Chapter Eighteen #3
Darcy strode in the direction of the boy’s vague wave.
He passed the barn and the goat paddock, avoiding sodden clumps of mud and grass when he could.
As he approached another stone-walled paddock, he watched Miss Elizabeth climb onto the wall, sit for a moment, and then swing her legs over it.
Next, she jumped down and was lost from view.
In his shock, Darcy paused. He shook himself and raced to the wall, coming to a stop beside a small, wizened man who stood at the gate, leaning on the top bar, his arms folded.
“What is she doing?” Darcy demanded.
“Miss Elizabeth, sir?” the man asked, sounding amused. “She’s always liked t’climb, sir. Won’t use a gate if she don’t need to.”
“I am not asking what Miss Elizabeth is doing climbing the wall,” Darcy said impatiently. His gaze was glued to her lithe figure as she quietly walked toward the enormous reddish-brown and white bull whose short horns curved down and toward his face. “What is she doing inside the paddock?”
“Clover’s off his feed, sir,” the man explained. “Miss Elizabeth’s goin’ t’talk to ‘im and see what’s up.”
“Talk to him?” Darcy demanded, thinking the man sounded mad. Darcy did not, however, take his eyes off of Miss Elizabeth. What he wanted to do was run into the paddock and drag her out of there before she could be killed. But any action on his part might anger the bull. “Are you the farm manager?”
“Turney’s me name, sir.”
“Then, why the hell are you standing here and Miss Elizabeth is in there?” Darcy asked, pointing at the paddock.
She might be killed!
She might be killed!
Oh, Lord, what would I do then?
“I’m not surprise y’ve asked that, sir. Miss Elizabeth’s known Clover ‘is whole life, she has. He’s always loved her. ‘E ‘as a temper, right enough, but ‘e won’t ‘arm ‘er.”
Darcy was so disgusted with that answer that he merely scowled. Clover lifted his head and stared at Miss Elizabeth as she walked toward him. He snorted and shook his head. She stopped. Clover pawed the ground once. She folded her arms.
“It looks as though she is scolding him,” Darcy muttered. “She should be slowly backing away.”
“Yer right o’course, sir, but she don’t take no guff, our miss,” Turney said, sounding proud of her.
To Darcy’s surprise, the bull’s posture changed.
He hung his head and began to lumber toward her.
He permitted Miss Elizabeth to stroke him and nuzzle his huge neck.
Soon, she led him toward the stone-built cattle shed, placed beneath the shade of an ancient oak tree.
They disappeared inside. Darcy moved to open the gate, but Miss Elizabeth came outside.
Clover did not. She carried a large tin bucket and held it up high.
“That’s it, sir. Excuse me.”
Darcy stepped aside and Turney opened the gate.
“I’ll get ‘im some feed now.”
“And water?” Darcy asked.
“There’s a stream runnin’ through a stone rill in the shed floor, sir.”
“I see.”
Turney jogged across the paddock and took the bucket from Miss Elizabeth. They exchanged words, and she left him to run across the paddock toward the gate. He could see her grinning at him, but her good humor did not improve his own.
“Everything is fine, Mr. Darcy,” she said as soon as she was close enough. “Clover was just overheated. It has been exceedingly hot this week.”
Darcy opened the gate for her to pass through, and then shut and latched it after her. He turned to face her. “I think you must have been mad to enter the bull paddock.”
Lizzy frowned at the fury she heard in Mr. Darcy’s voice. It startled her so much she could not immediately respond.
“The bull could have trampled you to death,” he said, glaring down at her.
“Clover?” she asked, incredulous.
“Who else?” he snapped. “He must weigh a ton, if not more.”
“More, I would say,” she replied, her brows drawing together. “I understand you do not know this, Mr. Darcy, but I have been friends with Clover since his birth. He would not hurt me.”
Mr. Darcy’s jaw clenched. “You cannot be certain of that. Even a favored pet will lash out when he is injured.”
“Pray, allow me to know more about injured animal behavior than you, sir,” Lizzy said with heat creeping into her words.
“His size!”
“Granted, Clover’s size increases the danger,” she acknowledged, her ire rising with every word out of Mr. Darcy’s mouth. “I am not a fool. You have no right to treat me like one.”
“Then you should not act like one,” he snarled.
Lizzy’s gasp rocked her on her feet. “How dare you, sir, to insult me in this manner?”
“You could have been killed!” he shouted.
“I was in no real danger!” she shouted back. “Clover would not have hurt me. He loves me!”
“A bull is no pet,” he argued in a quieter, but no less intense voice.
“There are people who would be devastated if you were injured or killed. People who love you. You might think of them the next time you place yourself in danger.” After that biting remark, he turned on his heel and stalked away, anger in every line of his body.
“Well,” she said pithily.