not tell him more than that. It was their betrothal ring, and Nicola wore it on a chain, hidden beneath her dress.

Nicola closed her eyes, yearning sweeping through her. She remembered sitting on the ground, leaning back against Gil’s chest, his arms wrapped around her from behind, enfolding her with love, and the memory was so real it was a fresh stab of pain.

“Oh, Gil!” The words tore from her in a sob, drowned by the rush of water.

She had never felt so alive as she had in his arms. His kisses had been like fire, and his caresses had awakened sensations in her that she had never dreamed existed. They had lain beneath the tree, kissing and stroking each other, exploring their eager, youthful passion until they were almost frenzied with desire, yet always Gil had pulled back finally. He refused to dishonor her, he said; no matter how difficult it was, they would wait until she was his bride.

Nicola had wanted to continue, arguing with him that she did not care, teasing him with her mouth and body. That last day, she remembered, she had unbuttoned her bodice and pulled the sides apart, glorying in the heavy-lidded, greedy way Gil stared at her, his breath rasping in his throat.

“Don’t you want me?” she had whispered.

“Sweet heaven, girl, you’re killing me” had been his husky answer, and he had reached out and cupped one breast, his thumb brushing her nipple and making it harden eagerly. “Don’t you know I want ye more than life itself?”

His dark eyes were lit with an inner flame. He moved his hand across her chest, pausing to touch the ring that lay nestled between her breasts. “To see you…to see my ring there, warmed by your flesh—knowing that ye are mine and I’m yours…”

“Then take me,” Nicola had said boldly, covering his hand with hers, her eyes glowing up at him. “Make love to me. I want to feel you, to know—”

“No! I won’t be plantin’ my seed in ye and ye not bearin’ my name. It’s what happened to my mother, and I will not put that shame on ye. Or on my child.”

He had bent and lightly touched his lips to her pink nipple. “Now cover up, girl, before ye drive me to distraction.”

“And if I won’t?” Nicola had asked saucily, leaning back on her elbows, her eyes filled with challenge.