Both men should have inherited this lot before him. Alex could almost hear his father’s astonished laughter at finding himself the heir to an English marquisate.
It’d be a lark, aye?Ian would chuckle, nudging their father.You . . . a marquess. Show them English what a Scot is made of, Da.
Alex swallowed back the ache in his throat.
The sense of disorientation and nostalgia only increased as grooms led three mounts out of the stable block.
Two of the horses appeared calm enough.
But a groom struggled to tame the third horse—a high-spirited stallion with a glossy chestnut mane that shimmered in the light.
Alex barely suppressed a gasp.
Have I been hurtled through time? Are Da and Ian here then?
But, no . . .
Alex stared at the chestnut stallion as if seeing a long, lost friend. Which, in a way, he supposed he was.
He recognized the sleek lines of the horse’s legs, the curve of its haunches, the spring in its step.
This was a McPherson-bred horse. A colt of King Arthur, the prized Thoroughbred stud.
Alex’s past rose up to meet him.
Scampering after his father in the early morning mist, pockets bulging with apples for the horses in their stalls.
His father training King Arthur in the main paddock, carefully guiding the high-strung stallion through a series of measured jumps.
The field of pregnant mares on their estate, McPherson Farms, heavy with the next year’s colts and fillies. Horses that were prized by wealthy men throughout the country.
And that last ghastly argument with Ian. His brother ripping off his peg leg and throwing it at Alex, cursing the loss of his limb. Alex’s pitiless actions and scalding words—the last he’d spoken to his brother and ones he wished more than anything he could take back.
It was savage, this feeling of worlds colliding and intertwining. Alex’s senses reeled from the ambush.
Of course, a part of him babbled.Of course, this would happen.
Everything else about this experience had been tortuous. Why not resurrect every ghost that haunted him?
Ferndown laughed, a jarring boom of sound. “Ha-ha!”
Lord Frank joined his father. Another guffawingha-ha!
Alex flinched, the noise so unexpected.
He turned to see the gentlemen wreathed in smiles, like naughty schoolboys.
There wasnothingfunny about this situation. Only a pair of heartless bastards wouldlaugh—
“You should see your face, Doctor. You’ve gone pure white.” The duke continued to chuckle.
“Scared witless!” Lord Frank joined in. “I’m guessing you are not of a mind to ride Galahad out this morning, then?”
Their smiles faded slightly as Alex continued to regard them in wide-eyed horror, mind scrambling to piece together the bizarre cruelty of the situation.
“Father and I thought to play a bit of a prank, is all. Show you what a real horse looks like,” Lord Frank explained, expression still gloating. “I’ll have the grooms saddle a more docile hack for you. Galahad can be a bit much.”
Alex stared, chest heaving, eyes blinking.
