her mare, Foxy, out for a run. No rush, no hurry to ready herself for an intolerable trip. Changing into her azure blue riding habit with the perky feather in the cap, she was soon ready to ride. Making her way to the stables, she spoke to each of the servants in turn as she came upon them, smiling, happy that the intolerable circumstances had changed. She found Addie in the kitchen with Ardith, who had enlisted her aid in peeling potatoes, as she was the only one without a chore to perform at the moment.
“I heard, I did, that the trip has been put off, my lady. I pray you did not have need of me, as Ardith asked me to help with the supper.” The woman had the temerity to look her charge straight in the eye. Addie had been Shalan’s nurse and then her maid since she came into the world and they had a rapport that had some in the household raising their eyebrows. Addie should not take such liberties with her charge as was her wont to do, was their outlook on the matter.
“I’m taking Foxy out for a while, Addie. Please advise my papa if you run across him, or if he asks my whereabouts.” With a broad grin, she twirled around in front of her maid. “And as you can see, Addie, I managed to change into my habit without your aid. You’d better watch your position in the household as I have no need of you.” She laughed and going to her maid, placed a kiss on the top of the dark hair that had just begun to be streaked with grey. Whereupon Addie grabbed a wooden ladle off the butcher’s block and swatted her lady’s backside. Ardith’s hand went to her heart, as if she’d never seen the like.
Shalan left the kitchen, still laughing, as the heavy riding skirt prevented the ladle from doing any real harm. And nothing could dampen her spirits. She didn’t have to make the trip to Haloran Hall, stand to be inspected by someone who was more than likely as old as her father, and she was quite pleased with that.
“Rolfe, will you please saddle Foxy for me? I am off for the moor as she and I both need the exercise. This atrocious weather we’ve been having has prevented me from riding, but, today, I think we can manage without being caught in a downpour. I think it simply a dreary day, and not threatening.”
“Yes, my lady,” Rolfe grinned, showing his youth. “Which saddle?”
“For goodness sake, Rolfe, do not even speak to me of the sidesaddle! You know I detest that contraption and only use it at the behest of my father. I can ride astride as well as anyone here, and I prefer to do so.” She was still smiling as she drew on her kid gloves, knowing that if her mother were alive, there was no way she would have been allowed anything except the ridiculous sidesaddle.
“Yes, my lady. I’ll make Foxy ready for you right away.” And he went inside the stables, still grinning, with thoughts of how lovely his lady looked when she rode astride.
While waiting, Shalan contemplated the past two years and how different the keep had become without her dear lady mother. It seemed she had held everything together, and while Shalan had no trouble with the inhabitants of the keep, and could oversee the household as well as her mother, she realized that her father had, for the most part, left her to her own devices, often being away from home for weeks at a time. And as Rolfe brought Foxy to her and helped her mount, she realized she was glad of the fact that her father allowed her to make her own choices, within reason. She simply was a person who enjoyed her own company.
Rolfe turned away, but not before she glimpsed the flash of appreciation in his eyes. Fourteen. My God, only fourteen and already he valued the shape of a woman. When did they start? When they found there was a difference between boys and girls? Or was it something apparently born and bred in all males?
Two
Clearing the small brook, Foxy had no trouble at all taking the leap then galloping across the moor. Speed! That’s what Shalan strove for. The speed that a sidesaddle could not afford her. And freedom. Freedom from being the lady she was destined to be, the wife of some stodgy old baron or perhaps, a marquis, like her father, forced always to do the bidding of someone other than herself. On the moor, she could be anything she chose to be. Blissfully allowing her mind to run free, as she did her mare, she could totally forget the Earl of Haloran and his unwanted attention. The wind whipped her hair about, and Foxy was flat out when Shalan was taken aback by a strange looking bundle lying on the ground.
What? Her attention had been straight ahead, but she caught the odd bundle in her peripheral vision, off to her right at the edge of the woods. It looked as if a large parcel of clothing had been wadded into a ball and haphazardly thrown by the wayside. Should she perhaps check out what had been carelessly tossed on her father’s property? Deciding quickly that she most certainly should, Shalan had to cut back on her run, pulling fast on the reins.
Turning to head up the hill toward the woods, placing Foxy into a slow trot, she anticipated coming upon perhaps some old clothing that someone had discarded. The closer she came to the bundle of garments, however, the more it took on the shape of a man in a fetal position, his lined cloak wrapped around him, with the hem on one side drawn up around his shoulders. Puzzled and not a little panicked, she jumped from Foxy as soon as she was close enough, and rushed to the man’s aid.
His arm was thrown over his face, and she could see blood staining the ground, as if he had been stabbed with a sword and left for dead. Quickly, she stooped to see if he were still alive. Laying her head next to his back, she thankfully determined that he was breathing, very shallowly, but breathing.
“Sir! Sir! Can you hear me?” With her heart pounding, she bent over the man, unsure of exactly what to do. Cautiously, she pulled the man’s arm down and away from his face, ready to jump back if he gave the slightest indication that he might harm her. But he did not move, and she studied his face. Thick, dark brown hair seemed to flow down past his collar atop a face like no other she’d ever seen. Evidently he spent a great deal of time outdoors as he was tanned from the sun and his face was composed of strong features, though they seemed softened in his state of unconsciousness. She had never before laid eyes on the man, which was not surprising in that she could not be acquainted with all her father’s men or his acquaintances. Shalan wondered who would have waylaid the man out here on her father’s property. And most importantly, why? Her father had not mentioned that he was expecting a visitor.
After examining the wound, she quickly looked around, pondering how she was to get this man back to the keep where a physician could tend to the injury, when she saw his horse lope out from the copse and come to a standstill not too far away from where the man lay on the grass. Shalan wondered that she hadn’t spied the stallion before then. He was quite a large beast, but she had been preoccupied, very concerned when she realized the man had been hurt. Off to her right, startling her, she spied three more men in the underbrush lying as this one was, and they too, were unmoving.
Rushing to them, she quickly realized there was nothing she could do for them. They had been ambushed, and evidently didn’t stand a chance against the brigands who had attacked them. They were not dressed as richly as the gentleman she had first come across. Guards, perhaps? If these three were guards, as they were attired in the same type of livery, then who was the gentleman who lay off to her left and who still lived? He had not gotten far, but from the blood trail on the grass, she could see that this one had evidently been attempting to go for help when he collapsed from his own injuries. How long had he been lying there? That thought had her hurriedly scanning the landscape for any danger, but she saw no one.
Taking the reins to the stallion that seemed to stand watch over the man, she led the animal, not without some resistance on his part, closer to the man who lay injured on the turf. She then pondered how she could possibly lift the tall man into the saddle, and decided if she could only get him across the saddle, that would have to do. There was no way he could sit a horse and she questioned returning to the keep for help. It was much too far and the wounded man needed care as quickly as was humanly possible.
Shalan expertly brought the midnight colored horse to its knees, and the impressive stallion seemed to understand what she expected of him. Then came the difficult part and she stopped and studied her strategy for a second or two. Dragging the man with her bent elbows beneath his underarms, she pulled and tugged, falling onto the sodden grass a couple of times, until