The Horseman

And so it had proved. Daniel had grown up in humble circumstances not knowing the identity of his father. His mother, physically and emotionally fragile, had been badly affected. She had gone to her grave never revealing his name. Daniel, not surprisingly, grew to manhood despising the man who had abandoned his vulnerable mother in her time of need. His mother’s fate had always rankled him far more than his own rejection at his father’s hands. Daniel was tough. But blood, like the truth, will out eventually no matter how long it takes. Daniel in maturity carried the stamp of a Moreland—the looks, the voice, the manner—and the double helix, the DNA that binds blood. A deathbed confession had led to an investigation that in the end established Daniel’s identity. Daniel, born posthumously, was the son of Jared Moreland.

It was their grandfather Joel who had acted on that staggering deathbed confession made by his own wife, Frances. Now Daniel had taken his rightful place within the Moreland family. It had come as a further shock to Cecile to discover she and Daniel shared the “family face.” Indeed anyone seeing them together could easily mistake them for twins. Both were happy to settle for first cousins, and she had the honor now of being in his bridal party.

Weddings, she reflected, had a miraculous way of bringing everyone together. She rejoiced in the mantle of happiness that had fallen over the Moreland household. Their grandfather Joel was in splendid form. All those long years without his beloved son, Jared! Now the wheel of fortune had turned full circle. 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 you can see—” she looked at each of her bridesmaids in turn “—each clasp was chosen to coordinate with your gowns. Pink tourmaline for Melinda, topaz for Eva, amethyst for Denise, pave diamonds for Cecile.”

“How absolutely gorgeous, and so generous!” Denise rushed to the long pier mirror to put on her choker. Once fastened, she stared at herself wide-eyed as the big central amethyst caught the light.

“I’m going to treasure this all my life!” Eva was poring over her gift, her fingers caressing the lustrous rope of pearls.

“Here, let me help you put it on,” the hairstylist offered, thrilled he had been chosen for what was a big society wedding, one that would get national coverage.

Denise moved away from the mirror to allow Cecile her turn. Beautiful before, the choker with its sunburst of pave diamonds complemented Cecile’s gown dramatically and drew attention to the silver shimmer of her eyes.

“Perfect!” Sandra murmured in satisfaction, smiling at Cecile’s shoulder.

“Heavens, don’t blind us, Cecile!” Denise joked, wishing she could look like Cecile Moreland if only for one day. “Hey, Sandy,” she addressed the bride, “you’ve got to have something old now, something borrowed, something new…”

“And something blue,” Melinda chimed in.

Sandra waved her magnificent sapphire-and-diamond engagement ring in the air. “Here’s the blue. Mama—” she pointed to her youthful-looking mother “—supplied the something old, but that’s a closely guarded secret.”

“A very fancy garter, I bet,” Denise giggled.

“Nooo, Denise,” Pamela dragged out the word humorously, “not a garter. So are we all ready?” Pamela picked up her daughter’s exquisite trailing bouquet and passed it to her. “You look beautiful, darling. I’m so proud of you.” Pamela hugged her daughter one last time. “We’re going to get through this splendidly. That means no tears to ruin your makeup. All right, girls, the bridegroom, his attendants and hundreds of guests await!”

Laughing happily, they moved in succession out of Sandra’s bedroom, excitement alone lending them all a special loveliness. Weddings spread their own magic, Cecile thought. This was a day when nothing could go wrong. Or nothing would dare go wrong. So why did she feel something already had?

CHAPTER TWO

THE CEREMONY WAS one of high emotion. Family and guests were infused with the bliss that surrounded the bride and her groom. As the couple came together for the ceremonial kiss, many of the women guests yielded to an emotional tear, remembering their own wedding day or perhaps the wedding of a beloved son or daughter. Taking her new husband’s arm, Sandra led the way to the wedding banquet, which turned out to be brilliant. The food and drink were superb. There were speeches, short and entertaining, that had people laughing; others were deeply touching, such as Joel Moreland’s welcoming the bride into the family, an event he said couldn’t have taken place had his grandson, Daniel, not have been restored to him.

Afterward there was a great deal of catching up to do as relatives who hadn’t seen one another in ages came together and friends from either side of the bridal party were introduced to one another. Professional photographers were on hand to record the happy occasion. The press photographer, with a large video camera in hand, worked his way through the throng while guests took photographs destined for private albums. The bride found herself surrounded by old friends all wanting to embrace her; the groom found he had even more cousins than he had ever dreamt of. There were people everywhere: inside the flower-decked house, with all the French doors standing open to the garden; in the main reception rooms, the huge living room, dining room, library, garden room at the rear of the house. Young people sat all over the steps of the grand staircase, eager to make new friends and, who knows? meet the love of their life. Or dancing to the excellent band had already begun on the broad stone terrace that wrapped the rear of the mansion. Many more guests, champagne flutes in hand, were wandering about the beautiful grounds, admiring the flowers and the antique statuary. Some of the children had stripped off their wedding finery to dive near naked and shrieking into the lake, with inevitably a few adults who’d had too much to drink falling in to join them.

