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Authors: Christine Monson
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and damaged herself. She shied away as he walked his own black stallion near her, so he eased the stallion's reins and let it do the work of herding. He had little energy left, for his cold had settled into his head and chest now, and two nights of scant sleep had left him drained. Soon the stallion nosed the mare close enough to let him catch her rein. As he headed back to the castle, he toyed with the prospect of finding his new bride abed, fresh, rosy and drowsy. Should he amend his neglect of the previous night?
He had gone only a little way when he saw a rider on a sorrel destrier coming across the fields toward him. The rider was Liliane, dressed in her page's gear, her hair streaming in a long braid. His eyes alight with anticipation, he spurred to meet her, but as the couple closed on each other, he saw she was pale with suppressed anger. Scarcely another second passed before he realized why. Having saddled his stallion without looking, he was riding "her" horse. Quickly reining in, he decided to put matters right. " Dona ," he said heartily, "what luck to meet you!"
"As a matter of fact," she replied in a taut voice, "I was concerned about my stallion. When I went to the stable, I thought he might have been stolen."
"No need for concern. I was just exercising your wedding present." With an innocent look, he paraded the mare.
"An uncommonly fine animal," she observed dryly. "Not the sort one encounters just wandering around."
"Indeed not," he agreed with a quirk to his lips. "I had quite a time finding her."
With an easy movement, Liliane dismounted into the budding furrow of the field. "I hope you did not pay too much. She has a cracked left hoof."
"Really?" He sounded convincingly dismayed. "How can you tell?"
Liliane did not believe Brueil's ignorance of the mare's condition any more than she did the rest of his tale. She had seen his skill with the stallion. As he had ridden toward her, he had been half asleep, yet his knees guided the stallion as if man and horse were one ... as if they were familiar with each other.
Too familiar. Had he known where to look for the mare? "I know horses," she replied evenly. "Particularly those from Andalusia."
"Andalusia? I only buy horses like this one from the Crescent." Aware of the direction her thoughts were taking, Alexandre affected a supercilious tone. "This mare," he lied baldly, "came from Damascus."
Liliane stroked the mare's nose. It whickered at her familiar touch. "The Caliph Almansor's sixth cousin once removed is also from Damascus," she said lightly. "Is that not remarkable?"
"As in coincidence?" Alexandre became stern. " Dona , are you accusing me of lying about this animal?"
Liliane's eyes widened with feigned innocence. "Never. I would not dream of wrongly accusing you of anything so dishonorable and common—"
"Never have I seen a woman more inclined to look a gift horse in the mouth!" Feigning indignation, Alexandre leaped off his stallion. "Ungrateful wench! Who are you to prate of 'common' when you lack the common courtesy to accept a gift generously given!"
Liliane felt a twinge of remorse. Count Alexandre was poor, after all, and he was trying to impress her. To be obliged to take a rich wife from a family he hated must be very damaging to his pride. She could at least give him the benefit of the doubt. She replied in a soothing voice, "Thank you, milord. I certainly do not mean to sound ungrateful. The mare is beautiful."
Alexandre had not expected so swift a turnabout. Had she seen through his charade? "Ah . . . then you agree she is not Andalusian?"
Liliane clamped her teeth. "No more than the caliph's cousin is from Damascus." She caught up the stallion's rein and began to mount.
Alexandre was loath to lose her company so quickly. Her hair was a shaft of sunlight, her eyes bewitching. He was impatient to make love to her again and would wait no longer than he must. Now was also a good opportunity to test her faith. His hand went
He had gone only a little way when he saw a rider on a sorrel destrier coming across the fields toward him. The rider was Liliane, dressed in her page's gear, her hair streaming in a long braid. His eyes alight with anticipation, he spurred to meet her, but as the couple closed on each other, he saw she was pale with suppressed anger. Scarcely another second passed before he realized why. Having saddled his stallion without looking, he was riding "her" horse. Quickly reining in, he decided to put matters right. " Dona ," he said heartily, "what luck to meet you!"
"As a matter of fact," she replied in a taut voice, "I was concerned about my stallion. When I went to the stable, I thought he might have been stolen."
"No need for concern. I was just exercising your wedding present." With an innocent look, he paraded the mare.
"An uncommonly fine animal," she observed dryly. "Not the sort one encounters just wandering around."
"Indeed not," he agreed with a quirk to his lips. "I had quite a time finding her."
With an easy movement, Liliane dismounted into the budding furrow of the field. "I hope you did not pay too much. She has a cracked left hoof."
"Really?" He sounded convincingly dismayed. "How can you tell?"
Liliane did not believe Brueil's ignorance of the mare's condition any more than she did the rest of his tale. She had seen his skill with the stallion. As he had ridden toward her, he had been half asleep, yet his knees guided the stallion as if man and horse were one ... as if they were familiar with each other.
Too familiar. Had he known where to look for the mare? "I know horses," she replied evenly. "Particularly those from Andalusia."
"Andalusia? I only buy horses like this one from the Crescent." Aware of the direction her thoughts were taking, Alexandre affected a supercilious tone. "This mare," he lied baldly, "came from Damascus."
Liliane stroked the mare's nose. It whickered at her familiar touch. "The Caliph Almansor's sixth cousin once removed is also from Damascus," she said lightly. "Is that not remarkable?"
"As in coincidence?" Alexandre became stern. " Dona , are you accusing me of lying about this animal?"
Liliane's eyes widened with feigned innocence. "Never. I would not dream of wrongly accusing you of anything so dishonorable and common—"
"Never have I seen a woman more inclined to look a gift horse in the mouth!" Feigning indignation, Alexandre leaped off his stallion. "Ungrateful wench! Who are you to prate of 'common' when you lack the common courtesy to accept a gift generously given!"
Liliane felt a twinge of remorse. Count Alexandre was poor, after all, and he was trying to impress her. To be obliged to take a rich wife from a family he hated must be very damaging to his pride. She could at least give him the benefit of the doubt. She replied in a soothing voice, "Thank you, milord. I certainly do not mean to sound ungrateful. The mare is beautiful."
Alexandre had not expected so swift a turnabout. Had she seen through his charade? "Ah . . . then you agree she is not Andalusian?"
Liliane clamped her teeth. "No more than the caliph's cousin is from Damascus." She caught up the stallion's rein and began to mount.
Alexandre was loath to lose her company so quickly. Her hair was a shaft of sunlight, her eyes bewitching. He was impatient to make love to her again and would wait no longer than he must. Now was also a good opportunity to test her faith. His hand went
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