Short of bellowing “No, Maria! Not now! Dear God! Don't be a horse!” there was nothing at all she could do to stop her sister from galloping all the way down the hill and coming to a halt with a whinny, a snort, and a head toss.
Which is what she did.
She also pawed the ground.
Isaiah Redmond lunged backward a step put up his arms like a pugilist. As if one never knew what a whinnying girl might do.
“Tingle had my gloves.” Maria was panting happily. “I left them on the?—”
She froze when she saw Mr. Redmond.
Then—Whoosh!—her face went scarlet as the tip of a lit cheroot.
A torturous silence ensued.
Maria’s eyes darted wildly between Isolde and Isaiah.
Finally, she bravely cleared her throat and squared her shoulders.
“Forgive me, Mr. Redmond. I... I didn't see you. If I'd seen you, I...I wouldn't have...” Her nerve failed.
“Whinnied?” Mr. Redmond completed quietly.
Isolde briefly closed her eyes. “It's a game Maria used to play when we were...we were little girls...we were horses named Diamond and Lightning, and...”
Her words evaporated in the rays of amazement radiating from Mr. Redmond's green eyes.
“I don't really believe I'm a horse, Mr. Redmond,” Maria finally assured him, kindly.
Improbably, she curtsied, as if to demonstrate the truth of this.
Isolde was tempted to throw her head back and whinny out of solidarity with her sister.
“Redmond!”
A young man Isolde had never before seen was huffing toward them, red-faced from hurrying, his hand slapped to his hat to hold it on.Mennever suffered any loss of reputation if they ran.
“So sorry old man, to keep you waiting,” the young man panted.
“Good evening to you, Mr. Redmond,” Isolde said swiftly. “I hope you win your dart game.”
The sisters dipped swift little curtsies. Isolde looped her arm through Maria's and off they strode, at an absurdly dignified pace, thanks to Isolde’s sore toe.
For a long while, Maria and Isolde carefully did not meet each other's eyes or exchange a word lest they explode into laughter.
But when they reached the little bridge over the main street, Isolde risked a look over her shoulder.
Isaiah Redmond touched his hat.
He’d known she’d turn back.
Just as she’d known he’d be watching her.
ChapterTwo
“It's remarkable how much better food tastes when one doesn't need to pay for it,” Finchley said blithely. He gulped down some ale.
Isaiah eyed him balefully. “I shouldn't get too accustomed to the flavor of victory, if I were you.” He gave his meat pie a desultory poke with a fork.
