Barrow cleared his throat and shifted on his feet. “I was actually just ‘bout to work one of our horses, so there’s one saddled and ready.”
Perfect. A little too perfect. Ash glared at his friends between slitted eyes. He would get to the bottom of this later.
Ash made his way to the stable, devouring the distance with rapid, long strides.
“Billy is working on Astoria.” Barrow’s booming tone reached Ash’s ears, slowing his stride.
He took a deep breath and fought for calm. Astoria was a volatile mare, easily spooked—dangerous. He and Billy were the only ones who could go near her—thank God for the boy.
Billy’s presence at Devonford Castle had been one of the few times fate had smiled upon Ash. A boy on the side of the road in need of saving, with a shocking amount of experience working under a farrier. A Duke with the means to do said saving, with a need for a new farrier to replace his rapidly aging one. Ash had brought the boy on based on gut instinct alone.
And Billy had been an invaluable addition. The last thing Ash wanted was to injure his new farrier in an attempt to rescue someone else. Potentially rescue. She’s most likely fine, Ash. Relax.
Ash took the long way around the stables to avoid Billy and Astoria and found a stable boy walking out the ready-to-ride horse Barrow had mentioned. A trusted, thoroughly trained bay, and not a green horse or one in need of rehabilitation. This was all deuced convenient. Ash couldn’t rid himself of the feeling that Sam and Barrow were meddling.
He rode hard to the Grove, having taken the ride so many times in his life he knew he wouldn’t have the horse stepping off anywhere dangerous. But for someone who wasn’t familiar…when there was flooding? He ground his teeth. It was unsafe; it could be bloody deadly for horse and rider.
It wasn’t long before he could see the grove of willows in the distance. Thus far, he hadn’t seen any signs of distress, occasionally comforted by the sight of a random hoofprint on the trail in front of him. Surprisingly, the path hadn’t been flooded as he would have expected, and the water level of the River Arun was oddly low.
Something churned in his gut, just as wild as the river’s current. If the river was that low, the roads would probably be safe for travel soon. Perhaps even tomorrow. The churning froze over, turned solid and heavy.
That sinking feeling in his stomach didn’t mean anything. He wasn’t at all disappointed. He wasnot.
He spotted a horse happily grazing near the grove of willows and finally let the tension sag from his frame. He guided his horse over and was about to dismount when a slip of white flashed in the woods to his left and then a soft mumbling drifted to him.
Ash hopped off his horse and headed for the glimpse of white in the wood. It didn’t take long for him to confirm his suspicions: Lady Felicity hopped on one foot, her back to him, clad in a white lawn shirt and breeches. Shite. Her breeches rivaled her dresses in being too small. They were sinfully tight. He could see every delectable curve, the way her arse was a perfect handful—
“Bloody shite bugger fuck tart.”
His eyes shot wide, so wide he feared he may have just stretched them past their limits.
His mouth opened and closed for an embarrassingly long time as he stared at her in shock. Thank God she couldn’t see him.
He cleared his throat. “Did you just say… fucktart?”
She spun to face him, wincing when she put weight on her foot. “Tits and tallywags,” she said with a pained groan.
He was before her in a heartbeat, scooping her into his arms, her arms instantly going around his neck.
He studied her face, his brows stiff and tense. “Did you injure yourself? What happened?” He carried her swiftly over to the massive willows and stepped inside the curtain of dangling branches.
She stared at him without speaking, amber eyes glowing. Her unfocused gaze seemed almost faraway, like she was lost in a dream. And now he was nervous she may have hit her head as well.
He gently shook her in his arms. “Lady Felicity, did you injure yourself?”
Her eyes cleared, sharpened, and her lips curved into a smile. “I hurt my ankle, nothing serious,” she assured him. “Just one of those situations when you step awkwardly and it’s like your ankle bone disappears and your foot bends sideways. Unpleasant and twinges like the bloody devil, but it’ll pass quickly.”
He leaned against the willow’s trunk and slowly slid down with her in his arms until his arse hit the ground.
He settled her next to him, laying her legs over his lap. “I would feel better if you let me look at it.”
He reached for her boot and paused, looking back at her. “Is that all right? I will have to remove your boots and touch your ankles.”
Her lips pressed together like she was fighting back a smile, and her eyes danced. Yes, definitely fighting back amusement.
“Are you laughing at me?”
“Your Grace…I have been trying to get in your bed since I showed up four days ago. And you think I will—what?—blush or have a fit of the vapors from you touching my ankles?” Her face broke out in a small, delighted smile, her teeth digging into her bottom lip. “You are too much. But yes”—she waved her arm—“proceed with such scandalous touching.”
