Free Ondine by Heather Graham, Shannon Drake

And which of them would think that the common bride of a great lord would think to elude him?
    The wood of the back door seemed to have swelled with the coolness of the night. Ondine gnawed at her lower lip, fighting a wave of panic as the door refused to give. She tugged upon it with greater effort and almost gasped when it sprang quite suddenly from the force of frantic desperation.
    Collecting herself, she sped outside, bringing the door shut behind her, and leaned against it for one moment to collect her breath. She stared out across the dirt and pens of the yard, across the rolling fertile fields to the forest beyond. Her heart seemed to sink within her, for the distance to that forest was great, far greater than she had realized before. On foot, wearing the delicate pumps her strange “husband” had purchased for her, she would take forever reaching the ebony haven of nature’s succoring retreat.
    Think! Quickly! she warned herself. By God, she hadn’t escaped the king’s guards and dozens of petty sheriffs to find herself frantic against a single man. It had taken a posse of fifty trained horsemen to capture her party of poor men and thieves in the forest outside London. And if Little Pat hadn’t fallen then, she would have eluded even them.
    There was no way out of it, she decided quickly, drawing upon learned instinct. She was going to have to steal one of Lord Chatham’s carriage horses. Nor could she allow herself to feel guilty for the theft; she hadn’t the time. She could only vow to herself once again that she would find revenge against those who had so tricked and used her—and her poor woefully betrayed father! And she would pay the Earl of North Lambda back for his gift of life and substance at a later date.
    So determined, Ondine raced across the dirt to the stable, praying that no one would be about. The massive doors were still open to the night, and a single lantern burned near them, high on the wall. Despite the flame, she blinked as she swept around the open doorway, pausing once again with her back to the wood structure as she attempted to see clearly. The stable was as neat as the inn: fresh hay was strewn richly over the ground; harnesses, bits, bridles, and saddles were polished and hung on pegs by the entrance.
    Horses pawed the ground from two opposing rows of stalls, separated by low, thin barriers of wood.
    The right horse …
    She had been condemned to die one time too many and was determined now to steal only one of her “husband’s” horses, lest she be caught with the beast. She didn’t intend to be caught, but having borne the label of “traitor,” felt the promised horror of the headsman’s ax, and, in truth, the scratch of the rope, she was hesitant despite herself. Another man could claim her a thief, but not the man who had so curiously chosen to marry her.
    She reflected briefly that she would almost rather face the law again than the man with the chill gold gaze once she had crossed him. That thought caused her to shiver, but shivering set her into action at last. She gazed to the doorway once again, assured herself that no tavern lad was about, then silently skimmed across the hay, looking for one of the chestnut mounts that had pulled their carriage. She paused at last behind a high rump, certain she had found the right horse. It was a tall creature, like its master. And like its master, it had broad, powerful shoulders, and a sleek and fluid body, well muscled and long in the legs.
    “Shhh, my fine lad!” she murmured to the hrose, closing in on its hind quarters lest it should choose to kick. She moved along its flanks to its neck while stroking its glossy coat. The animal snorted; its great dark eyes rolled to survey her. Ondine rubbed its velvet-soft nose. “You’re really a love, aren’t you?” she murmured, finding no resistance to her touch. “We’re going to take a ride, you and I. Do you mind?”
    The horse was tethered by a halter to the wall before