Columbine by MIRANDA JARRETT Page B

there.
    “And don’t be impertinent, Mercy.
    He’s your elder, and you call him Master Sparhawk.”
    Mercy’s frown deepened.
    “Kit’s my friend,” she said stubbornly, “and I’ll call him Kit.”
    “Dianna’s right, Mercy,” said Kit, laughing. He caught the little girl’s hands and lifted her, giggling, high into the air. With each word he pretended to drop her, and she shrieked with delighted excitement.
    “You’re the most impertinent little baggage in this entire colony, and you’ll never be a lady yourself until you learn some manners! Now up with you!”
    Lightly, he boosted the girl up onto the horse and turned expectantly to Dianna.
    “Where will you ride?” she demanded crossly.
    The silly play between the two had made her feel even more like an outsider.
    “Why, on Thunder, of course. He’ll scarce notice a mite like you in front of me.” Slowly he smiled, smug and superior.
    “Unless you’re afraid.”
    Exasperated, Dianna stepped closer to him, her hands on her hips.
    “By now, Master Sparhawk, you should well know I am not afraid of you or anything to do with you. But I don’t see what good will come of traipsing off with you God knows where just because you wish it.”
    Kit toyed with the reins in his hands, and ever so slightly, his smile widened.
    “Mercy wants to come with me. She’ shad no breakfast and knows she’ll eat well at my house. You are, nominally at least, her caretaker. You can come with her and with me, or you can remain here and answer to Asa as to why you abandoned your charge.”
    Dianna hated to admit that Kit was right, though, of course, damn him, he was. She had already mined the house into a smoky disaster. What would Asa think if she let his granddaughter run off without her, as well? In frustration she stamped her foot.
    “Well, then, let’s be off. I’ve no—Oh!”
    With his hands on her waist, Kit picked her up as easily as a doll and sat her on the horse behind Mercy. In another moment he had swung himself into the saddle, and with his arms circling around them both, he urged the big horse forward. Dianna fell back against Kit’s chest; there was no way to avoid it. Despite the layers of clothing between them, she was aware of the warmth of his body touching hers, the strength of his thighs beneath her own as he guided the horse. Sternly she reminded herself that Mercy was her responsibility, and she clasped her arms around the little girl’s waist for safekeeping.
    Better to think of Mercy than of how her own body seemed determined to slide against Kit’s. Lord help her, how far was his house?
    But for Kit, who knew the distance was short, the ride seemed interminable. He was all too aware of the soft curve of her hip and bottom pressed against him, and her wriggling as she tried to ease away from him only made matters worse. He recalled how sweet her mouth had been to kiss and how passionately she had responded to him, and he almost groaned aloud I at the memory. Beneath his nose her hair smelled smoky, plaited into a thick, tight braid. How he’d like to set it free and bury his face in the silkiness as he kissed her lips, her throat, her : breasts-“There be Plumstead now!” cried Mercy excitedly.
    Sitting high on the crest of a hill, the house itself was old-fashioned by English standards, a bit rough hewn in its lines, with sharply peaked gables and diamond-paned windows. The second story overhung the first, and elaborately carved pendants hung at the corners like giant water drops. From the center of the shingled roof rose a massive chimney, shaped and angled like a castle’s tower, the pink brick in contrast to the dark, weathered clap boarding below. But in this setting, on land so recently claimed from the forest, the house seemed exactly right. Dianna could imagine it in the summer, when the hill that rolled down to the small river would be green and the two huge beech trees would shade the twin benches by the front doorway.