Read Online The Princess Spy by Melanie Dickerson - Free Book Online
Authors: Melanie Dickerson
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looked at the horse, then fastened his dark blue eyes back on her. “Are you sure?”
“Of course I’m sure. I want to ride that horse, the black one with the white patch on his forehead.”
He didn’t move. “I do not believe you should be riding that horse. Is he the one your father told you not to ride because he was dangerous?”
“Oh, he isn’t dangerous with me.” Margaretha motioned carelessly with her hand. “He likes me and is always gentle with me. It is nothing to you which horse I ride, although I do appreciate your concern for my safety.” She smiled to soften her words, but she was the duke’s daughter and was not used to the servants speaking to her in such a manner. Perhaps her sitting by his bed when he was so ill and ministering to his wounds had caused this young man to assume a familiarity with her that was not proper.
He snorted, then rolled his eyes toward the ceiling of the stable — actually rolled his eyes at her! — and started toward the stallion. She, Margaretha, was speechless.
He stopped when he got to the stall door. She might have hurried forward to open the door if it had been one of the other stable boys, the ones who treated her with respect and deference, but not this churlish man, who dared to snort and roll his eyes! She let him struggle with the heavy saddle, holding it with one hand and half propping it on his knee while opening the stall door with his other hand.
He lifted the saddle onto the horse’s back. The stallion snuffled angrily and turned his bared teeth toward Colin and tried to nip his shoulder. Colin muttered under his breath, then led the huge black horse out into the sun to finish strapping on the saddle.
Putting on a saddle usually only took a few minutes, but the way he was fumbling around, it might take him all morning. Just when she thought he was getting along better, the saddle slid all the way off and onto the ground.
“Have you ever worked in a stable before?” She might as well talk to him. Perhaps it would cover up his embarrassment at being so unskilled at his job.
He turned to face her with raised brows and a frown. “I am the son of a wealthy landed lord in England.” He picked up the saddle and put it back on again. “Saddling horses and shoveling manure were not among my activities. But I might as well be a penniless beggar here. I have no choice if I want to stay here and stop a murderer from accomplishing whatever plan he is scheming.”
The son of a wealthy landed lord? Was he telling the truth? His mind certainly seemed healed, and he looked well physically. She must at least believe in the possibility.
“You still don’t believe me, do you?”
“I must admit, it does appear someone tried to kill you, or at least attacked you. Also, you must be telling the truth about being from England. You could not speak English so well if you were not. But you are hardly older than I am — ”
“I am twenty years old.”
“Precisely, and it seems a bit unlikely to think that a wealthy lord’s son would come all the way here after uncovering some sort of plot by Lord Claybrook, of all people. Lord Claybrook simply seems too timid to plot murder. The man hardly — ”
“Which is the exact kind of man who plots murders — a cowardly, seemingly timid person who is so deceptive, no one suspects him.” Colin’s eyes flashed, his whole body tense as he gripped the horse’s reins and slapped his own leg with the horse’s riding crop.
Just then, the black stallion turned his head and nipped Colin’s arm. Too late, Colin jumped out of reach.
“Did he draw blood?” Margaretha stepped forward to look at his arm, but he pulled away from her.
“It’s nothing.” He rubbed his arm, the lids hanging heavy over his eyes.
“I must say, Colin, that look on your face seems far more dangerous than any I’ve ever seen on Lord Claybrook’s.”
Colin turned back to test the horse’s saddle, making sure it was secure. “Time will
“Of course I’m sure. I want to ride that horse, the black one with the white patch on his forehead.”
He didn’t move. “I do not believe you should be riding that horse. Is he the one your father told you not to ride because he was dangerous?”
“Oh, he isn’t dangerous with me.” Margaretha motioned carelessly with her hand. “He likes me and is always gentle with me. It is nothing to you which horse I ride, although I do appreciate your concern for my safety.” She smiled to soften her words, but she was the duke’s daughter and was not used to the servants speaking to her in such a manner. Perhaps her sitting by his bed when he was so ill and ministering to his wounds had caused this young man to assume a familiarity with her that was not proper.
He snorted, then rolled his eyes toward the ceiling of the stable — actually rolled his eyes at her! — and started toward the stallion. She, Margaretha, was speechless.
He stopped when he got to the stall door. She might have hurried forward to open the door if it had been one of the other stable boys, the ones who treated her with respect and deference, but not this churlish man, who dared to snort and roll his eyes! She let him struggle with the heavy saddle, holding it with one hand and half propping it on his knee while opening the stall door with his other hand.
He lifted the saddle onto the horse’s back. The stallion snuffled angrily and turned his bared teeth toward Colin and tried to nip his shoulder. Colin muttered under his breath, then led the huge black horse out into the sun to finish strapping on the saddle.
Putting on a saddle usually only took a few minutes, but the way he was fumbling around, it might take him all morning. Just when she thought he was getting along better, the saddle slid all the way off and onto the ground.
“Have you ever worked in a stable before?” She might as well talk to him. Perhaps it would cover up his embarrassment at being so unskilled at his job.
He turned to face her with raised brows and a frown. “I am the son of a wealthy landed lord in England.” He picked up the saddle and put it back on again. “Saddling horses and shoveling manure were not among my activities. But I might as well be a penniless beggar here. I have no choice if I want to stay here and stop a murderer from accomplishing whatever plan he is scheming.”
The son of a wealthy landed lord? Was he telling the truth? His mind certainly seemed healed, and he looked well physically. She must at least believe in the possibility.
“You still don’t believe me, do you?”
“I must admit, it does appear someone tried to kill you, or at least attacked you. Also, you must be telling the truth about being from England. You could not speak English so well if you were not. But you are hardly older than I am — ”
“I am twenty years old.”
“Precisely, and it seems a bit unlikely to think that a wealthy lord’s son would come all the way here after uncovering some sort of plot by Lord Claybrook, of all people. Lord Claybrook simply seems too timid to plot murder. The man hardly — ”
“Which is the exact kind of man who plots murders — a cowardly, seemingly timid person who is so deceptive, no one suspects him.” Colin’s eyes flashed, his whole body tense as he gripped the horse’s reins and slapped his own leg with the horse’s riding crop.
Just then, the black stallion turned his head and nipped Colin’s arm. Too late, Colin jumped out of reach.
“Did he draw blood?” Margaretha stepped forward to look at his arm, but he pulled away from her.
“It’s nothing.” He rubbed his arm, the lids hanging heavy over his eyes.
“I must say, Colin, that look on your face seems far more dangerous than any I’ve ever seen on Lord Claybrook’s.”
Colin turned back to test the horse’s saddle, making sure it was secure. “Time will
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