Chapter 5 #2
She was so furious she could hardly speak.
So instead of reaching for the handiest sharp instrument she could find and plunging it into his brain, she turned and stomped off toward the bathroom.
She locked the door behind her, sat on the edge of the tub, and fumed.
She fumed until the bathroom started to feel a bit steamy.
She was just certain the mirror was going to fog up soon, but heard a light tap on the window before it could.
It wasn’t a Bentley tap, so she pulled the curtains back and opened the window.
Roddy stood there, looking around furtively. “Can ye ride?” he whispered.
“A bike?”
“Nay, lass, a horse.”
She gulped. Did one terrifying ride on the back of a semi-comatose nag at Girl Scout camp twenty years ago count? It did, if the day spent with Bentley was the alternative.
She put her shoulders back. “Sure.”
Roddy nodded his head to the left. Madelyn climbed out the window and followed him to what appeared to be a modest stable.
“Mr. Taylor is in the lounge,” he said.
“Tied to a chair?” she asked hopefully.
“I convinced him there were no sights within walking distance. He thinks you’ll come to your senses soon enough and return.”
“Are there sights within riding distance?” she asked.
“Oh, aye, lass. A nice castle up the way. Manor houses. All sorts of ruins and other interesting things.”
Well, this was most definitely not on her list, but it seemed as though none of her vacation was going to be on her list. Besides, who knew where a bit of serendipity might take her?
To the local hospital for the setting of numerous broken bones, no doubt.
Roddy’s horse appeared far too soon, saddled and apparently ready for action. He looked enormous, but she wasn’t exactly one to judge, given her dismal lack of experience with those of the equine persuasion.
The horse looked at her doubtfully.
She understood completely. “Um, Mr. MacLeod,” she began hesitantly, “do you have something less . . . shifty?”
“Shifty, lass?”
“Well, he’s moving around a lot. I thought horses were more stable than this.”
Roddy looked at her pityingly. “You haven’t ridden all that much, have ye, lass?”
Why bother to lie? He’d know the truth the moment she put her foot in the stirrup. And just how in the hell was she supposed to get her foot all the way up there? That didn’t even begin to address getting any of the rest of her into the stratosphere.
“No, I haven’t ridden all that much,” she admitted.
Roddy, that obviously quite gallant soul, didn’t blink. “Well, lass, he’s your ticket to freedom today, so you’d best learn fast. Even my wee grandchildren can ride Whoa Bullet.”
“ ‘Whoa Bullet’?” she echoed.
“He’s a gentle lad, despite his name. Here, let me have your gear, lass. You won’t need it.”
“But—”
“No need for money up the hill. The sights are free.” Well, he would know. Madelyn surrendered her small suitcase of a bag, then examined her next task.
She suspected it would be easier to deadlift a Yugo than to get her own sorry backside up in that saddle, but she managed it with a great deal of undignified grunting. At least the seams of her orange plaid pants had held up under the strain.
“Steering wheel?” she asked from her perch atop the bucking bronco.
“Reins. Go left, go right, go straight,” Roddy said, with the appropriate demonstration.
“I hope I won’t break him. Do you have insurance?”
Roddy laughed. “If you fall off, he’ll come fetch me. And to be sure, he’s endured worse than you atop his back.”
Madelyn opened her mouth to thank him, then saw his wife come trotting out with a hefty sack.
“Lunch,” she announced, deftly packing it in a saddlebag and attaching it to Madelyn’s saddle. “Have a lovely day, lass.”
Madelyn almost didn’t manage to get words past the lump in her throat. Food, transportation, and vintage clothing as well. “I can’t thank you enough. I’ll sue someone for you later if you want.”
Roddy only shook his head with a smile. “We’re happy to help.”
“Sorry to leave you with Bentley.”
“Aye, well, we’ll speak of repayment for that later. Now, be off with ye and enjoy your day.” Roddy turned her horse around and led it out of his back gate. “Up past the keep, laddie, and show the gel the land.”
