Prologue

Herefordshire

Spring 1738
On a perfect spring day, even errands are welcome.  Megan Harper started out demurely enough for a young lady of almost fourteen, but by the time she reached the green lane that ran through the woods, her bonnet hung down her back on its strings and she was skipping.  Her basket, which held her mother’s soup and meat pies, acquired a double handful of bright wildflowers.  Mama occasionally remarked that her eldest daughter hadn’t a ladylike bone in her body, but she didn’t mean it.  Much.
            When Meg reached the squire’s pasture, she set down the basket and scrambled up to perch on the top railing.  To her disappointment, none of his horses were within view.  She closed her eyes and reached out with her mind—no, her feelings—in that odd way that seemed to work with animals.  Sometimes she wondered if other people could do the same.  No one ever talked about calling horses with thoughts, but of course, neither did she.  Probably all who loved horses could summon them as she did.
            Yes!  Her eyes opened and she saw Duchess, the squire’s favorite mare, trot over the crest of the hill.  Beside the mare capered her adorable long-legged foal, a dark bay filly named Daisy.  Lovely ladies, come to me. 
            Mare and filly reached Meg and almost butted her off the fence with their affectionate greetings.  Meg crooned to them, wishing she had more hands for patting and hugging.  She pulled from her pocket two small, leathery apples that had made it through winter but only just.  “Here you are, my lovelies.  I’m sorry the apples aren’t better.”
            The horses seemed unoffended by the age of the fruit.  After daintily eating hers, Duchess rubbed against Meg again.  Meg could feel the inquiry in the horse’s mind.  “You know I’d love to ride you, but I have to visit Sally Meadows first.  She just had her first baby, you know, so my mother is sending food.”  She stroked the mare’s glossy chestnut neck, tempted.  “Perhaps just a short ride when I’m on the way back.”
            She could feel the wash of pleasure from the mare’s mind.  “It’s a promise, then.  I’ll be back soon.”  The squire wouldn’t mind.  He said he’d never seen another girl with such a seat, so she was welcome to exercise his horses. 
            With regret, she gave Duchess and Daisy a last pat and jumped down from the fence.  She was picking up her basket when she heard the rumble of hoof beats and jingle of harness.  She straightened in surprise.  A carriage, on this quiet back lane?  Perhaps the driver was lost. 
            She caught her breath when the carriage rounded the bend.  It was the richest she’d ever seen, with lacquered panels and four fine horses.  The vehicle was almost too wide for the lane.  She squeezed back against the fence, wondering if she should climb up to get out of the way, but the carriage pulled to a stop.  The driver had a long, sad face, but his dark livery was as rich as the carriage.  She called, “Are you lost, sir?”  If so, he’d have to go a way before he could turn a carriage this size around.
            The driver regarded her expressionlessly, but the carriage door swung open and the gentleman inside alighted.  Meg’s heart skipped a beat.  She’d never seen a lord before, but this man had to be nobly born.  His blue brocade coat looked so fashionable that it must have been made in London, maybe even Paris.  Even without his fancy clothes, she would have known he was an aristocrat because he walked with the confidence of wealth and power.  Like the squire, only more so.  But the squire felt warm and nice.  This gentleman felt cold and…and dangerous. 
            She had a sudden desire to climb the fence and escape, but she scolded herself.  Young ladies didn’t run away for no reason.  “Can I help you, my lord?”
            His gaze bored into her with startling intensity.  “So you are real, not mere imagination.”
            She felt an odd, uncomfortable sensation, as if he was shoving his way into her thoughts.  Alarmed, she retreated a few steps.
            “I shan’t harm you, child,” he said softly.  “What is your name?”
            His reassurance had the contrary effect of increasing her unease, but she had been taught to be polite to her betters.  “Megan Harper, my lord.”
            “I am Drayton.”  His eyes glittered with a strange, menacing brightness.  “You don’t know what you are, do you?”
            “There’s nothing special about me,” Meg said warily.  
            “Ah, but you are special, and just coming into bloom.  Gods above, what luck!”  He closed the distance between them and caught her chin in a relentless grip.  “Don’t be afraid, little Megan.  You will live in my castle like a lady.”
            She stared at him, her breathing rough with alarm.  “I won’t be your m…mistress, Lord Drayton!  That would be wicked!”
            “You are far more rare than any mistress would be.  No one will touch you, I promise.”  His smile was coolly possessive.  “Now come along.”
            “No!  I don’t want to go with you!”  Knowing the impassive driver would not help, she wrenched free of Lord Drayton and tried to run away.  Her feet somehow became tangled together and she fell, her basket bouncing to the side of the lane.  She tried to scramble up but her limbs wouldn’t obey her.
            Large impersonal hands caught her arms and turned her over as easily as if she were a doll.  She jerked her head to avoid those burning eyes and tried to scream.
            “Mustn’t have that,” his devilish lordship said sharply.  “Don’t carry on, child, I will value you far more than anyone in this benighted place.”  He clamped his hands on the sides of her head. 
            A dizzying wave of energy pulsed through Meg.  Her self seemed to splinter into jagged bits.  Tainted fog was rising in her mind, engulfing each splinter and wiping away the pieces of her life.  Papa, Mama, Euan and Emma….She struggled for breath, panicked by a horror unlike anything she’d ever known.  From the pasture came the sound of thundering hooves as the mare and filly bolted. 
            “Rest, child,” he crooned to her.  “You are mine now, forever.”