Dragons and Destiny (7 page)

There, that
should do it
. It never did take Rilla long to dress. She
buttoned the bodice with speed and donned the hated pinafore, tying
the bow with little care. Zilla she knew would retie the bow right
when she got downstairs.

A last glance
in the mirror as she pushed stray ends of hair inside the cap and
Rilla flew down the stairs.

The cavalcade
of Councillor Horatio Anders clattered into the inn courtyard at
Eighth Bell. Helping her mother to ready the private dining
chamber, Rilla could hear the commotion.

Zanda gave her
daughter a stern look.

“Remember,
Rilla, behave yourself.”

Rilla grunted
but schooled her face into one of acceptance. After all, it was
only one evening, and the three sons of Councillor Horatio Anders
wouldn’t be looking at her. Zilla was the pretty one.

“I don’t see
how it matters if I’m here or not,” she contented herself by
saying. “I’d be of more use in the stable yard.”

Zanda sighed.
“Your father wants the best for you both.”

“His best, not
mine. I know where he’s coming from. Zala made a good match, Tala’s
settled in her career and so is Hilla I suppose but marriage isn’t
the only solution. I don’t see why he’s got to fling us in the path
of every rich and eligible bachelor who stays here. I don’t want a
husband; I just want things to stay the way they are.”

“You sound like
Zilla.”

“I don’t think
Zilla thinks like that any more. She used to but even she accepted
Hilla’s departure better than I did. She would be happy with a
husband.”

“What
do
you want Rilla? Don’t say to be a stable hand, your father won’t
hear of it. You don’t want the Garda; you don’t want to teach; you
don’t want an apprenticeship like Tala.”

“No,” admitted
Rilla.

“Well, the
alternative is marriage and now you’re telling me you don’t want
that either.”

“I want to stay
here and run the stables,” cried Rilla passionately. “Why can’t you
and father understand?”

Zanda gazed at
her recalcitrant daughter with exasperation.

“That is not an
option,” she said as she ushered Rilla out of the dining chamber.
“We’re finished here. Go and help Zilla and remember to keep a
pleasant face whilst the Anders party are here.

“I’ll do it,”
growled Rilla as she flounced out, head held high, “but it doesn’t
mean that I have to like it.”

So it was as
she came out into the hallway that she came face to face with a
stranger, a tall handsome young man of about twenty who gazed at
her with interest and not a little admiration as she ducked past.
When Rilla’s ire was up she became more than a good looking girl
and uncommonly pretty.

The next
morning Rilla woke at her usual early bell and glanced over to
where Zilla lay sleeping, her blond hair tumbling round her face in
an areole of curls.

Rilla had a lot
to think about. Who would have thought that it should be
her
the eldest son of Councillor Horatio Anders was interested in and
not her pretty sister?

What a
mess.

Rilla sat up.
For the first time in years she didn’t scramble into her clothes
and go out to the stables to take Lightfoot for a ride before
breakfast chores. Rilla needed to think.

She had seen
the young man looking at her the previous evening as she went about
her evening tasks but had not taken much notice at first. Later on
she began to feel uneasy. Not only
his
eyes had begun to
follow her around, but also those of his father and later, all of
the Anders family. No matter where she went, what she did, someone
(usually the young man she had met in the corridor), was
watching.

To cap it all,
as she and Zilla had been getting ready for bed, their mother had
arrived at the bedroom door, fair bursting with the news that
Councillor Horatio Anders had spoken to their father asking
permission for his son to start to pay court-suit to Rilla with the
intention of marriage if the two found themselves to each others
liking. They had, Zanda had informed the horrified Rilla, even
discussed the dochter (dower portion) that her father would be
willing to promise.

Zanda had
ignored Rilla when she had tried to protest and left with the
information that Councillor Horatio Anders and his family were to
stay on at the inn for another two days and nights and that Rilla
had better behave herself or her father would have something to
say. Her father had arranged that she was to go riding with Julean
Anders (Rilla had laughed aloud at the name) at Third Bell.

Rilla had gone
to sleep last night her head in turmoil. How could she get out of
the ride?