Madelyn started to wave, then realized that waving could be very dangerous. She limited herself to a slight nod of thanks, then clutched her reins, the saddle, and a handful of the horse’s mane just to be safe as the horse walked on.
The trip through the upper part of the village passed without incident, most likely because she let the horse go where it wanted to. It stopped at the main highway behind the village. Madelyn looked both ways, then urged the horse forward by what she was sure was an age-old horsey command.
“Go,” she said.
He went, stepping lazily.
Until they were safely on the other side of the road, that is. Then the horse took off as if someone had shot him in the butt.
“Whoa, Bullet!” she shouted.
Apparently, that didn’t translate. Then she remembered that was the damned horse’s name.
“Stop!” she bellowed. “Damn it, I don’t speak Gaelic!” Luckily for her, her hands were so tangled in reins and mane that falling off was an impossibility. So she held on for dear life.
Scenery passed. Actually, she passed by scenery. Trees, flora, fauna; she saw it all. From a distance, of course.
She burst through a forested area into a meadow. And the sight of the forbidding gray castle sitting in the middle of it was almost enough to surprise her into releasing her death grip. She continued to clutch, however, as her horse flew up the meadow toward the castle—
Past the castle.
“Hey,” she said crossly, “we’re supposed to stop there!”
Obviously, her horse had different ideas.
She looked over her shoulder for one last glimpse of the keep.
The horse plunged into more forest. She fended off branches with one hand, praying it wouldn’t cost her her precarious perch.
Her mount left the trees with the same enthusiasm he’d entered it.
Indeed, his happiness seemed to increase with every yard he put behind him. His speed increased exponentially.
She realized immediately that she was in deep doo-doo.
“Help!” she squeaked.
The horse didn’t answer. Maybe he wasn’t listening. Maybe he couldn’t hear for the wind rushing by his ears. Maybe he thought if he just ran a titch faster he might break the sound barrier.
She supposed the scenery would have been breathtaking—she was in some sort of plateau-like bit of country with sharp mountains rising around her—but she was quite frankly too terrified to enjoy it.
“Stop or I’ll sue!” she squawked.
The horse remained unimpressed.
She panicked, she prayed, she might have screamed. And just at the moment she was certain she would just have to cast herself into a vat of total despair, she caught sight of something flying toward her. Plane? Alien spacecraft? Whatever it was, it was headed straight for her.
She knew death was unavoidably near—or it would be if she didn’t do something drastic. So she dredged up superhuman strength and hauled back on the reins.
Miracle of all miracles, the horse tossed his head a time or two in frustration, then stopped.
Didn’t matter. She was so flat-out terrified, she did the only sensible thing she could: She slid off the horse so she could faint more closely to the ground.
Much as she’d done twenty years earlier at Girl Scout camp.
Only there, the horse had been shorter.
Yes, definitely shorter because the slide down had ended much sooner.
Maybe that horse had actually been a pony.
She tried to factor in that new information with the differences in her height, weight, and flexibility, but found she didn’t have the time.
The ground came up to meet her backside with a great deal of inflexibility.
The pain in her tailbone might have been enough to send her into oblivion if she hadn’t slid off what she vaguely realized was a rock, tipped over, and cracked her head on another.
She was trying to judge how much that hurt when the sunlight was blocked by a large shadow. She squeaked in fright, then realized the face looming over her was none other than Mr. Black-Sports-Car himself.
“How’d you get here?” she asked. Her words were slurred, she noticed with alarm.
He pointed back over his shoulder to where his black horse stood. “I rode.”
“Hmmm,” she said, “so did I.”
“For a bit, at least.”
“I,” she said archly—no small feat given her current condition, “am just learning to do it.”
“You’re off to a glorious start.”
“I think so, too.”
“Anything damaged, do you think?”
His voice was very far away and growing farther by the minute. Madelyn closed her eyes. It was a shame to block out such splendid scenery—and the countryside was pretty good looking as well—but she found darkness closing in relentlessly.
“I’m tired,” she breathed.
“Then take your rest, lass,” a deep voice said. “I’ll keep you safe.”
But who would keep her safe from him and his bad-mannered self?