The wind had pulled and teased Cassandra's hair from its loose updo. She had wanted a long ride in the warm sunshine, but Scotland, as she was coming to find out, was rarely so accommodating. It wasn't raining, but thick clouds shielded the sun and sky from view.

The cool weather had proved a cure for deep, troubling thoughts, and she had almost forgotten the incident with the stable hand. Almost. She would make sure to mention the event to Charlie. If there was a thief in the Fergus household, it would be her duty to make sure it was known, and she had never been so thrilled to do her duty.

Smiling into the wind, she stopped her mount from munching on the lush moor grass. She wasn't far from Fergus Manor, and already, she'd discovered something new. No one had told her that there was a little village so close by.

From the smell wafting on the wind, it was a fishing village. She felt she should have been trepidatious looking at another Scottish village, but there was no fear in her. A thrill of excitement pulsed through her, and she smiled. Was it always to be this way with new things?

Biting her lip to repress the laugh building within her, she urged her horse into action, closing the distance between herself and the village in no time. She was as free as a bird in the sky. The feeling made her as giddy as a debutante at their first season.

She slowed to a walk as she approached the outcropping of houses. It wouldn't do to race through here without stopping to see the sights first. Besides, the longer she stayed here, the longer it was before she had to go back to the manor. The longer it was before she would be cooped up in a tiny room with only a window to let her see the outside world.

Although she wasn't allowing herself to think about it, she knew that this would likely be her last ride. Unless, that is, she wanted to go riding with Graham. After this, he would discover her little trick, and he'd never let her get away with it again. Still, she was rather proud of herself for fooling him so simply.

The village streets were surprisingly tidy. From their reputation, she would have assumed that fishermen kept slovenly, uncomfortable homes and places of business. The buildings here, however, looked as thought they'd been freshly scrubbed, and although they were in need of a good layer of new paint, they weren't shabby looking.

A woman in servants clothes and riding a fine horse drew a certain amount of attention from the locals. Men in patched and torn pants and thick, woolen sweaters let their pipes sit unattended in their mouths to gape at her as she passed. Not a few women straightened from hefty baskets of dirty clothes, placing rough hands on hips to stare, but Cassandra paid them no mind.

She was used to drawing looks wherever she went. True, it was usually for different reasons, but the end result was the same. She knew she must make quite the picture with her wind-tousled hair and slightly ill-fitting uniform, not to speak of the horse. For not the first time, however, she didn't care what she looked like.

A group of slightly dirty children scrambled across the road in front of her, dogs running about their heels. Cassandra smiled. How different was the life these children led compared to her own! She found herself wondering if they weren't happier than she'd been.

Dismounting, she tied her horse to a sturdy-looking tree. Overhead, a gull called, and Cassandra found herself smiling. There was something rather alluring in this carefree day, and she was hard pressed not to wish for more. She had to remind herself repeatedly that she was a lady of standing, and such freedoms were not permitted her.

She kept a hand on her horse's flank, surveying the village with increasing interest. There was a desire in her to be as useful as these people. They made a difference in their world while she was simply a pretty face.

Something tugging on her skirt drew her attention downwards. She looked directly into a pair of big, brown eyes that reminded her of Lavinia.

"Yer horse is pretty, miss." The little girl had a lisp on top of a thick brogue.

Cassandra crouched down until she could look the child in the eyes. Red-gold hair hung free to the girl's waist, and those steady, brown eyes surveyed Cassandra above round cheeks smudged with dirt. Clutched in grubby hands, the girl held what must have been a favorite doll.

"Would you like to ride it?" Cassandra smiled warmly. The sparkle that glinted in the depths of the little eyes was all the answer she needed.

.................................

Cassandra had never heard so many little voice talking at once. Isla, the child that had first approached her, had soon attracted the attention of multiple playmates. All of them wanted to take their turn on horseback.

At first they were a little skittish around her, and she got the impression that they weren't used to people 'from the big house' being particularly kind to them. Being that the village was so close to Fergus Manor, this was probably where the staff came for drinks when they were off duty. After a job at the manor, the people here would seem common and inferior.

Soon, however, once they realized Cassandra was willing to join in their play and would answer them gently, they warmed up to her. When they had had their fill of riding, they pulled her into their games in the grass just beyond the cottages.

As carefree as the children were with her, she did notice that there were always a couple adults close by. Watchful eyes scrutinized the way she interacted with the young ones. Intimidating as it was, she also found herself respecting the simple folk who were taking time from their daily work to make sure their children were safe.

At the moment, Cassandra found herself seated on the slightly damp earth as tiny, grubby hands tangled into her hair, weaving bits of heather into it. Eliza would have a time of it trying to comb through her hair tonight.

"Now ya hae a crown, jus' like a princess." A little voice said as a pair of hand place a heather chain on her head, amid a chorus of excited hand clapping and squeals.

"Doesn' she look like a princess, mister?" Another voice piped in.

"She does indeed."