It was the law
of Argyll that no person, male or female could be forced into a
marriage not of their liking. In practice, although this held true
with the poorer people, those who had reached a certain position in
society, be it wealth or political standing did, more often than
not, arrange marriages for their children. Rilla’s elder sister
Zala had become betrothed to her husband after a scant tendays
acquaintance. That marriage had been a success but Rilla knew that
the chances of a similar happiness were few and far between.

What could she
do? Rilla felt that destiny was closing in on her, a destiny most
definitely not of her choosing and one from which there was no
escape.

: There is you
know :

Rilla looked
round, thinking that someone had entered the room without her
knowing but no, she and Zilla were alone.

“Hearing
things,” she said aloud.

: Yes. Me :

Rilla frowned,
there is was again.

“Sitting here
isn’t going to solve anything,” she murmured.

Trying not to
wake Zilla, who did not appreciate being woken up at what she
called ‘that ungodly bell’, Rilla got up, gave her face and hands a
cursory wash, dressed and exited the bedroom. She tiptoed down the
stairs on stockinet feet holding her boots in her hands.

She stopped on
the last step but one and stared … at a pair of boots.

The owner of
the boots shuffled his feet.

Rilla drew in a
breath and held it. Looking at the boots Rilla realised that the
inhabitant of the boots had to be male and the boots; they were, as
Rilla realised, of fine quality, a gentleman’s boots; polished to
within an inch of their lives and made of expensive black leather.
This was no stable hand standing there nor any male inn-servant.
Ostlers and stable hands wore sturdy boots and the inn staff,
shoes. They also had no reason to stand at the foot of the stairs
that led to the family’s private wing. It must be a guest and after
her mother’s words the previous evening Rilla had a pretty good
idea who the guest was. She mouthed a silent meow of frustration.
Her mother or father, or indeed, her brother Zak must have told him
that she always went down to the stables of a morning. He must have
decided to waylay her.

What could she
do? She wanted to push past him, ignore him and run as fast as she
could to the stables. Common sense told her this option was not a
good one. She would only antagonise him, this unwanted suitor, what
was his name again, for the life of her Rilla couldn’t remember and
word would get back to Father about her rudeness. No, she decided
as she let her breath out, she would jump down the last two steps,
give him a fright, he really had no right to lie in wait for her
like this. She could then take advantage of his surprise and
confusion to make a cool apology and remove herself from his
presence.

It didn’t work
out like that.

Rilla did jump
down the last two steps. She did land on the polished wood.

She did
surprise him, almost out of his skin if truth be known and she did
get the satisfaction of hearing him utter a strangled
exclamation.

He smiled and
laughed, a guffaw that he cut short as he realised how early it
still was. He was in no mind to wake up the entire inn.

He looked down
at Rilla’s angry face.
Gods, she is a pretty little
thing.

“What are you
doing here?” she asked in a cross pseudo-whisper.

“Your father
said,” began Julean.

“Said what?”
Rilla stared at him with what Zilla described as her ‘withering
look’.

Unfortunately
for Rilla, Julean wasn’t put off in the least. “Your father said,”
he began again, emphasising the second word, “that you would be
pleased to have some company during your morning ride.”

“He did, did
he?”

Julean nodded.
“He also told me that you know the area round here like the back of
your hand. When I realised that we were staying here a few days I
expressed a wish to see the area, I’ve never been this way before.
He offered your services as a guide.”

Rilla didn’t
just look at him, she ‘looked’ and the angry glint in her eye was
beginning to make Julean nervous. He flushed, but as Rilla was soon
to ascertain, he was a difficult person to deter. At this time, his
goal was to spend time with Rilla. He had been smitten both by her
looks and the competent and efficient way she went about her tasks.
When a large china tureen had crashed to the floor, dropped by one
of the flustered maids she hadn’t turned a hair, although the
blonde one had uttered a cry. Rilla had sent the maid for brush and
shovel and swept it up. Of the incident Julean’s father and the
rest of the family hadn’t taken much notice but bored with the
small-talk round the table, Julean had.

