Free The Cruel Count (Bantam Series No. 28) by Barbara Cartland

discourage her, and she was sure of it when he fetched the horses round to the front of the Inn and said:
    “Are you quite certain you would not rather turn back, Ma’am?”
    She had the feeling that he was teasing rather than taunting her, but she replied in all seriousness:
    “As I have told you before I have every intention of reaching Djilas.”
    Even if she had wished to return, she knew she could not have faced again the terror of that ride across the barren rock.
    The Count paid the Inn-Keeper’s wife who was all smiles as she bade them goodbye.
    Vesta held out her hand.
    “Thank you very much,” she said in her halting Katonian.
    The woman asked a question and Vesta looked at the Count, wishing him to translate it for her.
    “Our hostess asks if you were comfortable last night,” he said.
    “Will you tell her that I was very comfortable,” Vesta replied.
    He raised his eyebrows and said in English:
    “I thought you were truthful.”
    “It is the truth,” Vesta replied. “I slept exceedingly well, as you know.”
    He conveyed literally what she had said and the woman clasped her hands together in pleasure, curtseying and obviously wishing them “God speed” on their journey.
    She stood waving to them and Vesta waved back until they were out of sight.
    “She did her best,” she said almost as if she spoke to herself.
    “You are very charitable,” the Count remarked.
    “It is what people try to do which matters,” Vesta replied, “and it is a mistake to expect too much.”
    She remembered as she spoke what her father and mother had said about her and added almost to herself:
    “We must never expect too much.”
    “As a safeguard against being disappointed,” the Count said and there was a touch of irony in his voice.
    Vesta did not answer. She was telling herself that when she arrived at Djilas she must not expect too much of the Prince.
    Perhaps he would not like her very much at first, but if they could only be friendly with each other, then one day love might come. It would be hard to be married without love.
    The path under the trees was much the same as it had been the day before. The sun was rising and there was every likelihood of it becoming very hot.
    Vesta untied the ribbons from under her chin and balanced her hat in front of her.
    Then she found this was uncomfortable and finally she tied the two ribbons together at their extreme ends and let her hat hang down her back. She also took off her gloves and put them into her jacket pocket.
    She knew her mother would not have approved of her appearing so unconventionally garbed. But here among the trees there was no-one to see her, and she decided later on she might even take off her jacket.
    She began to understand why the Count found it more comfortable to ride without a cravat round his neck.
    The horses plodded on neither hastening or slowing their pace, keeping up an even gait in a manner which showed they were used to long journeys and had no intention of over-exerting themselves.
    Vesta was soon lost in her day-dreams, finding the golden sunshine seeping through the leaves so lovely that it made her think of the stories from mythology that she had read about Greece. She felt they must also apply to Katona.
    She was beginning to feel hungry when at last the Count drew the horses to a halt.
    “I have the feeling,” he said, “that we should eat that so-called chicken you cooked last night before it grows even older in the saddle-bag.”
    “I admit to being quite hungry,” Vesta said.
    She slipped down from her horse, knowing there was no need to do anything but let the animal roam loose, and then she gave a little cry of delight.
    The trees here were thinner than in other parts of the forest, and where the sunshine pierced through there was everywhere grass and a few flowers.
    Amongst them she saw some small red strawberries, the fraises de bois of the Mediterranean. She ran towards them excited as a child.
    “Strawberries!”