Free Tempting the Wolf by Lois Greiman Page A

her.
    “Lass,” he called, keeping his distance lest she shy away.
    She glanced up, startled, and stepped closer to the mare.
    O’Banyon winced. “Ye must na stand too near the steed, lass,” he warned. “It may strike out.”
    She blinked, eyes wide in her gamin face, one hand curled tight in the mare’s black mane. It was then that he noticed her bare toes, curled only inches from the horse’s iron-shod hooves.
    “Careful lass,” he warned, but in that moment, the animal turned and lapped the girl’s cheek with her tongue.
    Lifting one tiny shoulder, Sibylla giggled, and it was that noise, that sunny ray of glee that stopped him in his tracks, for it was the very essence of unfettered happiness.
    Worries crept a little further toward the back of his mind. ‘Twas difficult to fret in the light of such a wee pixie’s joy. “I’ve rare seen such houndish affection in a steed,” he admitted, “but still, ye must be cautious, lass. The beastie may yet misstep and land on yer feet.” He strode forward to whisk her from harm’s way, but in that instant, the girl shimmied sideways. Grasping the mare’s hame with grubby fingers, she hooked her toes atop the wooden shaft and scrambled upward. In less than a heartbeat, she was perched atop the animal’s back like a Moroccan’s pet monkey, her scathed, knobby knees just visible beneath her rumpled hem. Her hair was knotted and her gown rent, exposing one skinny arm. And yet, despite her shabby appearance, she looked, he thought, just as he imagined a wee fairy might, bright eyes gleaming with mischief and hair… well… instead of being adorned with fair blossoms, there seemed to be a twig sticking out at a jaunty angle. Strangely, it made her only more appealing to an Irish rogue so far from home. Indeed, it made his chest ache at the beguiling sight of her.
    “Or mayhap ye’ll trod on her toes,” he said and gave her a tilted smile. “Tell me yer tricks, wee one, for I’ve a surly mount yonder what needs a firmer hand than me own.” He nodded toward Luci, who flipped her flaxen tail in irritable agreement. “If I feed her plump roots from me hand do ye think she will lap me cheek like a much-loved pup?”
    The girl’s eyes were round when she shifted her gaze to his fractious destrier, rounder still when she turned back to O’Banyon with a slow shake of her elfin head.
    He grinned. “Mayhap ye be right. I shall save the treats and me fingers with them. And methinks I shall retain the charm I wear just to be safe.”
    She blinked at him, uncertain.
    “Ye see,” he said, raising his arm to show the braided horsehair that encircled his wrist. “I have crafted a circlet from her tail.”
    The girl’s eyes got rounder still as she stared at the simple bracelet.
    “She be the fiercest beastie I know. It seems but wise to keep a bit of her power on me own person.”
    Sibylla rubbed her own tiny wrist.
    ” ‘Tis clear though that ye’ve already harnessed the power of the steed,” he said, indicating her sturdy perch. “But tell me, lass, do ye oft venture into Londontowne of yer own accord?”
    Her toes curled, finding a firm resting place above the tug buckle. Her cherub’s mouth hitched up a notch. She shook her head.
    “Nay? So this be a rarity,” he said as if musing. “Mayhap ye have run short of pipe tobacco and have come hither to—”
    She shook her head again. The entangled twig hobbled.
    “Nay.” He stroked his chin, thinking hard, eyes narrowed with the effort. “Then perchance ye need a bridle to tame some wayward steed and have traveled here to—”
    Her shoulders were hunched now. The barest hint of humor shone in her ever-blue eyes. Ahh, lassies, they were a wee bit of heaven, wrapped in happiness, alive with hope.
    “Well, then, ye have traveled alone here on an important mission with the Prince Regent who has summoned ye hence—”
    Again she was shaking her head. The tiniest giggle escaped her lips.
    He stood entranced by