Chapter Twenty-Five
Wylder
Wylder led his horse out of the stables.
Squinting at the sky, he considered that there might be a rain shower at some point.
But he had to get away from the main house for a while.
It felt as though the walls were closing in on him, and he needed the open space to stop the crushing pain in his chest.
He’d passed Simon on his way outside. The other man did not speak…
merely dipped his head and continued walking.
Simon was still furious, it seemed. His jaw had been clenched tight, his demeanor frigid when his gaze briefly met Wylder’s.
It was better that they allow more space to grow between the disagreement last night and their next conversation.
Wylder considered the inevitability of that event as Jack brought his bay around to the stable yard.
The street urchin he had hired that early morning in London had proven to possess a natural affinity for horses.
Wylder brought him along to Thorne Park to provide personal attention to his favorite mount.
Now, as Wylder ducked his head and checked the snugness of the saddle’s girth to ensure it was cinched correctly, Jack held the bay’s reins.
The young man stroked the horse’s muzzle, murmuring in a soothing tone.
After lowering the stirrups, Wylder gathered the reins and swung onto the gelding’s back in one smooth movement.
The high-spirited bay danced in place as Wylder settled into the saddle. He easily controlled the animal, applying pressure with his knees, his hands light on the bit.
“Is it just you riding this afternoon, milord?” the stablemaster inquired, setting down a bucket of water and clapping Jack on the back in way of greeting.
“Yes, Thomas.”
“I thought perhaps Lord Camden would ride again with you.”
“No one other than myself today,” Wylder replied. The wind was picking up, sending stray leaves scattering across the stable courtyard. He did not mention that his was the only company he wanted today. A solo gallop, with nothing other than his own thoughts to occupy him, was very enticing.
“Very good, milord.” The elderly man peered up at one particularly dark cloud and pointed out, “That one looks like it might have a bit of rain to it.”
“It doesn’t seem very far away, milord,” Jack offered. “Might not be long at all before it storms.”
“I agree with you on that. If it does catch me unawares, I’ll only have myself to blame for the soaking.” Wylder turned the gelding in the direction of Thorne Park’s wide, curving drive.
“I hope Lady Emily returns before the rain begins. She’s riding her mare that’s been cooped up for the last two months.
Flighty thing, that mare is. And downright twitchy when it rains,” Thomas mentioned, glancing at the sky again.
“Lady Emily doesn’t mind it, though. She likes her horses just on this side of wild.
Between Sheba here at Thorne Park and Morgiana in London, it’s a wonder milady has not been thrown more often. ”
“Lady Emily went riding? How long ago?” Wylder could not help the clench of apprehension that squeezed his chest. Of course, Emily was an excellent rider, and usually, he would not worry about her safety.
But the approaching storm and the unpredictable nature of her mount had fear prickling the hair on the back of his neck. “Did she take a groom along with her?”
Thomas laughed. “Lady Emily never takes a groom with her when riding here at Thorne Park. Aye, she’s alone. And I’d say she’s been gone maybe an hour, at the most. Said she was headed for the apple orchards and the meadows beyond that.”
Bloody hell. That meant Emily would be on the far reaches of Thorne Park’s vast acreage. He would go after her… just to be assured of her safety with inclement weather headed their way.
Nodding at Thomas and Jack, Wylder nudged the gelding in the direction the groom indicated. As the horse cantered away, the stable disappeared from view, and two stray raindrops hit his forehead. Thunder rumbled in the distance, and he hoped he would reach her before the rain began.
He’d been riding for no more than half an hour when the heavens opened up.
It was an absolute deluge, the rain coming down in sheets so thick that Wylder could hardly see the tree line that made up the edge of the orchards.
Wylder knew there was a small outbuilding where the workers kept supplies during harvest. He would stop there until the rain let up, then continue looking for her.
The building loomed ahead, glowing a ghostly white in the dark of the rainstorm.
The gelding picked up speed, sensing a reprieve from the driving rain, his hooves throwing up chunks of mud and grass.
Wylder leaned over the bay’s neck, his face whipped by the horse’s mane until it felt like a thousand needles striking him all at once.