An intelligent
young man and one whose parents intended to see safely married and
soon, he had become, during the last months, heartily sick of the
pretty, eligible, but mostly empty-headed young ladies his parents,
and others, had been placing in his path. Julean, and to a lesser
extent his younger brother, were the ‘catches of the season’
amongst the well-to-do in Stewarton and every mother wanted her
daughter to be the one who would pull a marriage off.

Councillor
Horatio Anders was a rich and powerful man and the grapevine had it
that he would be appointed Head Councillor of Argyll within the
year.

Julean had
rebelled and had refused to even consider the notion of marriage no
matter what his angry father could do or say.

As none of the
ladies of Stewarton appeared likely to succeed in their mission,
Councillor Horatio Anders had decided to take himself, his wife and
family to visit his sister who was married to one Field Marshall
Bruce Johnson Jones, Officer Commanding the Garda at their
Headquarters at Settlement to see if a daughter of one of the
officers might catch Julean’s eye. Alas for Councillor Horatio
Anders, the visit had not been a success. He cut the visit short
and headed home, deciding at the last moment to take the Southern
Trade Route instead of cutting across country; the more direct
(though more uncomfortable) route to Stewarton.

He had never
imagined that his recalcitrant son might be interested in the
daughter of Innkeeper Talan. In point of fact, Councillor Horatio
Anders hadn’t even realised until now that Talan had daughters of
marriageable age.

A daughter of
an Innkeeper was not the type of girl he had in mind for Julean.
Merchants’ sons married merchants’ daughters, tradesman’s,
tradesman’s. It was the way it was. Talan however, had some
standing in the ward. He was on the Town Council and although not
rich, ran a large and prosperous inn. If Rilla was the only wife
Julean would accept then Anders would make concessions. Better
Rilla than one of the low-class women Julean consorted with in the
more seedy areas of Stewarton.

So Councillor
had spoken to Innkeeper Talan and had arranged to stay an extra few
days. The two of them had plotted about how they could get Rilla
and Julean to spend time together. Councillor Horatio Anders spoke
to Julean and ordered him to be at the foot of the stairs at dawn.
Julean had agreed with little demur. Rilla intrigued him and he was
attracted to her. Time would tell if the feeling was mutual and
Julean had every confidence in himself as a suitor.

“Your father
said that we could take as long as we like,” he added.

“I have to be
back to help with breakfast,” countered Rilla.

“Not this
morning,” he answered with a smile of triumph. “I’ve even got some
eats waiting in my saddlebag in case we get hungry.”

Rilla’s eyes
narrowed and Julean although wilting under her scrutiny held his
ground.

“Our mounts are
saddled and waiting,” he continued, looking away towards the outer
door. “One of your stable hands waits with them. That’s a nice
little horse you have, Lightfoot, isn’t it? Looks as if he could be
quite a goer.”

Now, one thing
Rilla liked to talk about was horses and Lightfoot in particular.
Julean saw some of the tension leave Rilla’s face and pressed home
his advantage.

“He’s got a
fine intelligent head on him.”

“He has,” Rilla
agreed, wavering. Perhaps a ride with Julean wouldn’t do any harm
and she wanted to go out, feel the wind on her face.

“Shall we go?”
Julean asked.

The morning
wasn’t an unmitigated disaster and as Rilla dismounted when they
arrived back at the inn shortly before luncheon she directed a
tentative smile in the direction of her escort. She led Lightfoot
into his stall, ran up the stirrups and undid the girth. Lightfoot
turned his head and blew in her ear as she threw the girth over the
saddle.

Julean was
feeling pleased with himself. He had enjoyed the ride and had
enjoyed Rilla’s company. She wasn’t at all like the merchant or
soldier daughters. Unaffected by the rules of polite society, her
conversation was witty and interesting. Julean was well on the way
to falling in love.

Unlike Julean,
Rilla insisted on tending to her mount herself. Julean had handed
over his mare to a waiting boy and was standing watching her, his
hopes growing. If he had to get married and he knew he must, Julean
rather thought that he would like it to be Rilla. He thanked her
for a wonderful morning and took his leave. He strode with
purposeful tread out of the stable and towards the inn where he was
confident his father would be waiting.