Page 31 of His Betrothed
She never rode Angel anymore for fear of painful memories, just as she never visited any other room at Wakesfield but the kitchens. She was no longer the favored child, only a tenant.
She saddled Angel and led her away from the stables. When she reached the cottage Thornton was waiting for her in the doorway, silhouetted by the firelight.The Spaniard lay behind him.
She gazed down at the body for a moment, caught again in the terror of what had happened. Thornton’s voice distracted her.
“Why aren’t you riding the horse?” he asked.
She glanced up to find him watching her speculatively, as if he knew her every thought and was amused.
“Because she’s not mine,” she said firmly. “Let us finish this, please.”
Roselyn steeled herselfagainst the horror of dragging a dead man. While Thornton pulled awkwardly on one arm, she tugged on the other, feeling that at any moment the Spaniard would awaken and grab her.
Standing on one leg, Thornton lifted the body and boosted it behind the saddle, over Angel’s haunches while she braced him for balance. When it was done, he sagged against the horse’s flank, then roused himself enoughto tie the body behind the saddle.
“She’s a calm horse,” he said afterward, stroking the animal. “What’s her name?”
“Angel.”
She heard his soft chuckle in the darkness. “This angel will be leading a Spaniard to the gates of hell.”
His penchant for inappropriate humor was infuriating and improper, and she told him so.
“Lady Roselyn, your lack of humor is much of your problem.”
“How wouldyou know, Lord Thornton? You never bothered to find out.”
He was silent, then said coldly, “Let’s go.”
“First you must return to the cottage,” she said, attempting to slide beneath his arm.
He held her away. “I’m going, too.”
“You most certainly are not. That is the last thing I need, to be seen riding so…intimately with a man.”
“But riding intimately with a corpse is acceptable?”
She shuddered.“You’re right; I’ll walk.”
“Don’t be a fool; that would take most of the night. And you aren’t going alone. What if a ship is at anchor out there, waiting? Then you’d need my help.”
She hadn’t considered that there might be a Spanish ship hidden nearby.
He grasped the pommel, then pulled himself high enough to get his left foot near the stirrup, but it kept bouncing out of his reach.
“Willyou help me?” he demanded, his voice strained.
Shaking her head, Roselyn guided his foot into the stirrup, and he swung up into the saddle. By the light spilling out of the cottage, she saw him grimace in pain.
“This is not a good idea,” she said. “You might aggravate your injuries.”
“I’m not letting you clean up a mess that’s my fault. Go close the cottage door.”
So he thought he was heroic,helping the poor maiden in distress?
She pulled the cottage door closed. “There isn’t room for me—I’ll walk.”
“Put your foot in the stirrup and give me your hand.”
