The breeze picked up, carrying the musty smell of wet earth, and the gray mist of rainfall floated down to the forest just beyond the edge of the field. Perhaps inspection of the turmeric fields would have to wait for another day.
Just as I prepared to mount, Maraan whipped his head toward the forest and froze. His ears stood straight all the way to the tips.
I knew better than to question Maraan’s instincts, so I remained motionless as he listened. The wind sliced through the trees, and droplets of rain began to splatter us, but Maraan ignored them. A chill went down my spine. I pretended it was because of the cold, not because?—for the first time in all the years I’d known him?—Maraan was worried about something that wasn’t the rain. And it had his complete attention.
A white stallion burst out from the forest, trampling the fields as it raced in our direction. The horse was massive, and it threw up chunks of earth with every stride, leaving a trail of decimated turmeric plants. A rider lay flat against its back, bouncing uncontrollably as he desperately gripped with his arms and legs. He yelled at his horse to stop, but the terrified animal ignored the commands.
Thunder cracked, spurring the horse to run even faster, and the rider slipped more with each step. Unwilling to wait for disaster to strike, I mounted Maraan and turned him toward them, brushing the wet ringlets off my face as I leaned down to his neck and squeezed his sides to urge him forward. Maraan responded to my silent commands and took off in a powerful sprint.
As we came closer, I kept Maraan two lengths behind the white stallion and called out, “Pull him into a circle!”
The man jumped at the sound of my voice and barely managed to hang on. It was absolutely ridiculous for him to ride so poorly; he looked about ten years older than me, which made him old enough to have either the skill to manage such a horse or the wisdom to stay off its back. I cursed his poor horsemanship as he slipped from side to side and screamed like a fool. The horse responded to the yelling and squeezing as any trained horse would?—he went faster.
If only the rider were as well trained as his horse.
I urged Maraan forward again. The rain fell in fat drops now, turning the field into mud. Our horses flung bulbous roots into the air as they churned the fields under their hooves, and the orange-ginger scent of the smashed turmeric mixed with the musty smell of the freshly turned earth.
“Faster,” I urged Maraan in a whisper. “Faster!”
Maraan forgot his fear of the rain as he sprinted, and we steadily gained on the white horse and its rider. Mud splashed up behind the stallion, leaving cool splatters on my face. I didn’t waste time wiping them off, and they oozed down my cheeks. My soaked clothes were plastered to my skin, and I kept my chin down and eyes half closed as I tried to see through the heavy rainfall.
We drew up alongside the rider, and the man desperately clung to his horse’s neck. At least he wasn’t yelling anymore. The white horse tossed his head and turned away from us, veering to the right, and I encouraged Maraan to do the same. We stayed at the stallion’s side, pushing him to the right constantly so he looped through the field in a wide circle. Gradually, exhaustion got the better of the proud stallion, and he began to slow down. Maraan kept pace, slowing with him and staying by his side.
The rider still lay clinging to his horse’s neck. Apparently staying mounted and silent required all his energy, because the fool didn’t even have the sense to pick up the reins. I grabbed the one flopping on my side when we came within reach.
“You’re all right,” I murmured to the horse. “You’re safe.”
I braced myself for the stallion to take off again, but he calmed when he heard my voice.
“Yes, I’m all right.” The idiot of a rider finally took the reins in hand and pulled the horse to a stop.
“Thanks to you,” he added as he flashed a smile that I imagined he considered winsome.
In fairness, it was pretty winsome. His white teeth shone against full lips, which were framed with a well-trimmed black mustache and beard that highlighted his square jaw. I hoped to find something more annoying as I looked farther up his face, but his straight nose led to a pair of eyes the color of the sea just before a storm. They stared at me through thick dark eyelashes with an honest appreciation I hadn’t expected. I broke my gaze before they swept me away.
A handsome idiot, I had to admit.
Warmth rose in my cheeks as I realized what I must look like. I tried to use my hand to wipe my cheeks, but I stopped when his eyes widened.
“You’re hurt!” he exclaimed. He dismounted and waited for me to do the same.
I slid off Maraan and looked at my hand. He was right; I was bleeding. A shallow gash ran down my palm, but I hadn’t felt it in the midst of... everything. And now I probably had blood streaking across my face where I’d tried to wipe off the mud.
“Allow me,” the man insisted.
He drew a short knife. Its ornate gold handle was decorated with embedded sapphires and jade. I jumped back, but before I had a chance to arm myself, he bent down and cut a strip off his maroon kurta. He waved off my protests and said, “My tailor insists I need a new wardrobe anyway. He’ll consider this a good excuse.”
The man towered over me as he stepped forward and leaned down to study my palm, shielding me from the rainfall. He cupped my cold hand in his warm one and dabbed away the debris around the cut. His gentle touch sent a tingle down my spine, but I ignored the ever-louder thumping in my chest as he bound the cut and tied off the bandage.
“Thank you.” My voice sounded strange and scratchy. I cleared my throat. Enough of that. “I’m fine. Are you sure you’re not hurt?”
“Yes.” The man’s voice wafted over me, but then he snatched back his hand, staring at it as if he hadn’t realized we’d been standing like that for so long. He stepped away and gestured at the destroyed fields. “That’s more than I can say for your crop, though. You must allow me to make amends.”
Telling him the field wasn’t mine would inevitably lead to the question of who I was. Best to change the subject. “What happened with your horse?”
“He is new to me, if that isn’t obvious. I bought him to impress my future wife. The moment I saw this proud steed, I knew I had to ride him when I go to meet her tomorrow. So I bought him, even though he is just as much trouble as the seller said.”
The white horse arched his neck and tossed his head, wearing the comment like a crown.
