A Warriner To Rescue Her. Virginia Heath

sat around King Arthur’s table. Very few men could carry off chainmail or a dashing pirate’s earring, but she was quite certain Captain Warriner would. She would store his appearance away in her memory for when she needed inspiration for a handsome rogue...

      But here she was, weaving him into one of her stories and the poor man was still sat on the floor. Probably still winded and trying to pretend not to be. Why, he hadn’t even raised himself from his seat on the grass.

      ‘I am being unforgivably ungrateful, Captain Warriner. You have been extremely decent in trying to save me and I am truly sorry for squashing you when I landed. If it’s any consolation, I did try to avoid you.’

      Her fictional, fantasy pirate was still frowning. ‘I already know I am going to regret asking this question, Miss Reeves, but how did you come to be stuck in one of my brother’s apple trees?’

      ‘I did not realise they belonged to someone, else I never would have taken the liberty.’ Stealing was a sin, after all, and she was guilty of enough of them already to add one to the list. It was the Eighth Commandment. Cassie knew all of the Commandments verbatim. Forwards and, because her attention had a tendency to waver, backwards as well.

      ‘Did you fail to notice the twenty-foot wall and giant wooden gates?’

      As he was gesturing behind her with his hand Cassie allowed her eyes to turn to take in the towering stone barricade looming against the horizon. Now that he happened to mention it, she had noticed the enormous structure as she had ridden down the unfamiliar lane, but as the gates were wide open, she had assumed it was a public park. Both Hyde Park and St James’s had gates, too, although granted nowhere near as imposing, so did the many parks she had frequented in Nottingham, Manchester, Birmingham, Liverpool and Bristol. But she was a very long way from those cities now and she supposed they had no real need for actual parks when lush, green countryside stretched out before you in every direction.

      ‘I did not realise this was private property. I am used to living in big towns, Captain Warriner, where people take the air in big parks. I feel very silly now.’

      He waved her explanation away impatiently. ‘Anyway—the tree, Miss Reeves?’

      She could tell by his expression he thought she was odd. His dark eyebrows were raised in question, but his eyes swirled with irritated bemusement. Cassie knew that look well. It was the way most people had always stared at her. Usually, it only hurt a little bit, because she was quite used to it—but for some reason having this dashing pirate view her in such a manner, when he had barely any time to get to know her, hurt a great deal. Clearly she was now irredeemably odd if an officer in the King’s army had spotted it straight away, when Cassie had been trying so very hard not to be quite so odd since she arrived in Retford. To make matters worse, her reasons for being up the tree were, now she considered it, quite daft indeed. Further evidence of her unfamiliarity with country life.

      ‘I was searching for apples for Orange Blossom. The ones on the lower branches were so very small and hard, I thought those higher up might be riper. Because they were closer to the sun...but I realise now, that it is far too early for any of the apples to be ripe. The ones I picked from the top were just as hard as the ones at the bottom.’

      ‘This, I am also aware of. The majority of them fell on my head while you were trying to adjust your clothing.’

      Could this day get any worse? She had made a fool of herself, unwittingly trespassed and stolen unripe apples, then winded the most handsome man she had ever seen after flashing her fat legs at him. ‘I am sorry about your head, too,’ she said miserably, ‘and for climbing the stupid tree in the first place. When the branch beneath my feet gave way, my dress got caught on something and I couldn’t move. I shall be eternally grateful you came along. I might still be stuck there otherwise and I promised Papa I would be home by four to listen to Sunday’s sermon.’ Stuck inside again when she so loved being outdoors.

      Captain Warriner merely stared at her, his magnificent eyes inscrutable, though obviously happy to end their acquaintance swiftly. Cassie stood up decisively and brushed the worst of the leaves and twigs out of her hair, chiding herself for her own ineptitude. Why did she always have to be so clumsy and so odd? People were always put off by her exuberance. As one pithy matron had said in the parish before the last one, Cassie was like a cup of tea with three sugars when only one was required. At little too much. Too loud. Too talkative. Far too passionate and prone to cause irritation in every quarter. Why couldn’t she simply pretend to be like all of the other young ladies? Why did her silly brain put daft ideas into her head and why did her even sillier head listen to them? Ripe apples and pirates. Two classic examples of her wandering, odd mind.

      ‘I suppose I should get going. Papa will be wondering where I have got to.’

      Captain Warriner nodded, seemingly content to remain seated on the grass. ‘Yes. Probably best.’ He was a man of few words—either that or he didn’t suffer fools like her gladly.

      ‘Well, good afternoon then. And thank you again.’ Cringing with awkwardness, Cassie untied Orange Blossom and began to lead her down the narrow path out of the dreaded Orchard of Embarrassment. A jet-black stallion, obviously as unimpressed with her shenanigans as his owner, glared at her in disgust.

      You are a very silly human, aren’t you?

      Don’t listen to him, said Orange Blossom loyally, you meant well, Cassie.

      It was cold comfort. Captain Galahad still thought her odd. For some reason, it was imperative she did not leave him on such a bad impression.

      ‘I am not normally this silly Captain.’ Cassie spun around only to see him wincing, resting painfully on one knee, as he tried to stand. ‘Oh, my goodness! You’ve hurt your leg.’ She dropped the reins and dashed to his side to offer him some assistance. ‘Let me help you up and then I will escort you home.’ After causing his injury it was the very least she could do.

      Those lovely blue eyes hardened to ice crystals. ‘I’m not a blasted invalid, woman! I can get myself up off the floor and find my own way home!’ To prove his point, he stood and stubbornly limped towards his horse.

      ‘Please, Captain Warriner—allow me to assist you. Your poor leg!’

      But he ignored her. He reached his horse quickly and grabbed the pommel of the saddle to steady himself. Then, with another wince, put all of his weight on his injured left leg so that he could place his right foot in the stirrup. He hauled himself upwards using only the power in his arms. Large muscles bulged under the fabric of his coat, emphasising his strength and excellent broad shoulders. He arranged himself comfortably before shooting her a scornful glare which could have curdled milk.

      ‘Good afternoon, Miss Reeves. Next time you decide to go out for a ride, kindly remember this is private property.’ He nudged the foreboding black stallion forward and the pair of them galloped off without a backward glance.

       Chapter Two

      Jamie dipped his brush in some water and used it to soften the cake of blue paint to create the perfect wash. He preferred to work with watercolours rather than oils. Oil took too long and he was never completely happy with the effect. With watercolour, you could play around with the finish. He loved the translucency it created when he painted skies or water, yet with less moisture you could still create solid lines and definition, and mixed with gouache it could mimic oil paint when he needed texture. It was the perfect combination for recreating scenes from nature, his preferred studies, and definitely the most therapeutic.

      He could paint a reasonable portrait if he put his mind to it, but his style was more romantic than practical, far too whimsical for a career soldier and most certainly not something he was ever prepared to discuss. Soldiers were not supposed to enjoy the shape and curve of a petal or the lyrical pictures drawn by clouds—yet he did. He always had. Right from the moment he had first discovered he could draw, somewhere around the age of seven or eight, Jamie had always created fanciful, dream-like depictions of all the beauty he saw around him.