Rayna had prepared a room for him, too, as promised, but Meade had yet to make use of it. He was considering doing just that when a noise on the upper balcony captured his attention. He looked up and saw a ghostly figure in diaphanous silver robes floating toward the stairs. Startled by the apparition, he was on his feet before he realized that his ghost was actually Rayna Templeton.
As she came down the stairs, her flowing robe turned from silver to gold when she passed through the light of a lantern, and by the time she reached him, Meade could tell that the dressing gown was actually an unrelieved white that reflected the colors around her. A high lace collar encircled her throat, and more lace spilled from her sleeves onto her hands, making her look as demure and fragile as a nun.
Her golden blond hair was tamer now. It fell in soft waves around her shoulders like a cape of molten gold framing a freshly scrubbed face that looked more vulnerable than Meade would have ever imagined possible. Her blue eyes, the color of priceless sapphires, were softer than before, too. The rage that had made them flash with fire had been drained from her by exhaustion.
Meade’s heart went out to her, but his far more surprising reaction to her was a purely physical one. He felt his body tighten in an instinctive male response to her incredible beauty. Irritated with himself, he tried to tamp the feeling down. Miss Rayna Templeton might look like a vision from heaven itself, but she was no angel, and she was far too young for him. Just looking at her made him feel like a lascivious old man.
“Good evening,” Rayna said quietly, puzzled by the strange look the major was giving her. Though she knew better, she thought she saw a flash of desire in his dark eyes. It must have been a trick of the moonlight. “Did I startle you?”
“For a moment,” he replied, trying to get a grip on his unexpected emotions. Even her voice was different tonight—softer, like a lover’s gentle caress.
“When you appeared on the balcony, I thought I was seeing a ghost.”
“There are no ghosts here, Major. Only the restless souls of the living.”
“Understandably so,” he replied.
He was still looking at her most strangely, and Rayna found his gaze dis-quieting. “How is my father?”
“Sleeping comfortably,” he was happy to be able to tell her. “He’s very weak, but I have reason to believe that the worst has passed.”
Her eyes lit up with hope. “Then he’ll live?”
“I’m sorry, Miss Templeton. I can’t promise you that.” The expectation in her eyes died, and Meade hated himself for having killed it. “I thought you had turned in for the night.”
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Rayna moved to one of the wrought-iron benches flanking the silent foun-tain that flowed only in the spring and winter. “I couldn’t possibly sleep, Major. I have been packing instead.”
“Packing?” Meade asked as he settled onto the bench next to hers.
“Yes.” Rayna clasped her hands together and forced them to be still in her lap so that the major wouldn’t see how they trembled. “I mean no offense, but I can’t assume that the dispatch you sent to General Whitlock this afternoon will be sufficient to secure Skylar’s release. I fear the only solution to this absurd dilemma is for me to go to Santa Fe to speak with the general personally and to show him Skylar’s adoption papers.”
“That’s probably a wise course,” Meade replied, not surprised that she would take the initiative. “I would be happy to write you a letter of introduc-tion and reiterate my objections to Captain Greenleigh’s action, if you think that would be of help.”
“Thank you, Major Ashford. I would appreciate that.”
“When will you leave?”
Rayna glanced away from him, hesitating, wondering what he would think of her decision. What dutiful, loving daughter would abandon her father, knowing full well that he might not be alive when she returned? This was the hardest decision Rayna had ever made in her life. “I plan to leave first thing in the morning. There is a train leaving Malaventura at ten o’clock that will put me in Santa Fe before nightfall.”
“Have you any suggestion regarding what we should tell your father?”
Rayna was absurdly relieved that she detected no censure in his voice. “I’ve thought about that a great deal. I suppose you or Mother could tell him that Skylar and I were so encouraged to hear about his recovery that we felt it would be safe for us to go to Fort Marcy to see about getting the Mescaleros returned. He may be disappointed that we left without seeing him, but the shock won’t kill him.” Emotion clogged her throat, and it was a moment before she could go on. “I don’t recall ever having lied to Papa before,” she said softly.
Meade couldn’t restrain himself from reaching over to gently place his hand on hers. “You’ve never had a better reason than this, Miss Templeton. It’s for his own good, and this way he won’t question your sister’s absence.”
The kindness of his touch and his voice were more than Rayna could handle. Her emotions were being held in check by a fragile thread that could be too easily severed. “Thank you,” she said, slipping her hands away from his and rising.
Meade straightened abruptly, cursing himself. He had meant only to be comforting, but instead he had obviously betrayed his curiously tender feelings toward this woman. She probably thought he really was a lecherous old 62
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man. “My apologies, Miss Templeton,” he said as he rose. “I didn’t mean to be presumptuous.”
Rayna had difficulty facing him, but she did so anyway. “You weren’t,” she assured him. “You’ve been far kinder to me than I deserve, after the way I treated you this afternoon, but kindness is something I’m not sure I can deal with at the moment.”
Meade thought he understood what she meant, and he smiled. “You mean you’d be more comfortable yelling at me?”
Caught off guard by his candor, Rayna couldn’t keep from smiling.
“Precisely. It seems you know me too well already.”
I’m learning, he thought, and at that moment he couldn’t recall having wanted anything in his life more than he wanted to take this lovely young woman into his arms. Instead, he offered, “You may yell at me if you like. I don’t bruise easily.”
“Nor do I,” Rayna replied, her smile fading. “Yet I seem to hurt all over tonight.”
“That, too, is understandable.”
A small silence fell between them. A cool breeze wafted through the arcade, rustling Rayna’s gown, and Meade had to take a step back to prevent himself from taking two steps toward her. “Would you like to see your father, Miss Templeton?”
“Could I?” she asked, hardly daring to hope. “But you said—”
“He’s sleeping now. If he should awaken, we can tell him that Skylar has already retired for the night.”
It was a moment before she could answer. “Yes, I would like very much to see him.”
The tears of gratitude that suddenly shimmered in her eyes were nearly Meade’s undoing. He took another step back and gestured toward the parlor.
She preceded him, moving like a wraith floating on a cloud of white silk.
Meade’s heartbeat quickened again, and he sent up a fervent prayer that morning would come quickly so that he could leave Rancho Verde and escape this misbegotten attraction to Rayna Templeton.
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5
Skylar could see very little difference in the landscape as the cavalrymen and the wagons moved slowly through a pass in the mountains that bounded the Mescalero reservation, yet she seemed to know instinctively when they reached the land that had been set aside for this small tribe of Apache.