Linda Castle - Temple's Prize

“I see,” Constance said. It was a reasonable enough request to wait until tomorrow morning to begin the journey but she was feeling neither calm nor reasonable.

“I’ll come and get you loaded up at sunrise, miss.”

“Thank you, Mr. Hughes. That will be fine.” Constance opened the door and let him out into the narrow empty hallway. The sound of Temple’s voice down below in the bar made the hair on the nape of her neck prickle. She so seldom lost her temper, it was not an experience she was accustomed to.

Constance shut the door behind Mr. Hughes, but even with the door closed, she could still hear the baritone rumble of several men in conversation. A sharp bark of amusement shattered the silence of her room, and heat rose in her face.

As the sun dropped from sight and darkness claimed her room a new sound was added. Plinking piano music vibrated through the floor against the soles of her shoes.

A sudden explosion of laughter echoed up the stairs. A hot tide of indignation climbed into her cheeks again.

“He is still laughing at me.” She walked to the small neatly made bed and sat down. Constance tried to ignore the hilarity but the sound continued to hammer at the closed door. Temple’s reaction to her suggestion really was the most baffling and insulting thing she had ever experienced.

“Most confounding.” And infuriating, she finally admitted to herself. For the first time in her memory, Constance was seething with anger.

Another barrage of baritone chuckles wafted up the stairs. Constance found the image of her father’s elderly colleagues swimming in her mind.

They frequently looked at her with bemused expressions—or patted her hand and offered her some patronizing explanation about why she couldn’t participate in their scholarly activities. In fact she almost expected it from them. But to have Temple Parish, of all people on earth, sitting downstairs, in a barroom in Montana, laughing at her.

It was simply unthinkable.

“And humiliating.” Constance rose from the edge of the bed. Her long skirt rustled while she walked to the small door. She opened it a crack and heard a renewed torrent of mirth blend with the slightly offkey piano music.

“That is quite enough from you, Mr. Temple Parish.” Her ears burned with heat each time his deep, well-modulated voice caught her attention. She pushed her spectacles up on her nose and opened the door a few inches wider. “Quite enough, indeed. I believe it is time we came to an understanding, Mr. Parish” She took a deep breath and squared her shoulders before she started down the hallway.

Temple had the glass halfway to his lips when he glanced up and saw her on the staircase. She was swathed in black bombazine from her jawline to the toes of her very sensible and unattractive shoes. The creamy oval of her face was almost lost beneath the coil of heavy chestnut hair. Her eyes were hidden behind the thick rectangles of glass perched on the bridge of her nose. Her shoulders and neck were rigid and set with unyielding indignation.

She was furious, and it showed in every stiff step she took down the steep poorly lit stairs.

Temple watched her progress and realized with some amusement that he had become quite adept at putting women into a high state of emotion—whether he intended to or not.

“Mr. Parish, I would have a word with you.” Constance felt the silence rush through the room like a blast of cold northern wind. The men who had been having a jolly time at her expense ducked their heads and turned away from her in embarrassment.

The music ceased with one last awkward sour note that rang through the silent room like a death knell. Temple glanced at the piano player in unmasked annoyance, but the man only shrugged and slid off the stool. He slunk to the bar, turned his back and ordered himself a drink. It tickled Constance to see all the men casting furtive glances at her in the dusty streaked mirror behind the bar.

Temple turned to face her, the only man in the room who could, it would seem. The look in his eyes was frosty and she heard her father’s words echoing in the back of her mind: the blackest-hearted pirate to walk God’s earth since Captain Kidd

She tilted her head and studied his face. After a moment’s thought Constance decided it was just possible that description was too kind. In fact, she thought with a large portion of silent sarcasm, it was more likely a terrible slight against poor Captain Kidd than it ever was to Temple Parish.

Temple cleared his throat and drew her attention. “Please, by all means, Miss Cadwallender, won’t you join me?” Temple swept his hand toward an empty table. He smiled, but his eyes did not warm. He was playing the gallant for the benefit of his audience, who were watching every move reflected in the mirror from beneath their lowered hat brims.

Well, let him posture and preen for this rowdy group, she mused silently. She intended to add to their entertainment in ways Temple had never even imagined. With a rustle of stiff fabric and petticoats, she nodded stiffly and seated herself in a straight-backed chair.

“May I offer you some refreshment?” Temple raised his own glass while he leaned back. He flopped his arm over the back of the chair and settled himself comfortably. The look on his lean weathered face left no doubt that he considered himself master of this— or any—domain.

“No. Thank you.” Constance replied in curt clipped tones.

He looked at her with only mild interest, his dark brown eyes sweeping over her face carelessly as if he had seen all he needed or wanted to see at their first meeting. He tipped the glass to his lips and drained it.

Constance studied him closely. If she squinted her eyes, and used her imagination, she could almost see him with a gold earring in one lobe, a wicked dagger between his clenched teeth.

Yes. He was a pirate, a philistine, an ingrate and every other terrible thing her father had called him over the past ten years. She had not possessed the intelligence to recognize it as a child, but she saw him clearly now. He was a handsome brute, without scruples or conscience. It was going to be a pleasure to see that self-assured grin disappear from his lips.

Constance met the arrogant gaze of Temple Parish and felt a warm flush in her cheeks. At that same moment ten years of childish dreams crumbled into dust at her feet. She raised her chin and forced herself to smile as if her heart were not beating too rapidly in her bosom. He needed to be taught a lesson in manners and in the abilities of a modern thinking woman.

“Mr. Parish, I have given our predicament some thought”

“Have you?” He flashed her a wider, but no less false, smile. His straight white teeth contrasted starkly against the tanned flesh of his angular face. She noticed the raised white scar on his cheek.

“Yes, I have,” Constance replied evenly.

“Well, I’m happy to hear it. It was a long way for you to have traveled in vain, but then again the trip wasn’t a total loss for you. I mean, after all, we have had a pleasant reunion—haven’t we?”

She shoved her spectacles up on her nose. “Is that what we’ve been doing, Mr. Parish? Having a reunion?”

His smile slipped and for a moment was replaced by a frown but within seconds the dazzling smile was back in place. “Of course, Connie, it has been nice to see you after all these years. I had hoped it would be C.H. who came but… Tell me, what have you been doing to keep busy?”

“Oh, this and that.” Constance smiled stiffly.

“Really? Do you still accompany C.H. on expeditions?”

Constance heard the brittle tone of Temple’s voice and realized he was more than just a little interested in what her father had been doing. Once again the old rumors about Temple raced through her mind.