Unforgiven (The Horsemen Trilogy) Read Online Free Page A

into a wooded parkland that appeared very green in contrast to the rest of the hillside. And in the middle of it all stood Dunbarton Hall, a large and imposing granite mansion built around three sides of a quadrangle. A high wrought-iron fence and gates made up the fourth side.
    “We are home, Nelson,” Kenneth said, his temporary irritation forgotten. It
was
home, too, and it was his. It was all his. For the first time in seven years, the reality of it struck him. Dunbarton was his.
    Nelson barked and raced ahead down the driveway toward the house.
    *   *   *
    MOIRA stood for many minutes gazing not out to sea but at the bare skyline about the hollow. She had heard the sound of hoofbeats receding into the distance but did not quite trust to her aloneness.
    She had not thought of him with hatred for a long time. Not even when Sean had been killed. Not really. There had been too much terrible, raw grief to be dealt with. After that, and after the loss of her father a mere few months later, there had been too much else to think of, too many practicalities of the present tobe worried over. Life had changed so drastically that there had been no room in her memory for the rather confused passions of girlhood. Or for the heedless girl she had been.
    She should have expected him to return, of course. She should somehow have prepared herself—though there had seemed nothing really to prepare herself
for
. But ever since word had reached Tawmouth that he had sold his commission and was back in England, the conversations at tea and after church and at evening gatherings had inevitably included the topic that fascinated them all: Would he come home to Dunbarton? But even if the people of Tawmouth had not been too genteel to place wagers, there would have been little point in doing so. Everyone would have wagered in favor of his coming. Except for Moira. She had not really expected him to come. He had said he would never return, and she had believed him.
    How foolish of her. Of course he had come. He was the Earl of Haverford, owner of Dunbarton, lord and master of almost the whole of this corner of Cornwall. How could he resist coming back to exert his authority? He had liked power before he left. He had had eight years of practice in wielding it and she did not doubt he had done so with ruthless efficiency. There had been an air of cold command about him just now.
    The force of the bitterness and hatred she felt had taken her quite by surprise. She breathed in deeply, imposing calm on herself. He had every right to come back. Just as she had every right to avoid him at every turn. The Hayes family and the Woodfall family had become experts at avoiding each other over the generations. It was a pity that she had had to learn the hard way to conform to family rules.
    Throughout their conversation she had not seen his face clearly because of the sun’s angle behind him, but she had seen enough of him to know that he was magnificently built—as a very young man he had been handsome beyond words to describe but perhaps a little too slender for his height—and strong and healthy. She did not doubt that his face still had its aquiline, aristocratic beauty. Beneath his hat she had been able to see the gleam of his very blond hair. He had come home looking even more splendid than he had looked when he went away.
    And Sean was in his grave somewhere in southern France. She had not been bitter. Grief-stricken, yes, but not bitter. Soldiers fought, and soldiers died. Sean had been a soldier, an infantry lieutenant, and he had died in battle.
    But she was bitter now. And cold with hatred. Sean would never have become a soldier if it had not been for
him
. He had really had no alternative . . . She was cold. She looked up at the sky and was surprised to see that the sun was still shining.
    She must not hate him. She would not do so. Hatred was too strong an emotion. She had no wish to be pulled back into the past. She had no wish to