Lady Sarah by Lyn Cote
Chapter Six
A few days after arriving on the island, McKuen rode beside Sarah as they approached the secluded beach on horseback. The fiery sun had just passed its zenith. Only the ocean breeze saved them from the heat that billowed up from the baked sand toward their ankles. They had come here to fulfill an unusual desire, at least, unusual to his mind.
"I appreciate this so, Mr. McKuen," Sarah said. "You're certain we will not be disturbed?"
"I made a thorough investigation. This beach is far enough from Fort Charlotte and Nassau Town that you will be safe.” They slowed their horses and sought shade under a group of palm trees. “It is early afternoon when most islanders will retire in the heat. No one will expect us to return from our ride till tea. If anyone would disturb us here, it would only be native children."
In the days since the pirate battle, their relationship had changed. He kept seeing her fighting that African pirate. More importantly he kept seeing the admiration of her in English captain’s face. He’d seen what McKuen previously missed--that Sarah Belmond was an extraordinary woman.
She slid from her side saddle. "It would be best, I think, Mr. McKuen, if you held the horses and faced away from me," she said primly.
He caught her meaning and followed her instructions, holding the horses' heads and facing out to sea. Though he was standing in the shade, a mild trepidation made him sweat a bit more than usual on this tropical island. Back at their hotel when Sarah had revealed to him the unusual desire to wade in the surf, he had not given much thought as to how a lady would dress to do such a thing.
Now he hoped he would not show his embarrassment if she chose to show more than he was prepared to see. Not wanting to upset the delicate truce they had observed since the day of the pirates, he banked down his expression and unruly emotions. Though he heard some rustling of fabric behind him, he resolutely faced away. It was agony.
"Mr. McKuen, your turn, I believe," she murmured.
Keeping his eyes on her face, he turned and handed her the reins. She’d hung her summer riding habit and hat on her pommel. They changed positions. Behind her, he carefully shed his new white linen suit and boots and hung them over his saddle. Especially for this occasion he had purchased a cheap pair of sailor breeches which he hoisted and buttoned. Standing barefoot, he dispensed with his collar and cuffs. "I'm decent," he muttered.
Turning, she viewed him. "Another acquisition, I see?" she said wryly, indicating his new breeches.
"I thought they would roll up easier." And he demonstrated this for her.
"Very wise," she said with a crinkle of a smile. She handed him the reins which he secured and then he bent to hobble their mounts. The horses would be comfortable on the shaded grassy verge with a small spring that trickled down to the beach.
Then he allowed himself to take a full length glimpse of her. With relief he saw that, with the exception of bare hands, lower arms, and ankles, she was modestly covered in a very simple white dress and cloth slippers. "Would you like your parasol and hat?" he managed in a natural voice and forced his eyes away from those trim ankles.
"Yes, please I don't want to be crimson by evening."
In the open town market that morning, he’d bought both of them broad-brimmed straw hats. Now he handed her one and her parasol and then very formally offered his arm. "Shall we, ma'am?"
