Page 24 of The Secret Daughter
Vita was waiting for him, standing beside the wagon, wringing her hands. As he approached, she suddenly stiffened, looking past him.
“What is that?” she said in a tense, low voice. “Behind you.”
He glanced behind him and sighed. “It’s a dog.” He set down his burden carefully. It must have followed him. Serve him right for feeding the wretched beast.
“I can see that, but what does it want? It’s huge, and it looks rather fierce.”
“I found it chained up beside a deserted house.”
“A deserted house?”
“Yes, I checked. There was nobody there and it was clear they’d been gone for some days. More. There was dust everywhere and it didn’t look like they planned to return.”
She frowned. “But they’d left the poor dog behind?”
“Yes, chained up, so he couldn’t get away. The poor devil was half-mad with thirst and starvation when I found him—there wasn’t even any water left.” He clicked his fingers, and the dog took several wary steps closer. “You can see where he fought against the chain. I’m afraid I gave him the rabbit I’d intended for our dinner.”
“Oh, I’m glad you did. And you gave him water, of course. And freed him from that horrid chain. I can see where the poor fellow rubbed himself raw. I can’t believe anyone would do such a terrible thing to a poor defenseless creature. Some people don’t deserve to have animals.” She rose slowly and held out her hand to the dog. “Poor old fellow, you’ve had a bad time of it, haven’t you? But you’re with us now, and everything will be all right,” she crooned.
Reynard eyed her, surprised. A few moments earlier she’d been nervous of the dog, who admittedly was a large intimidating-looking creature—a lurcher crossed with something big and menacing-looking, if he wasn’t mistaken—and yet now she was crooning at it like a baby. And calling it a poor defenseless creature. And it was “with us” was it? He liked the sound of that “us.”
He smiled to himself. So Miss Vita, who’d been frightened by the screaming of foxes mating, liked dogs, did she?
The dog gave a tiny, half-hearted wag of its ragged tail and took another few cautious steps toward them. He was big and gray and scruffy with liquid dark eyes. Clearly he wasn’t the only one who wasn’t able to resist the appeal of those eyes.
“I’m surprised he found me,” he said. “After I removed the chain, I fed him the rabbit and gave him water—both ofwhich he gulped down in record time—and he immediately bounded off and disappeared. I thought I’d seen the last of him, but here he is.”
Vita continued her crooning, and he wasn’t at all surprised when the dog came close enough for her to pat him, then flopped down and rolled over to have its stomach scratched.
If she used that seductive tone on him, he’d happily roll over as well, though not to have his stomach scratched.
“This animal is filthy,” she declared. “And he’s crawling with fleas. We can’t keep him like that—we’ll have to bathe him.”
“Will we?” he said, amused.
“Yes, in the stream.” She hesitated and bit her lip. “I only have a tiny piece of soap left. I don’t suppose you have some we could use?”
“I do. I used it to wash the horse.”
Her eyes widened. “You washed the horse?”
He shrugged. “She was filthy when I got her.” And destined for the knackers if he wasn’t mistaken. He had a weakness for lost causes. He went to fetch the soap, and the three of them headed for the stream.
He rolled up his trouser legs, and Vita hitched up her skirt, exposing a slender pair of shapely calves, which he tried not to ogle. Though it was difficult.
She entered the water first and coaxed the dog to come in after her, which he did with cautious reluctance. Reynard followed with the soap and a bucket and set to work. The dog made it clear he was here on sufferance, enduring the lathering with soap only because Miss Vita was crooning softly to him all the while. From time to time, he turned his great shaggy head to Reynard with an expression of deepest reproach, making it clear who he blamed for this latest indignity.
But when it came to rinsing, the dog decided he’d had enough. Shaking wet suds all over them, he broke free ofReynard’s grip and capered madly around in the water splashing and leaping and bouncing off them until they were both equally drenched. And laughing. And presumably free of fleas as well.
“What are you going to name him?” Vita asked as they sat by the fire while the dinner was heating. She’d applied some kind of ointment to the raw sores around the dog’s neck, where the poor beast had fought a losing battle against the chain that had been killing him, and was now gently brushing out the tangles in the dog’s fur.
“Name him? I’m keeping him, then?”
“Of course,” she said, as if there was no question of it.
He considered the dog, who gave him a sleepy smug look, clearly lapping up the girl’s attentions. Half his luck.
“Hamish,” he said.