Then out of the shadows of the apple trees, another horse burst into the clearing.
The dark-gray mare might have been a shadow herself, but her eyes were wild with fright, showing white as the bridle’s reins flapped around her legs.
Wylder knew it was Emily’s mare, but where in God’s name was Emily?
His heart pounded with dread as he steered his horse to the left, avoiding the mare as she raced past them with a high-pitched, panicked squeal.
She was headed back to the safety of the stables.
However, there was the danger of the reins tangling about her legs, possibly causing the horse to stumble and break her neck.
Wylder could not focus on the mare. Emily was out there, somewhere. Injured, or even worse.
Nausea choked him. He must find her and get her to safety. And when this was over, he would spank her arse until she could not sit down for being so foolish as to ride a high-strung mare in the middle of a goddamn rainstorm.
Finally emerging on the other side of the orchards, Wylder urged his gelding up and over a low, stacked stone fence that marked the edge of the meadows.
The open space went on for a good distance, rolling hills that on a sunny day were a delight to ride across.
The grass was slightly higher than it had been in the past, and wildflowers dotted the expanse.
Through the rain, Wylder picked up the path the mare had traveled, and the vegetation flattened as if it were serving as a road map.
He followed it without hesitation, reasoning that Emily would be somewhere along that path.
The storm was finally letting up, the flashes of lightning and rumbles of thunder moving off into the distance.
Wylder knew that beyond this section of the meadows was a stretch of deep woods that led to a secluded brook.
The stream eventually became a small waterfall, emptying into a rocky gorge pool.
Simon and Lucien had all swum there as young lads during the summer holidays when they were home from Eton.
Shouting with wild abandon, they would try outdoing each other, leaping from the rock outcroppings into the deeper portions of the pool and holding their breaths underwater for as long as they could.
Had Emily gone to the pool? Or was she lying on the leaf-littered floor of the woods in a small heap of broken bones?
Had her mare thrown her, or had Emily voluntarily dismounted when the storm began in earnest?
What if she had been swept from the mare’s back by a low branch?
Or perhaps she tumbled off when the horse reared, causing her to strike her head.
Fear had Wylder forcing his gelding to even greater speed.
He had no choice but to ignore the dangers of weaving through the trees as he searched for Emily.
The bay snorted as he ran, his breath billowing out in small puffs of steam.
Wylder dug his heels in, wiping the now drizzling rain from his eyes with the back of one hand.
And then he saw her. A splash of red that, in Wylder’s fevered imagination, was a puddle of blood spilling across the base of a large oak.
The tree’s limbs were massive, stretching low and wide like a dozen arms reaching out in all directions.
Wylder recognized this tree. It sat on the banks of the stream, and it was a short distance from there to reach the pool in the gorge.
Emily leaned against the oak’s base, her red riding habit a beacon of light calling out to him.
“Emily!”
Wylder sawed on the reins, her name choked out in a single, strangled word. The bay squealed in protest, sliding to a halt as Wylder leaped from the gelding’s back. Swinging the reins around a tree to secure the animal, he then sprinted to Emily’s side.
Her gaze, watery and frightened, met his as she shakily rose to her feet.
She wobbled, placing a gloved hand on the tree trunk for support.
The next instant, Wylder was sweeping her up into his arms. Holding her close, he felt as though he could not draw a true breath.
So great was his relief that he’d found her, he momentarily forgot that she might have suffered an injury.
“Bloody hell. Thank God I found you.” He embraced her tighter, barely taking notice of her tiny whimper at his unrestrained ferocity.
“Wylder…” She clutched at his shoulders, huddling closer to the heat of his body.
Shivers racked her body as she trembled in the circle of his arms. She was soaked through to the bone, her red riding habit torn and muddy.
The jaunty hat that matched her suit was missing, and her hair had come undone from its simple style.
It hung in long, wet curls over her shoulders and down her back, twigs and leaves caught in the thick mass.
Wylder leaned back, studying her heart-shaped face.
A small bruise marred her cheek while a smudge of dirt lay across her forehead.
“Are you injured?” Wylder quickly asked, his hands running over her body. “Do you hurt anywhere? Let me look at you…”