Read Online Anne Barbour by A Dedicated Scoundrel - Free Book Online Page B

nose as though to make amends.
    “How very extraordinary!” exclaimed Catherine. “Do—do you recognize him? That is, has he made you remember—
    “I’m afraid not,” replied Mr. Smith, his face falling, “I have the feeling that I’m very familiar with him, but, . . It’s hard to explain. When I look at him, I can see myself on his back, and it’s as though I’ve been there many times. Oh!” He halted abruptly, his fingers busy with the horse’s bridle. “Look here! There is a name scratched on the leather.” He peered at it closely. “It’s very faint—the bridle looks old—but, I think it says—” He spelled out the letters. “C—A—L—I—and, I think a B. Why, it spells Caliban. That must be his name.”
    He stroked the horse’s nose. “Is that it, old fellow? Is your name Caliban? Seems a little harsh, but I must say it rather fits.”
    Caliban did not reply, but nibbled contentedly at his master’s hair.
    Marveling at the sudden change in the animal’s mood, Catherine murmured, “Well, judging from his temperament—and his looks, too, to be honest, I’d say it’s the perfect name.”
    Odd, thought Catherine. Mariah had said the horse looked expensive, and Mariah was an excellent judge of horseflesh, however, it looked to her as though three pounds might be too much to pay for such a misshapen animal, let alone three hundred guineas. Why, even his tail was crooked, she observed, as Caliban flicked the appendage in question, sparsely endowed and almost comically ill formed.
    “Well,” said Smith, “I must have had some reason for purchasing him. He looks strong, at least.”
    “Mm,” responded Catherine, eyeing Caliban’s deep chest and muscled withers.
    “D’ye want him saddled, then?” asked one of the grooms. “He ain’t been exercised yet this morning, and I have t’say, sir, that none o’us is p’tick’ly anxious t’get on ‘is back.”
    Smith laughed. “You have nothing to fear now, lad. But, yes, I’d like a good gallop above anything right now.” He turned to Catherine. “Could I persuade you to join me, Miss Meade?”
    “Oh, no!”
    Catherine was surprised at the spurt of nervousness she experienced at his invitation. She had no reason to shy away from his company, after all. Why should she feel so uneasy at the thought of spending a pleasant hour in the saddle at his side? “That is, I’m not dressed for riding,” she concluded a little breathlessly.
    “Ah,” said Mr. Smith regretfully. “Another time, perhaps.”
    They chatted for another few minutes while Caliban was led out of his stall and made ready for his outing. Then, with the aid of one of the grooms, he swung rather awkwardly into the saddle. Once in place, however, it was, thought Catherine, as though he had somehow become part of the great stallion. Man and animal moved with a fluid grace that made her breath catch in her throat.
    With a wave. Smith galloped from the stable yard and out onto the gravel path, and in a few moments he was a blur against the parkland that swept away from the house. Slowly, Catherine dropped her hand from its returning wave and made her way back to the house.
    Astride Caliban’s broad back, Justin reveled in the feel of the wind in his face. God, it had been a long time since he and the great horse had enjoyed an all-out gallop. What a good thing he’d embellished Caliban’s bridle with his name those many months ago in—where was it?—somewhere in the Estremadura, he rather thought. He himself might be able to get along without his name, but Caliban would be another matter. He doubted the horse would respond well to, “Oy—you!”
    He recalled the day he’d cut the name in the leather. He’d been out all day, perched on a stony mountain side, waiting for the appearance of Soult’s troops. At that time, Justin had been one of the corps of “runners,” men with superbly bred horses who scouted out troop movements, then sped to Wellington’s