With another glance at her watch, a sigh escaped. “All right. But we have to hurry.”
He dismounted and lifted her up as if she weighed nothing. Then he climbed up behind her, put one arm around her waist, making her flinch, and took the reins.
“It’s just so you won’t fall off. You’re not my type.”
She stiffened in the saddle. “I knew that.”
He chuckled and made some kind of clucking noise to make the horse go forward.
Could they go any slower?At this rate, she’d have wrinkles by the time they made it to the village. The horse stepped over abranch, and Ashley looked down for the twentieth time, the dark playing tricks on her. When she first saw the horse it didn’t seem that high up, but now, riding on its back, it seemed a really long way to the ground if she fell.
The smell was back. She sniffed. Was it coming from the horse or the saddle or both? Another sniff told her it was both, though it was probably normal animal smells. Ugh, it was worse than some of the subway stations in the city. The model’s cologne mixed with the horse smell, making her slightly nauseated. Figured she was wearing her sweater dress and boots, the ones that made her feel invincible. Too bad they weren’t working on this trip.
It was a quaint town straight out of an old movie. The guy, whose name she still didn’t know, rode to the end of the street, turned left, and stopped in front of a hobbit-sized house sitting slightly apart from its neighbors, windows glowing, and smoke coming from the chimney. Ashley had the oddest feeling that a witch lived inside.
When he lifted her off the horse, she lost her balance. Thank goodness he caught her before she hit the ground.
“You’ve never ridden before.” He said it like it was some terrible thing, like she’d never used a fork to eat with, so it took considerable willpower not to give him the finger.
“No. I live in New York City. We use cars, buses, cabs, or the subway for transportation. Not horses.”
The guy winced. “All that concrete and steel, no fresh air. How do you stand it?”
“I could ask you the same thing.”
The door to the tiny house swung open and a tiny lady with blue hair peered out before she turned around to push a dog back inside. She was dressed in a pink velour tracksuit with the wordssexy grandmaacross her butt, making Ashley grin.
“Who do we have here, Douglas?”
The guy, apparently named Douglas, hugged the woman,kissing her wrinkled cheek. The scent of lavender drifted toward Ashley, tickling her nose.
“Found her up on the old sheep path. She’d taken a wrong turn, thought she was in England, says she needs a dress for a party tonight.”
The woman pursed her lips. “Come along inside and we’ll fix you up.”
It had takenChristian ten days to journey from Ravenskirk to the tavern in Wales where he would meet his partner. He had not told his brother the truth, for his men were not meeting him along the way. Two of his most trusted guards were already in Wales, staying at the tavern where Christian would transact his business. What he was about to do was between the three of them, and no one else would know.
Meeting a smuggler would be frowned upon by his family—well, perchance not John, since he had been the Bandit of the Wood, but still, ’twas a risk, and Christian did not want to expose his family to danger.
He had his reasons. Two of them. One was he needed gold to continue his other labors, and two, he chafed at the tax collected on his wool. Winterforth produced high-quality wool, known throughout the realm. This summer he had added to his flock, and ’twas now four thousand strong. Every year the wool was taken to Westminster to be sold, and every year he grew angrier and angrier at the amount of taxes collected.
From Westminster the wool was sent to Flanders and Italy—’twas the way things were done. Then a few months ago, Christian was in a tavern when a brawl broke out, and a man ended up with his head split nearly in two. Christian aided the man, only to find out later he was a smuggler, and apparently a very good one.
The man knew Christian was a Thornton, had seen the qualityof wool from Winterforth, and proposed a plan. Christian thought it bold and daring, and if it worked, it would allow him to do more for others in need.
The smuggler had a great many connections. It was decided he would come to Winterforth up the river by barge, collect the wool Christian had held back from this summer, and take it where it would be loaded onto boats and sold without any taxes paid. He would continue to sell a portion at Westminster to avoid questions, but in time he hoped to sell the bulk through the smuggler.
If he was found out, it would shame his family, and after all the Thorntons had been through, he wanted to shield them from his doings.
This was how he found himself creeping along like a common thief in the night as he went to meet the man. The tavern was questionable, the kind of establishment where Christian might find his horse missing at the end of the night, so he flipped the boy an extra coin.
“See to it he is well cared for and there will be another coin for you when I depart.”
The boy bobbed his head. “As you say, my lord.”
During his journey, Christian had changed into his oldest hose and tunic so as not to draw attention to himself. He frowned at the sword the boy likely recognized was that of a knight or a lord. From his experience, boys noticed everything, whilst men saw what they wished, so he would present himself as a well-to-do merchant. Lord Winterforth was, as far as Christian was concerned, at home in his keep.
The tavern was smoky, the smell of ale overlaid with burned cooking and unwashed bodies filling the air. With so many men packed into the small room, the heat was intolerable. Christian breathed shallowly through his mouth as he made his way to the corner, where he saw the man sitting in shadow.