Cassandra's head jerked around at the familiar sound of the voice. Graham was lazily leaning against a nearby tree, chewing on a grass stem. He smirked when she looked up, which told her that her face must have mirrored the surprise she felt.

Abruptly, she got to her feet. "What are you doing here?" She demanded.

"Isla, your mother is looking for you." Graham seemed not to have heard her at all.

Seeming to understand something Cassandra didn't, all the children followed Isla, whooping and shouting, into the village. In less than a moment, the two of them were alone in the open grass.

"I said: what are you doing here?" Cassandra repeated, each word coming out grindingly clear. Of course, he had to arrive and ruin her perfectly good day.

"Heather only flowers for eleven years of its life." He moved easily toward her, as though he hadn't a care in the world. "It matures in three to four years, but it only flowers for eleven to twelve years. After that, it becomes woody and looses its famous colors." He drew one of the drooping flowers out of her hair and tucked it behind her ear. "Funny, isn't it?"

Cassandra slapped his hand away. "Why are you here?"

"Maybe I thought you needed some company home." He grinned.

"How did you know about this place?" She glared at him.

"It's not like I grew up in the area or anything." His voice was dry, and he raised a brow.

Cassandra ground her teeth together, feeling like a fool. "I can't imagine such a place having to deal with you all this time." She snapped.

Graham, instead of being offended, threw his head back and laughed. "I don't expect it'll ever recover. I was no easy child."

"Nothing much has changed." She said wryly.

He turned to her with a grin. "Nope."

Without realizing it, they had begun to head back toward the village. Strangely, Cassandra found herself becoming at a certain ease in his company. There was an odd comfort in the fact that she knew she was safe at his side.

"You know this will only further the wagging of tongues about us, right?" He said suddenly.

"What? Walking alone? No." The sarcasm was evident in her voice. "Is there talk about us?"

"People are people, sweetheart. They can't seem to help themselves." He turned to look at her, grinning.

She locked gazes with him, and silence fell around them. Suddenly, she realized that he had called her 'sweetheart', and she hadn't minded it much.

Quickly, she looked away. What was wrong with her? She bit down on her lower lip.

The late afternoon bustle of the village moved around them. Nothing seemed to have changed. The day was still good, and yet, everything had changed.

The firmly packed ground of the street beneath her bare feet reminded her that she had left her shoes in the grassy area. Somehow, though, she wasn't in a rush to collect them. The day felt like a summer afternoon that seems to stretch on for an eternity, and she didn't want to go back into the crazy rush of her usual life. There would be time to get them later.

"I never did thank you for pulling me out of the middle of that group the other night." She said suddenly, and there was no obligation behind it. "I'm not sure how I would've gotten out of it if you hadn't come along."

"You would have thought of something." Graham's voice seemed slightly strained, almost as though she was no longer the center of his attention.

"Perhaps, but it wouldn't have worked nearly so well. So thank you." Cassandra half turned to look at him.

His hand suddenly snaked out and grasped her wrist in an ironlike hold. He jerked her to a stop, his eyes focused on something further up the street.

"Wha—" She began, but it all happened too quickly for her brain to process.

Without a word, he bodily shoved her into a nearby alleyway. He pressed close to her, pushing her against the wall of one of the buildings. His entire stance was tense, expectant.

"What's going on?" She said, confusion muddling her thoughts.

"Quiet." He shushed without even looking at her.

His voice was harsh, harsher than she'd ever heard it. She'd heard him be serious, seen it too, but it was nothing in comparison to this. Before, nothing had seemed to truly affect him, nothing was that big. However, now. . .she didn't know what to think.

She could hear her heart beating wildly, and time seemed to stand still. Then, suddenly and with warning, fear snaked down her spine. Had he taken her thanks as an invitation? Was he, too, just like the Robert Smithers of the world?

She tried to think, tried to rationalize, but her fear trampled any sensible train of thought. All of her recent closeness with males had been disastrous. She willed the feelings to go away and leave her in peace, but they clawed at her insides until they burst out of her in the form of violent struggles.

"Get off me!" She growled, punctuating each word with a punch.

"Cassandra, stop it!" Had her senses not been so overrun by her fear, she would have heard the urgency of his tone. "Be quiet!" He took bother her hands in one of his own.

"Don't you touch me!" She cried, struggling futilely against his grip.

"Look at me." His voice was steady, commanding, but she ignored it, continuing to fight against him. "Cassandra," she heard it that time, the urgency, the sincerity. "Look at me." And she did.

His eyes were a dappled mixture of bright green and striking grey. They were as wild as he himself. At the moment, there was something in them that she'd never seen in him before. It wasn't fear. Was it a hint of concern?

Unconsciously, she continued to fight against him, even as she looked into those eyes. Her struggles were less violent, but she seemed unable to exit the mentality that she needed to defend herself. There was an odd terror in her that she seemed unable to quench.

She was dimly aware, as if from a great distance, that he spoke to her again. She watched his lips move and heard the faint rumble of his voice. Her brain was unable to register the words he spoke, though.

