‘Not when I am out with you, no.’ Cal turned, shielding her from the busy yard with his body. ‘I want to take care of you, Sophie. I want to keep you safe.’
That seemed a touch melodramatic when all they were discussing was one chestnut gelding in need of a few lessons in manners. Or was it? Sophie had the uneasy feeling that Cal was talking about more than horses.
‘Which then?’ She pulled off her glove and touched his cheek, very smooth from his morning shave. She brought her fingers to her lips, the scent of lemons touching her senses, and his eyes darkened.
‘Sophie.’ The moment lengthened, her breathing shortened, then he smiled and said, ‘The grey.’
Cal led the way out of the yard at a walk, and kept to that pace for half a mile.
‘Where are we going?’ She had thought he was going to show her the park, but they were heading out of it, towards the line of hills that rose to the west. ‘Are we leaving your land?’
‘We are going almost to the edge to where the first Thorne had his stronghold. Over there,’ he waved at the far distance where the hills rose higher. ‘That is where the Cheddar Gorge runs. Jocelyn de Thorne was, by the sound of it, a local robber baron and he had his
own miniature gorge here, running back into the crest of the line of hills in front of us. That’s where he built a castle and proceeded to expand eastward, getting control over as much good land as he could lay his hands on.’
‘By marriage?’
‘By marriage and by battle and by downright trickery, I strongly suspect. His son was a landowner with some power hereabouts. His grandson was rich enough and powerful enough to be made an earl, and so it has gone on.’
‘You own land beyond the crest?’
‘No. There are minerals on the far slope and mines here and there, but it is tough country and the Thornes never concerned themselves with it, not when there were easier pickings, rich farm land and wealthy heiresses between them and Bristol. There is a village over the crest, but the road doesn’t even run this way and it is a poor place – or it was when I left.’
‘And the villages on your land?’
‘Brookwood is the nearest and largest. Then there’s a couple of hamlets, Rundene and Herriots End. I must visit those soon because most of the property belongs to the estate and so they are my responsibility.’
‘Does your uncle still act for you?’
‘No.’ Cal used his heels and the grey broke from a walk into a canter. By the time she caught up with him he seemed disposed to answer. ‘When I left I employed Prescott as a secretary. He is, in effect, my confidential assistant. He deals with my agents, carries out my orders and I have total trust in him – he is intelligent enough to do what I would do under any circumstance, which was necessary when I was often months away by post.’
They reached the edge of the parkland and Cal held a gate for her to pass through into a mix of small fields and woodland that became scrub and moorland as they climbed. Then he turned from the open country onto a wide track through the wood and into a valley, steep and narrow. Through the trees Sophie glimpsed outcrops of rock above their heads.
‘Where is the river?’
‘This is dry. The rock here is limestone and water eats into it. Streams run a short distance then vanish into chasms or quite small holes, only to reappear miles away. At one time a stream must have cut this miniature gorge and then hit a fault in the rock and vanished underground. Here is the castle.’
At first she could see nothing, only an expanse of rock, then she realised that it was the ruins of a simple fortress – two turrets, a length of connecting curtain wall, broken down, covered in some place by ivy, in others providing anchorage for saplings. ‘How romantic! Can we get in?’
‘I doubt it is safe. It needs checking thoroughly before I would risk you in there, but I confess that it would be interesting to restore it, make this area part of the park. Come and see the Duke’s Spring.’ Cal swung down out the saddle and held up his hands to help her down.
It was easy to put her hands on his shoulders and slide down, his fingers firm on her waist, his body strong and steady against hers. The kiss was inevitable, prolonged, delicious torture. Sophie felt her resolve weakening, just as Cal moved back and released her.
‘A moment when a cold stream would be very welcome,’ he said ruefully.
‘Yes,’ Sophie agreed so earnestly that he laughed. ‘Show me the spring.’
‘It isn’t a spring any longer, unfortunately. Here.’ He led her to the foot of one of the towers and showed her the ragged gash in the natural stone by its side. ‘Water used to gush out of here and, by a long-held superstition, only the Duke could drink from it. Then, the day after my father died, it dried up. Not so much as a trickle. You may imagine the talk hereabouts. There were rumours of everything from a curse on the ducal house to some wretch drinking from the spring causing the death. And, to reinforce the superstitious talk, a new spring appeared, just over there, two days later.’
He took her hand and helped her over some tumbled stones to a narrow path. The sound of water grew louder and Sophie stopped, sniffed. ‘That’s odd…’ but Cal was forging ahead to where a narrow vertical crack in the rock gushed a torrent into a natural basin beneath before it vanished into another crack in the rock.
He bent, scooped water up in his palm, drank and shook off the drops, grimacing, making her dance backwards with a laugh.
‘May I have a drink?’
‘Certainly not. This is the Duke’s Spring, remember. Anyway, like most spa waters, it doesn’t taste good. I’ve got water in my saddlebag.’
Sophie followed Cal back through the trees, over the fallen stones to where they had left the horses and then, taking the bay’s reins, down to where a flat rock made a natural seat overlooking the land below. ‘This is what your ancestor saw and coveted.’