Free The Prince Kidnaps a Bride by Christina Dodd Page B

posture erect.
    Bringing St. Donkey to a halt, she grinned up at him. “Are you waiting for me?”
    “I’ll ride with you until
midday
.” He lifted one hand. “Don’t argue. A young woman of your quality shouldn’t be riding about the wilds of Scotland on her own.”
    “You... you know?” She couldn’t believe it. She’d been absolutely manly last night, eating with her fingers and a wooden spoon, singing tavern songs, drinking ale... although Haverford had taken that second pint away from her. “Ohh.” No wonder he’d been gazing at her so meaningfully. “ That’s what you were trying to tell me.”
    “Among other things.” He gestured to the road ahead. “Please, ride on.”
    She urged her pony forward. “What gave me away?”
    “What didn’t?” He rode behind her.
    “Do you mean everyone knew?” But she’d been so proud of her disguise!
    “No, but last night most of them couldn’t recognize their hands in front of their faces.” He sounded wry as he said, “You have a way of making a night in a pub into a party.”
    “It was my first time to spend an evening in an inn.” She slewed around in her saddle. “Do you mean it’s not normally so jolly?”
    A spasm of something that might have been amusement passed over his face. “First, calling that place an inn is like calling a sow’s ear a silk purse, and second—it’s usually surly drunkards and belligerent blackguards crouched over the cups until they pass out or stagger home. I know. I’m one of the staggerers.”
    She chewed on her lower lip and worried about the elegant young lord stuck in this tiny burg. “This cannot be good for you. I still think you should apologize to your father and see if he’ll relent.”
    “He relents about nothing, certainly not about a gambling debt so large it stripped him of an estate.” Haverford’s lips curled in scornful disparagement—of himself.
    She hated to see him so disparaging of his weaknesses—and his talents. “Then, much as it saddens me, I must urge you to move on. Find yourself a wife who loves you regardless of your wealth or lack of it. Or travel to India or the Americas and make a fortune of your own.”
    He pulled a handkerchief from his pocket and held it to his nose as if he couldn’t bear the reek of her schemes.
    Irked, she faced forward and urged St. Donkey onward. “Well, do something —paint a picture or write a book that will bring you fame and fortune.”
    The silence that followed her suggestion lasted for several miles and had her turning around in the saddle several times to examine his thoughtful expression.
    At last he said, “I hadn’t thought of that—the book-writing, I mean. At Oxford, I was considered a fair scribe with a quill. Perhaps I could write about my travels and sell that, then get enough money to travel some more and write yet again.”
    “That’s the spirit!” She rejoiced to see him lifting himself from the despondency that had draped him like black crepe.
    “You could come with me on my travels.”
    “You don’t know how wonderful that sounds to me!” To travel where she wished, see strange lands, meet new people, be free of responsibility... “But I have a destiny that must be followed or I fear the consequences will be dire.”
    “Damn it!” He cantered forward, close to her side. “Don’t you understand? This isn’t safe. There are wild animals and dangers you can’t imagine.”
    “I can imagine dangers, believe me.”
    “But you don’t see the obvious dangers. You think people are good. They aren’t. They’re all out for what they can get, justifying the most horrific deeds so they can sleep at night. Lying, gambling, cheating, stealing, fornicating—oh, I know I’m not supposed to say that to a lady, but you have to think that some man will try to... to hurt you.”
    “It doesn’t do any good to distrust every man I meet,” she said gently. “If I did, I wouldn’t have you for a friend.”
    He groaned in