Anne Barbour Read Online Free Page A

found them—I’d better put it back now.”
    She turned and disappeared again behind the outcropping. When she emerged once again, she mounted Belle, and the two began making their way back along the little ravine.
    David shifted in the saddle in a vain effort to ease the pain that was beginning to gnaw at him once more. He watched Kate assessingly.
    “I see you have not been spending your time in embroidery and watercolors.”
    She laughed. It was a musical sound, and David found that he was looking forward to hearing it on a daily basis.
    “Aunt Regina tried to make a lady of me, but I’m afraid there isn’t a governess alive who could instill in me a single talent. My embroidery was fit only for dust clouts, and my watercolors for lining bird cages.”
    “But how is it you are up here alone?” said David, joining in her self-deprecatory amusement. “I should think a discovery of this import would have drawn antiquarians from all over the country.”
    Kate dropped her eyes.
    “I haven’t told anyone about it,” she said in a low voice. She looked up at him, and at the surprise she read in his face, she continued hurriedly. “I will sometime. Well,” she amended, “I did tell Uncle Thomas that I found what I thought were some Roman ruins, but I didn’t mention the artifacts. He was mildly interested, but that was all. Oh, and I told Aunt Fred all about it, but she’s the soul of discretion—if you ask her to be. I know I can’t keep it a secret forever, but this has always been such a special place. It’s a sort of haven for me, and it holds so many dear memories, because it was our place. I feel closer to Philip here than I do anywhere else, and to you.”
    At the mention of Philip’s name, it was as though a shutter had come down over David’s face. The smile dropped from his lips, and his mouth curved into a thin, bitter line. His eyes grew hard.
    You idiot, Kate chastised herself. You are not the only one to grieve for Philip. And how much worse it must have been for David, who had been obliged to watch his best friend die on that riverbank so far from home.
    “Anyway,” she continued awkwardly. “I have set aside the things I have found, and noted where I found them, as well as making sketches of them as they lay. Not,” she smiled ruefully, “that they will be of much use to anyone, given my lamentable lack of artistic talent.”
    David remained silent. Kate’s thoughts had been almost visible, and, though he had known that this meeting with Philip’s little sister would be painful, her clear sympathetic gaze was almost more than he could bear. He would have to tell her the truth eventually, he knew. But not now.
    “How is it,” he asked, in an effort to turn the conversation, “that you are still here at Westerly? I would have thought you married, with a home of your own, long since.”
    He thought she tensed at that, and, despite an unexpected tightening the words caused in his heart, he continued in a teasing tone, “Or could you not bear to leave?”
    She smiled, and her gaze swept the gently rolling landscapethat lay about them like the folds of a green velvet robe tossed on the hills from above.
    “I do love it here,” she said softly. “I think there must be no other place on earth half so beautiful. And you’re right. I don’t think I could bear to leave it.”
    “Ah,”—he nodded wisely—”spoken like a young woman who has never been in love. I’m surprised some young buck hasn’t swooped down from London and carried you off. For I should imagine,” he concluded expressionlessly, “that you clean up fairly well.”
    Kate’s mouth flew open, but she recovered quickly. She blew a kiss at him with dirt-caked fingers, and, arranging the grimy folds of her old muslin dress with a bored flourish, she drawled, “Oy, guv’ner. Aintcher never seen a laidy out t’take the air afore?”
    David threw back his head and laughed. It hurt, but, by God it felt good. He could