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My lovely Isabelle.; ci: Cole & Isabelle.
Topic Started: May 13 2009, 05:39 PM (141 Views)
usagi
Unregistered

SUMMER, afternoon
Isabelle - 17
Cole - 20
* also the term groom used here is revering to a stable boy.

It had to have been the hottest day of the year. The heat was almost unbearable, and the sky showed no signs of mercy in the form of lingering puffy white clouds to block out some of the blazing sun’s heat. The deep brown gelding before him was panting up a thick sheen of sweat on his dampened coat as Gareth continued to trot him around the pen.

Feminine laughter bubbled up from behind him, the sound of many young schoolgirls cooing from the safety of the stables. There was no doubt in his mind that it was Margaret Henwood and her entourage of friends having come for yet another distraction to cure their disease of unrelenting boredom. He found it rather contradictory that during her first visit she had merely passed him off as no more worth than a bug underneath her expensive boot, but now sought entertainment from him by mercilessly flirting with him.

He continued the rounds with the gelding for all of five more minutes before the girlish giggling behind him turned into fits of arguing before, finally, he heard Margaret address him. Reigning in the panting horse, Gareth turned toward the stables and offered his usual courtliness toward the pretty faces and eager eyes awaiting him. The moment he entered the stable the herd came flocking to his side, Margaret at the lead, and burst into a frenzy of curious questions about this, that, and the other.

“Ladies, ladies, please!” Margaret cooed, turning around to her companions with deliberate force that caused her dress to catch air and gently glide against his thighs. “Give Mr. MacFarland room to board that dangerous beast!”

The gelding at his side could hardly live up to the expectations of a dangerous beast, but nonetheless he would have liked nothing better than to send the unnamed horse after dear old Margaret and her pack of ninnies. He watched with polite patience as they all stepped back and gave him ample enough distance to return the animal to its stall. Though, as he turned around to address them once more, he turned and almost walked straight into the bosom of Mary Something-or-another.

Her cheeks were stained a rosy pink as she peered up at him, fluttering her eyelashes so thoroughly he was somewhat surprised she hadn’t yet made herself go blind. The way she was eyeing his bare chest, and tracing a drop of cool sweat as it made its way down, told him quite bluntly that her eyesight was working perfectly. Cursing his inability to remember her last name---and thus rendering him completely unable to properly address her and kindly ask her to move---Gareth instead attempted to side step his way around and away her curly blond head and huge blue eyes.

His gaze traveled beyond them a moment later, and he felt a gallon of relief pour over him at the sight of Isabelle Whittemore, the master of the estate’s one and only daughter, making her way through the stables with an expression that nearly had him laughing. Elegantly as a young woman on the peril of outburst could, she marched her way through the narrow hall, ignoring the few horses that stuck their noses out to see if she had anything of value to offer.

“Margaret Henwood!” She burst out with a thinly stretched smile oozing sweetness. “Ladies,” She acknowledged the rest with a nod of her head. As she turned her gaze back to the one she knew responsible for this scene, he caught her deep eyes snag on him for the merest of a second before finally finding their target. “How lovely for you to visit this afternoon. Have you arrived on horseback?”

Margaret’s cheeks heightened in color at the direct question as to what she was doing in the stables, especially since she was known to have a fairly large dislike for horses and had never, in all her seventeen years, been seen on the back of such a creature. Though, she was not totally thrown off because she quickly recovered and turned her attention over to him as she replied, “I was hoping your wonderful groom would be able to give me some lessons. He‘s quite talented with the be---horses, and I would love to learn a thing or two from him if he has the time.”

“He most certainly does not,” Isabelle answered before she could think to stop herself. Her cheeks immediately turned a flattering rose pink, and her eyes once again nervously darted at him before returning to the squawking chicks and their hen mother. “Father has given him a very busy schedule today,” She explained.

“Is that so, Mr. MacFarland?” Mary suddenly asked, turning a well practiced disappointed pout in his direction. He, in turn, gave her the warming smile he’d perfected before turning to the rest of the flock and confirming; “I’m afraid so, ladies.”

There were many disappointed remarks that followed, but Margaret soon shut them down and ordered them to all follow her out of the stables and back to her house, where they could enjoy a cool air conditioning along with tea and sweets. Gareth watched with mild amusement as the pack of simpering females all marched their way out of the stables, their boots kicking up dust and the ends of their pretty frilled dresses fluttering up behind them.

His gaze slowly roamed back over to Isabelle, who was looking decidedly guilty at the moment, biting her bottom lip and focusing her gaze on the toe of her brown boot.

“Thank you for that, Isabelle.” He said in an attempt to clear her obvious worry. He leaned up against one of the stalls, crossed his broad arms over his bare chest, and grinned at her as he watched her gaze fly to his face then dart down to his chest before darting away just as quickly.

Her cheeks deepened in color and she was suddenly smiling. “In return, meet me down by the lake tonight,” She answered quickly, and shyly, refusing to glance back up at him. His grin faltered, and he was about to argue with her, but she quickly shook her head and turned a determined eye back to him. “Do not argue, Gareth, because I will come and then you will know that I am standing out there all alone in the middle of the night.”

“Isabelle,” He warned, pushing away from the stable door.

But she didn’t give him an opportunity to speak his mind. Instead, she quickly turned on her heel and ran out of the stable to go meet with her flock of friends.

Gareth leaned over one of the wooden railings out looking the running pen, bowed his head and ran his large hands through his hair. With a heavy sigh speaking a thousand words for his weariness, he wondered again how he had gotten himself into this predicament…
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