The Horseman. Margaret Way

It had restored to him his grandson. All the Morelands were gathered here today, happy to share in this joyous occasion. Three hundred guests from around the country and overseas had already arrived. A great many were roaming all over the grounds like butterflies that flew around the great banks of lantana, pink, white and gold.

      It had been decided in a family conference that the logistics of holding the wedding at isolated Moondai in the Red Centre were much more difficult than holding the wedding at “Morelands” in Darwin. Sandra had had no objection; the guests could attend and find accommodation. She wanted nothing more than to marry her Daniel. But then, too, Sandra had grown close to Joel Moreland. She knew intuitively that a wedding held at Morelands would have very special meaning for him. Cecile couldn’t have been more pleased. Her grandfather was as good and kind and brave a man as one could ever wish to meet. That Daniel shared many of their grandfather’s characteristics had made her warm to him at once.

      Graceful as a swan in her bridesmaid’s regalia, Cecile glided over to the white wrought-iron balustrade, dazzled by the scene in front of her. Everyone looked resplendent in their wedding finery—many a dashing morning suit among the well-dressed men, glamorous gowns, gorgeous hats, the glitter of expensive jewelry. The children, too, were decked out in formal dress, the little girls adorable in silks and taffetas and organzas, with shining hair drifting down their backs, though no one could stop them from darting all over the grounds, calling to one another, ignoring the pleas of their parents as they hid behind billowing bushes of hibiscus, frangipani and oleander. She could remember doing exactly the same thing with her friends at the innumerable functions her grandparents had held in the grounds.

      It was a few moments before that special sense of hers told her she was under surveillance. There were no words to explain where that sense came from; it was just there. She stayed perfectly still, though she was aware her breath was coming unevenly. Then, not making a business of it, she shifted her gaze slowly…slowly…following the magnetic beam.

      To the left of her, a man was standing alone in a little pocket of quiet. He was staring at her with single-minded concentration. It wasn’t simple curiosity in his gaze, and the quality of it, indeed his whole body language, locked her in place. For a weird moment she thought she was falling…falling…plunging over the balustrade right into his arms.

      Wedding hysteria? The delusion of falling lasted no more than a second or two, yet she remained in a state of confusion, steadying herself with one hand on the wrought-iron banister. She was positive he had been staring at her for some time. Indeed he inclined his head in what she interpreted as a sardonic bow to which she found herself giving him the smallest nod in response. It was a graceful but essentially aloof acknowledgment that wouldn’t have been amiss in royalty.

      Heat burned in her cheeks. Even now his eyes didn’t let go. In fact, the connection, which defied interpretation, grew stronger. They might have been illicit lovers or sworn enemies, so strong was the focus each had on the other.

      He was impressively tall. As tall as Daniel, which meant well over six feet, with a similar athletic build. He was dressed in a beautifully tailored camel-colored suit, a deep blue shirt with a white collar beneath, and a wide blue silk tie with broad white stripes banded in either black or navy; she couldn’t at this distance tell which. A shaft of dappled sunlight was shining directly on his thick, springy hair, picking out blond strands in the dark caramel. She couldn’t see the color of his eyes. She thought dark. What she knew for certain was that they were holding her in place while he took his fill of her.

      She registered the strong bone structure, the high cheekbones, fine straight nose, beautifully sculpted jawline. It was a face not easily forgotten. His skin had the dark tan of a man who spent long hours in a hot sun. He looked to be around thirty, thirty-two, no more. She had never seen him before in her life, but she thought she could pick him out of thousands. He exuded power and vitality as though at any moment he could morph into a man of action, striding across the desert or tackling the world’s highest mountains.

      A shiver passed through her; it was as though no man had ever looked at her before. She wanted to pull away from the balustrade, but the hypnotic quality of his gaze blocked her every attempt to move. It seemed like an age but it could only have been moments. She couldn’t believe this was happening. It shouldn’t be happening, yet she stood there as if she wanted to do nothing other. What was his expression? It wasn’t relaxed. It wasn’t smiling or even pleasant. For an odd moment she thought his gaze was judgmental. Was he sizing her up and finding her wanting? Why should that be? They were perfect strangers. She felt a little dizzy as though not enough oxygen was getting to her brain. It was clear she had to do something to break the deadlock.

      She closed her eyes tightly in an act of defiance, wishing Stuart was by her side. Did she think herself in need of protection?

      When she opened them again, the man had moved into the cool green shadows of a feathery poinciana, where he was joined by a trio of attractive young women with their arms interlaced with one another. She could hear their laughing voices as they introduced themselves. One took hold of his sleeve, gazing up into his face, while the others talked excitedly. But then, a man who looked like that would have a steady stream of women beating a path to his side.

      At last she felt free to move away from the balustrade. She was shocked by the impact a total stranger had had on her, especially when neither had spoken a word. As she moved back into her bedroom, a ripple of something approaching antagonism passed through her. She made a real effort to control it. Who was he? She didn’t know him and had no desire to. Her well-honed intuition told her he would be dangerous to know. Perversely she speculated on who he might be. He had to be a guest of Sandra’s or someone from Daniel’s past. She knew just about everyone on the Moreland side. She couldn’t remember a time any man had so caught her attention. Whoever he was, he was a force in his own right.

      SANDRA’S HUGE BEDROOM WAS abuzz with excited young women in beautiful gowns, but none more beautiful than the bride, who was executing a dreamy little waltz around the room, her arms raised as if to her groom. Sandra was wearing traditional white, an exquisite high-necked Edwardian style lace-and-silk bodice, with dozens of seed pearls hand-applied, the full-length sleeves a continuation of the bodice lace, pegged down the arm. The tightly fitted sashed waist emphasized the billow of the silk skirt. The style suited her petite frame and the blue and gold of her looks. On her head she wore, set straight on her forehead, a garland similar to her bridesmaids’, only her flowers were in shades of ivory and cream with the addition of a short shimmering white tulle veil.

      The excitement in the room was palpable. Cecile thought she could reach out and grab a handful out of the perfumed air that had as its top notes a floral bouquet of rose, gardenia and lily of the valley.

      Sandra flashed a radiant smile. “Ceci, you look wonderful!”

      Cecile hurried to her, hugging her with real affection. “I couldn’t possibly rival you. You’re as lovely as a tea rose.” Cecile could feel tears rise to her eyes.

      “Don’t you dare cry!” Sandra warned, not very far away from bursting into emotional tears herself.

      Cecile bit her lip, calling to the other bridesmaids in warm tones, “You look great, too!”

      “It’s the wedding of the year, my dear,” Denise answered, with a flourish of her skirt.

      “Ladies, please!” The hairstylist who had been employed to do their hair clapped his hands to get their attention, but that proved impossible. For Sandra’s mother, Pamela, looking as glamorous as a film star in a short-skirted Chanel suit and a sexy fascinator on her blond head, chose that moment to walk into the room carrying the beautifully wrapped gifts from Sandra to her bridesmaids. She presented one to each young woman in turn while they exclaimed in delight.

      Melinda lost the least time pulling off the elegant wrapping. What she saw made her suck in her breath. “Oooooh!” Slowly she withdrew from the jeweler’s box a rope of freshwater pearls fashioned into a choker with a large central clasp of deep pink tourmaline. “Sandy, is this for me?” Her voice wobbled in a mix of awe and delight.

      “No one else!” Sandra smiled. “As