Perhaps the captain’s reason was little different from his own—an opportunity to “freshen up” in a place where no one knew him, preparing himself and his mare for the hard season to come. If he looked at it that way, Alec summed up, their meeting in the swamp was not frightening at all.

The Black pushed his body hard against him, and Alec knew he should get him out of there immediately. “I’d better go,” he said, his gaze turning to his horse.

“There will be no trouble. We can keep them apart.” The captain’s words were clipped and more heavily accented than before in what seemed to be sudden urgency. “I would like you to stay very much.” There was a long pause while Alec turned to him. “Please, Monsieur Ramsay, I beg you to stay, if only to have lunch with me.”

“Lunch?” Alec repeated, more to himself than to the man. It seemed incongruous that in the middle of a swamp he should be asked graciously to lunch as if he were back in town. He looked beyond the meadow but saw nothing except jungle-choked mangroves etched against the incredible blue of the sky.

“My house is just a short distance away,” the captain said, “and you must be tired. It will do you and your horse good to rest before starting back. As I said, there will be no problem with our horses. We are professionals, are we not?”

The captain did not wait for an answer but moved along, leading his mare toward the mangroves. Alec hesitated, then followed quickly—almost as if the decision had been made for him and he had no choice. He was amused by his thoughts. His inquisitiveness had been aroused and he wanted to learn more about Captain Philippe de Pluminel. No harm could come from having lunch with him. And, as the captain had so rightly said, both he and the Black could use a rest before starting back.

The captain walked with the same lightness he had shown in the saddle. He moved more like a cat than like a man over six feet tall and so heavily muscled. He strode along a wide path through the mangroves without once looking back to see if Alec followed; it was as if he expected nothing but obedience to his wishes.

Alec kept a strong hold on the Black’s halter. He did not find the man’s conceit amusing but was determined to know more about him. He found that he was a little apprehensive but not afraid. Fear was something he had no thought of ever disclosing to this man. He, too, could conceal his emotions when necessary.

Alec’s steps slowed as they emerged from the mangroves and he found himself in a cultivated garden of riotous colors. The brilliant red of poinsettia bushes was everywhere and there were rows and rows of hibiscus and poinciana plants.

If he had had any doubt the flowering paradise was the work of man, he had only to look beyond. Near the edge of the saw-grass swamp was a house, shaded and half-hidden by towering trees and shrubs. Alec followed the captain toward it.

It looked like a farmhouse and it had been built on stilts, perhaps to keep out the high water of the swamp during the rainy season. But as they drew closer, Alec saw it was like no farmhouse he’d ever seen before. The roof was fantastic. It rose high in the center and was topped by a strange-looking tower. What made it even more fantastic was that the roof dipped down on the opposite side almost to the ground! Never in his life had Alec ever seen a more ridiculous-looking building. It was made of unpainted cypress wood but looked more like one built of papier-mâché by a completely demented person.

Without a word, the captain strode onto a path that led toward the rear of the house, not bothering to glance behind to note Alec’s reaction to the strange-looking house.