Page 70 of The Sisters of Sea View
He nodded. “We keep a few at home. Hopefully my groom is exercising them enough.”
Effie came out in a simple green riding habit, looking eager instead of sullen for once. He dismounted to give the girl a leg up into her sidesaddle.
Then he turned to Sarah, his gaze lingering on her face. He seemed to want to say something more, then apparently thought the better of it, and remounted his horse.
“Have a good ride,” Sarah called up to him.
Gathering the reins, he glanced down at her once more. “Thank ye.”
Sarah watched the two ride off together. She was impressed with Effie, who rode comfortably and competently beside her stepfather. But her gaze quickly returned to Callum Henshall.
She could not help noticing how striking he looked astride his horse, his posture excellent, his shoulders broad, his horsemanship evident.
In his close-fitting riding coat and polished Hessians, he looked every inch the well-to-do English gentleman. She found herself wondering if he ever wore a kilt.
14
Persons who are fond of swimming should be informed that a little to the west of the beach there is a fine sequestered bay, in which they may, in calm weather, be safely gratified.
—The Beauties of Sidmouth Displayed
On Monday, after the morning chores were finished—earlier than expected, thanks to Bibi’s energetic help—Viola and Emily went for a walk to stretch their legs, take the air, and avoid both Augusta Elton and Sarah’s endless to-do list.
Crossing the lawn, they followed Peak Hill Road to the north and at Pilgrim Cottage turned left, toward the headland and sea. They reached the summit near the lime kiln and paused to catch their breath, winded from the uphill climb. Side by side on the grassy knoll, they peered over the edge at Chit Rock below, projecting like a tower from the sun-spangled water. Above them, gulls circled in a blue sky.
The breeze ruffling her veil, Viola sighed with pleasure. “I never tire of this view.”
Her gaze shifted to the western beach below, on the other side of Chit Rock. No bathing machines there. No crowds.
A path cut into the side of the hill led from the lime kiln down to the beach. Later in the day, workers would lead donkeys up that path with loads of limestone for the kiln, but for now it was quiet.
As they stood there, two men appeared on the beach below, their heads bare, both with dark hair. Suddenly, and without ceremony, they began stripping off their clothing—coats, waistcoats, shirts, shoes.
Viola turned to go, but Emily gripped her hand. “Who are they?” she whispered. “I have heard that many men swim here.”
“Is that why you wanted to come this way?” Viola asked.
“I did not hear you objecting!”
One man had pale skin, and the other’s was the color of rich brown coffee. The distance rendered the figures less distinct, yet even so Viola could guess who they were—the major and Armaan.
From this height, the right side of the major’s face appeared shadowed, but the scars were not obvious. How broad his shoulders looked, chest tapering to a slender waist. Her mouth went dry.
“We should not just stand here ... gawking,” Viola hissed.
The men moved down to their trousers, and Emily gasped, pressing her eyes closed.
Viola covered hers with her free hand. She had heard men swam without clothes, but had not really believed it. Hearing a splash, she dared a peek between her fingers.
Below, the major dove headfirst under an oncoming wave, while Armaan waded out more slowly. Viola was relieved the water now concealed their bodies.
Emily, eyes suddenly wide, squeezed her hand, grip as tight as her voice. “He’s disappeared. Where is he?”
Her sister had always been unnerved by the idea of going into the sea.
Viola pointed with her free hand. “There he is.”
The major reappeared, slicing through the water, arms stroking, moving with apparent ease. How strangely thrilling to see him move with such strength and grace, with no sign of the injuriesthat hindered him on dry ground. Instead, he seemed whole and strong and overwhelmingly masculine.
