catch him. He let her draw abreast, then leaned lower across his horse’s neck and eased his hold on his rein, giving the animal its head. The pace was a reckless one, but Carolyn didn’t mind in the least, and when it appeared that she might fall behind, she touched the black on the flank with the tip of her whip.
It was enough. The gelding sprang forward, closing the distance again. Seeing Brandon duck down, hugging the roan’s back to avoid a low-hanging branch, she did the same, and while the movement stopped her from seeing the tree root that rose several inches above the path ahead, it saved her from flying headlong out of the saddle when the gelding stumbled and nearly fell with her. Its pace dropped to a halting walk in the space of a breath or two, and as she sat up again, her hat askew, she realized immediately that her horse was injured.
Brandon, looking back over his shoulder, saw what had happened and jerked his mount sharply about, reaching her at nearly the same time Cleves did.
“Miss Carolyn,” the wiry, middle-aged groom exclaimed, drawing up beside her, “I thought you was a goner! What the master will say, I can’t think!”
“Then don’t think,” Brandon snapped, bringing the roan to a plunging halt and leaping from the saddle. “Better yet, don’t tell him. You hurt?” He flung the words over his shoulder at Carolyn as he bent to examine the black’s leg.
“Are you talking to me or to the horse?” she demanded as she straightened her hat and shoved an errant strand of hair back into place.
“Don’t be nonsensical,” he said sharply. “You’ll have to dismount. He’s strained a fetlock. Here, Cleves,” he added, taking her reins and handing them up to the groom, “make yourself useful and lead him. I’ll take Miss Carolyn up behind me.”
“Why don’t you just order poor Cleves to give me his horse,” Carolyn asked as Brandon helped her down. “Surely, you won’t want that poor nag of yours to carry a double burden.”
“No, I don’t, but it don’t signify, for we’ve only a short distance to go now.” Then he looked at her as though he had just become aware of the irony in her voice. “You miffed? I didn’t let him stumble. You did. Ought to be ashamed, riding neck or nothing like that. I can’t think what Lady Skipton will say.”
“Well, don’t think to cozen me into thinking you’ll tell her,” Carolyn retorted, “for I know you won’t, and if I was riding neck or nothing, ’twas only because you challenged me to do so. And after telling Sydney you’d take care of me, too.”
“Well, if he don’t know how difficult that is, no one does,” Brandon replied, returning his attention to the fetlock.
“Want me to have a look at that, sir?” Cleves asked.
“No, what for? Know as much as any groom does, m’self, don’t I? Going to need compresses, and the sooner the better, but I daresay they’ll have what we want at the camp.”
“Camp, sir?”
Brandon looked at him. “Gypsy camp, and don’t go giving me any lip, my man. ’Tain’t your place to be saying where we should or shouldn’t go.”
Cleves looked shocked. “No, sir, and like as not them gypsies know a sight more than both of us together about strained fetlocks. Some of ’em ’ave got magic in their fingers.”
Satisfied, Brandon lifted Carolyn to his saddle and swung up behind her. A quarter hour later they entered the camp.
Seven caravans nestled beneath the trees surrounding a clearing, and steam curled from pots bubbling over campfires near all but one, where a girl with long black hair tied back from her face with a red scarf, and golden hoops dangling from her ears, turned a small roasting animal on a spit. Other plump, dark-haired children played all-hide among the trees, shrieking and laughing, ignored by the several adults who could be seen nearby.
The whole scene fascinated Carolyn, but she was particularly captivated by the women, whose tight bodices and full
It was enough. The gelding sprang forward, closing the distance again. Seeing Brandon duck down, hugging the roan’s back to avoid a low-hanging branch, she did the same, and while the movement stopped her from seeing the tree root that rose several inches above the path ahead, it saved her from flying headlong out of the saddle when the gelding stumbled and nearly fell with her. Its pace dropped to a halting walk in the space of a breath or two, and as she sat up again, her hat askew, she realized immediately that her horse was injured.
Brandon, looking back over his shoulder, saw what had happened and jerked his mount sharply about, reaching her at nearly the same time Cleves did.
“Miss Carolyn,” the wiry, middle-aged groom exclaimed, drawing up beside her, “I thought you was a goner! What the master will say, I can’t think!”
“Then don’t think,” Brandon snapped, bringing the roan to a plunging halt and leaping from the saddle. “Better yet, don’t tell him. You hurt?” He flung the words over his shoulder at Carolyn as he bent to examine the black’s leg.
“Are you talking to me or to the horse?” she demanded as she straightened her hat and shoved an errant strand of hair back into place.
“Don’t be nonsensical,” he said sharply. “You’ll have to dismount. He’s strained a fetlock. Here, Cleves,” he added, taking her reins and handing them up to the groom, “make yourself useful and lead him. I’ll take Miss Carolyn up behind me.”
“Why don’t you just order poor Cleves to give me his horse,” Carolyn asked as Brandon helped her down. “Surely, you won’t want that poor nag of yours to carry a double burden.”
“No, I don’t, but it don’t signify, for we’ve only a short distance to go now.” Then he looked at her as though he had just become aware of the irony in her voice. “You miffed? I didn’t let him stumble. You did. Ought to be ashamed, riding neck or nothing like that. I can’t think what Lady Skipton will say.”
“Well, don’t think to cozen me into thinking you’ll tell her,” Carolyn retorted, “for I know you won’t, and if I was riding neck or nothing, ’twas only because you challenged me to do so. And after telling Sydney you’d take care of me, too.”
“Well, if he don’t know how difficult that is, no one does,” Brandon replied, returning his attention to the fetlock.
“Want me to have a look at that, sir?” Cleves asked.
“No, what for? Know as much as any groom does, m’self, don’t I? Going to need compresses, and the sooner the better, but I daresay they’ll have what we want at the camp.”
“Camp, sir?”
Brandon looked at him. “Gypsy camp, and don’t go giving me any lip, my man. ’Tain’t your place to be saying where we should or shouldn’t go.”
Cleves looked shocked. “No, sir, and like as not them gypsies know a sight more than both of us together about strained fetlocks. Some of ’em ’ave got magic in their fingers.”
Satisfied, Brandon lifted Carolyn to his saddle and swung up behind her. A quarter hour later they entered the camp.
Seven caravans nestled beneath the trees surrounding a clearing, and steam curled from pots bubbling over campfires near all but one, where a girl with long black hair tied back from her face with a red scarf, and golden hoops dangling from her ears, turned a small roasting animal on a spit. Other plump, dark-haired children played all-hide among the trees, shrieking and laughing, ignored by the several adults who could be seen nearby.
The whole scene fascinated Carolyn, but she was particularly captivated by the women, whose tight bodices and full
Similar Books