Cecile roamed freely with Stuart, the two stopping frequently to converse with family and guests. Invariably someone, most often a woman, told them archly, “You two will be next!” At such times Stuart always drew Cecile close, dropping a kiss on her temple beneath the lovely garland of silk flowers. “Can’t come soon enough for me!” was his most favored response.

It was an answer that should have made Cecile glow. Instead something twisted inside her and on this day of days she found herself badly unsettled. Was it being witness to the love between Daniel and Sandra that had crystallized her long-growing uncertainties? Or was it having that man look at her as he did? She wasn’t a temperamental woman—she rather prided herself on her composure—but that look had shaken her. To think that out of the wild blue yonder she had been plunged into what amounted to panic! Such things didn’t happen to her. It didn’t seem possible that a mere look could turn her world upside down. The answer presented itself. Because it was so primitive, so much man-woman, so irrevocably physical. She might as well have been standing on the balcony with her gown transparent. She had to force herself to stop quivering

For a fraught moment Cecile felt like slumping onto one of the stone garden benches, head in hands. There would be a terrible backlash from Stuart and his family if she ever thought to break her engagement. They, who were all so much for her, would overnight turn against her. Bitterness and anger would take hold, never to let go. She would be made to feel their public humiliation. In her heart she knew part of her appeal for Stuart and his family was her being Joel Moreland’s granddaughter. She had grown up knowing that being the only granddaughter of one of the country’s richest men affected her relationship with others. Some actively pursued friendship, others, motivated by envy became detractors behind her back. She was never one hundred percent sure who actually liked her for herself except for a trusted few, whose friendship she cherished. Even Stuart, by his own admission, was a man on a mission. He wanted to be a real player. He was already on his way. A very bright associate in a leading law firm, Stuart Carlson was looking at being made a full partner within a year or two. He had political aspirations, as well, perhaps borne of his longing to be in the spotlight. She had often teased him about his ambitions. Now she thought they were too overriding. Even in the past year Stuart had become increasingly bent on cultivating the right people and discarding those he judged as not really going anywhere. It seemed to her sadly false, though she realized Stuart wasn’t alone in setting his goals on climbing the social ladder to the top rung. Marrying a Moreland greatly increased his chances.

And what of her mother? Cecile had spent her life trying to appease and placate her nerve-ridden mother, so she knew Justine would be devastated by any change of plan. For reasons she had never really been able to fathom, Stuart and her mother were huge allies. Of course, Stuart had always gone out of his way to charm her—very attentive, bringing wine and flowers, the special handmade chocolates her mother loved—but even that didn’t explain it. She knew her mother saw Stuart as someone on side with her; a young man who would make a good son-in-law, who with her guidance could develop into a pillar of society; steady and reliable, a one-woman man who could be depended upon to honor his marriage vows. A judgment Justine knew in her heart of hearts didn’t fit her husband.

ALL THE WHILE they were roaming, Cecile was very much aware of Stuart’s arm clamped possessively around her waist. She couldn’t bring herself to hurt him by breaking free, but it struck her that she wanted to walk alone, not linked to the man she had chosen to marry.

It will make it so much easier for you to find the stranger, said a harsh little voice inside her head. It was excruciating to have to acknowledge it, but it was true. She was actively searching for his tall striking figure among the milling crowd.

You idiot! the harsh little voice whispered on. He’s trouble. You know that. He’s someone who can upset your whole life.

She couldn’t claim she had no portent of this. Every nerve in her body was shrieking a warning. Wasn’t it extremely foolish then to ignore that warning when she should be listening? It was out of character for her to behave this way, but she found she couldn’t stop.

Stuart told her repeatedly how beautiful she looked. “There’s not a woman here to touch you!” Pride transformed his smooth, self-assured face, his lawyer’s face as she thought of it. They were standing in the dappled shadows of a shade tree, he playing with her fingers. Slowly, almost reverently, he lifted the hand that bore his splendid diamond engagement ring to his mouth.

“Ceci?” He looked longingly into her eyes. “You have to marry me very soon. I’m crazy about you, don’t you know?”

“I do, Stuart, I do!” Her heart felt as though it could break. How could she possibly betray him and his love? How could she even think about it? She had given her solemn promise to marry him. She’d had any number of admirers to choose from since the age of sixteen, but none she’d been able to take as seriously as Stuart. She wanted to marry. She wanted children. She loved children. She would be a good mother, shielding any child of hers from all the pressures that had attended her own childhood. There wasn’t going to be any grand passion for her. No use waiting around for it. The knowledge was a factor in her decision to marry Stuart, who had many attractive qualities and, she believed, genuinely loved her. Everyone knew lightning strikes were dangerous, anyway.