Read Online Charming the Devil by Lois Greiman - Free Book Online Page A

the crush, mounts dancing as they turned from the street. The din of the hounds was all but deafening now. The innkeeper raised a pitcher of beer as his boy hustled through the mob, handing out tankards to those who had not yet received one. The fair Faye, he noticed, did not accept one, though she controlled her gelding with one steady hand. So she had ridden some. And there was steel to her spine. That much was obvious, at least to him. Although, if he looked deeply, past her polished veneer, behind her spoken words, he wasn’t even sure she was aware of the fact. Still, there was a good deal of difference between sitting quietly in a cobbled courtyard and clearing oxers on half a ton of heaving horseflesh.
    But he had no wish to offend her by mentioning such a thing. Then again, neither did he care for the idea of returning with her broken body cradled in his arms.
    Although the idea of holding her against his chest made his heart feel diabolically traitorous.
    God almighty, he was a dolt. Why had he suggested this at the outset? He had things todo. Things to learn. He scanned the mob. There were already twoscore riders assembled. Most of them inebriated. All of them dressed to the gills. He himself felt like a damned stuffed monkey. Though he had always worn the required uniform into battle, he was most accustomed to his tartan, comfortable with his plaid and sporran. But Connelly had insisted he conform to the ways of the preening ton. It was all foolishness though, for his stock felt starchy, his breeches tight. ’Twas ridiculous to think he would ever belong in this parade of dandies and swells. He was a Highlander.
    Suddenly, a gust of wind flared, flapping the lacy tail of a nearby rider’s handkerchief. Startled by the motion, Faye’s mount shied, and without intent, Bain reached out to grab the bay’s bridle. The gelding stilled even as Faye’s gaze met Rogan’s.
    They sat in silence, frozen in time, a thousand thoughts tumbling between them, but what those thoughts were, even McBain wasn’t quite sure.
    “I could escort you home,” he rumbled, still bent from his saddle to restrain the fidgety bay. “’Twould do me no harm to miss this,” he said, and as he loosed the gelding’s cheek piece, didn’t add that he’d rather be engaged in hand-to-hand combat than here in this ridiculous circus.
    “Don’t be silly,” she said, and smoothed her expression just as easily as she smoothed her skirts. “I’ll be—”
    But just then a bugle sounded. The whipper-in loosed the hounds amid an ear-shattering racket while a piebald hack began pitching nervously before settling. The hunt-master raised his scarlet-sleeved arm, and they were off, galloping down the cobbled street toward the countryside.
    From Colt’s sturdy, rolling back, Bain breathlessly watched Faye gallop away, but there was no need for concern; she rode with confidence and panache.
    But they were already approaching the twisting River Darent. Here, so near London’s south side, the water was only a few feet wide, but the banks were steep and uncertain. The front three horses took it together, gliding over. But the fourth animal refused for an instant, floundered, then reared, nearly dumping its rider before lunging after its mates.
    Tension was building like a storm in Bain’s gut. “Mayhap we’d best walk them through this first obstacle,” he called.
    Faye glanced over her shoulder, eyes luminous with excitement, golden hair beginning to blow free from its containment beneath her dark, flat-topped hat. “What’s that?”
    “It might be wise to slow for the water,” he said, though he felt silly now, and a little breathless, for with the light in her bright eyes, she looked for all the world like a pixie just come to earth.
    “Very well,” she agreed, and managed to slow her mount to a walk, though the animal shook hishead and danced a few steps as others passed.
    Colt, having seen the world race by on innumerable occasions and