I nearly rolled ass over head off the back of the seat andhad to grab on to Loren in order not to do that (important aside, his arm feltlike it was made of steel).
Either the grooms were making their way to get the carriagesor folks were battening down the hatches, because there were people doingthings at the stables.When they saw us speeding to them, two of them rushed tothe doors and opened them.
We raced in, and Loren pulled back the reins, yelling,“Whoa!”
The horses stopped, the carriage creaked ominously behindus, I nearly went head over ass forward this time, but I didn’t because Lorengrabbed hold of me, then he immediately stood.
He dragged me across the seat until I was sitting where hehad been.He jumped lithely to the ground (and yikes, that was a shocker, theseat was pretty high up).
He then reached up, caught my waist in his hands and hauledme down to my feet.
At that point he commenced towing me through the stables,ordering, “You get that other carriage inside, you disappear.Am I heard?”
“Yes, milord,” someone said.
I wasn’t paying attention.
Because we weren’t leaving the stables.
He was taking me to a room off where all the horses were(and proof positive this place was scary awesome: the stables didn’t smell likestables—they smelled like fresh cut hay and summer rain, which someone neededto make into a candle).
We got to that room.
I lifted a hand to push back my sodden hair and saw therewere a bunch of saddles lying on beams lining the walls (like, abunch,as in, they could open a store).Pegs that held bridles and reins and such.Acouple of benches with some scattered tools where it looked like they did workon the saddles.And a ratty armchair next to a little iron stove in the cornerat the back, where one would rest after their weary work on saddles.
The stove was lit, and the room was cozy warm.
Okay then, maybe we were going to wait out the storm here.
Good idea.
Except Loren slammed the doorreallyloudly,whirled me around to face him using my hand, and then shouted, “Have you lostyour bloodymind?”
“I—”
“You’re soaking,godsdamnedwet,”he declared.
He was too, and one could say that shirt plastered againsthis wide chest, even with the waistcoat in the way, was something.
Okay, deep breath and…
“That isn’t lost on me, your grace,” I replied.
“Women do not drive carriages,” he proclaimed.
Ummmmmmmm…
“They do not stable them,” he went on.“Orhorses.”
I sucked both my lips in.
“Servants deal with the conveyances,” he kept going.
I held my breath in order to hold my tongue.
“And you do not”—he gave my hand he still held a slightjerk—“everdash into a bloody storm.”
“It’s just some rain,” I pointed out, though we both knewthat was a tad bit of an understatement.