He released her hands suddenly. There was no hint of mockery in his expression, no joking laughter or taunts. He leaned nearer her, and she caught a faint whiff of sage and something else she couldn't name.

He shifted slightly and turned to look at something. The arm wrapped around her body seemed to instinctively pull her closer to him. When he turned back to look at her, there was determination in his eyes.

"I'm sorry." The words were clear in her mind, and she had just enough time to feel confusion at the apology when he kissed her.

Shock flooded her being at the feeling of his lips on hers, and she stilled, immobilized somehow at the contact. A strange, tingling feeling shot through her toes and fingers and up her legs and arms, settling in the pit of her stomach and throbbing in her chest. She couldn't breathe.

His lips pressed urgently against hers, drawing her in. As if of their own will, her arms wrapped around him, threading into the hair at the back of his neck. Her eyes drifted closed.

He pulled back suddenly, half turning away. Her heart began pounding heavily within her chest, and she felt weak. More than that, she felt empty and cold. Pushing herself onto her tiptoes, she pulled his face back down to meet hers.

His hands tangled into her hair, and somehow, she lost herself in his kiss. Their passion mingled, and his lips traced a pattern down her neck before claiming her lips again. The tingling that had begun with his first kiss transformed into flooding fire in her veins, coursing through her with every drumming beat of her heart.

His lips captured hers gently again and then he pulled away. Before she could react, he turned and looked out into the street. He was looking for something.

Without his arm around her, Cassandra could only lean weakly against the wall, trembling ridiculously. She wondered how long they had been in the alleyway. It was as though time had stood still, while at the same time moving like an out of control carriage.

She frowned at her own absurdity, even as the after affect of his kiss pulsed through her. Nothing had ever had such an affect on her. It must have something to do with her empty stomach.

Her eyes drifted to Graham. His back was toward her. She realized as though coming out of a trance that their kiss had had no such impact on him. Something in her wilted at the thought which only proved to infuriate her. It wasn't as though she even remotely liked him or anything.

No, he hadn't kissed her for the sake of kissing her. There was something else going on here. He was hiding something, and she felt a wave of determination to find out what.

"Where'd you put your horse?" He turned suddenly, his voice was low.

"I tied it to a tree near the place where I was with the children." She replied quietly, trying to calm her fast beating heart. "What's going on?"

"Nothing. Wait here." He replied quickly.

She didn't have time to respond before he disappeared onto of the alleyway as silent as the dead. Without his watchful eyes on her, she sank to the ground, peering out onto the street. Nothing seemed to have changed. The fishermen and their wives still moved about in their work, and yet, there was something. . .

The crunch of a footstep on loose gravel made her palms go wet with sweat. Across the street, a man in a fine, broadcloth suit stepped out of the grocery, turning to look up and down the street. His eyes paused on the alleyway, and Cassandra's breath caught in her mouth. He didn't seem to have seen her, however, as his eyes continued their scrutiny of his surroundings.

The unmistakeable sound of horse hooves on hard-packed earth met her ears, causing her breath to catch in her throat. In the darkness cast by the houses's shadows, it was difficult to make anything out, but she knew someone was coming upon the alley from the back way. It was like that horrible little town she'd been in when Graham had saved her, and she felt trapped like a caged rabbit.

Had this been Graham's plan all along? Had he inspired her to trust him before leading her willingly to the slaughter? Her heart beat out a wild rhythm in her chest, and she rose shakily to her fee as the steps drew nearer.

A hand shot out of the darkness, grasping her wrist. She nearly screamed aloud before she made out Graham's features. His eyes were on the street, and they had a hint of the old mocking glint in them. Whatever was going on was nothing new to him.

"Mount up." His head jerked in the direction of the back of the alley, and this time, she obeyed without question.

There was only one horse, and it wasn't the one she'd ridden here. The animal gave her slight pause. It was both bigger and more wild in appearance than hers.

"Hurry." There was no rush in the way he spoke, it was as though he were asking her to pass him a scone.

Taking hold of the saddle pommel, she tried to heft herself up into the saddle. Not only was the horse itself different, the saddle wasn't a sidesaddle. She hopped on one foot, the other in the stirrup.

Hands took hold of her waist and boosted her up. She kicked her leg out wildly and almost fell, but then Graham was behind her, his hands never letting go of her. Without hesitation, he spurred the horse into action, bending low over the animal's neck and flattening her against it.

Swallowing, she wondered what had become of her horse. This was by no means comfortable, and she felt the blood pooling in her feet. This sensation reminded her that she had left her shoes, as well.

—————————————

There you go! So, a kiss. . .well, well, well, what now? More confusion? I know I keep saying this, but it will all make sense soon. . .ish. . . What would you like to see happen next? Where do you think this story is going?

I have a couple more chapters written. It's just a matter of getting them edited/up here! Hopefully, I'll have time to do that over the next couple of days (no promises for tomorrow, though!). So happy Thanksgiving (for those who celebrate), and happy reading until next time!!