Page 4 of A Highland Lass for the English Duke

"Here, John," he said, offering his friend the drink. With barely a word, John took the wine and drank it whole. Will watched as his face colored bright scarlet and then back to white again.

After a theatrical promenade of the room, he turned to Will.

"He has only taken my horse!" spluttered John, taking a handkerchief and wiping claret from his whiskers.

Will looked in puzzlement. This was not the worst that he was expecting. However, the trick with someone like John—a man he knew well—was to play it straight. It would never do to let him think that he was not taking him seriously.

John was rich and powerful. But of common stock, and as such, had rather a chip on his shoulder.

Straining his brow, Will pretended to think. "Hmm, well, I am sure I can compensate you for any loss. I assume the horse has been returned? If not, I can⁠—"

But John shot him dead. "Sir, you have not heard the best part yet. The horse is at the bottom of the pond, with my best knight on it."

Will's expression changed. His mouth opened in surprise. "Pardon?" he said, sitting up, listening.

John strutted around the study before turning back to Will. "Just like I said, sir, the horse is at the bottom of the pond…or was when I last looked!"

"B-But," spluttered Will. "Is it alive?"

His eyes were wide with shock, but inside, his head was spinning. Just what had his brother done now?

John de Blois glared at him as if he were an imbecile. For a moment, Will feared the worst. Then John conceded. "Well, it was when I left the place. The cursed beast got its leg caught in the undergrowth. It got a whole team of them trying to pull the daft bugger out." His eyes flashed to Will's. "Which is more than I can say about your brother, being the one that put him in there. Although I would like dearly to put him in there too right now!"

After ages of struggling, Will finally lost patience.

"John," he said firmly, "can you tell me, kindly, what has happened in detail?"

John gave him another one of his looks. Then he conceded. "Your brother organized a race or some such frippery. Between him and my best knight, Stevens. Well, I suppose you might say he won it."

John's eyebrows raised theatrically. "He collected several pounds in prizes before gallivanting off to his next catastrophe!"

Will's eyes opened wide. So he actually has some money? he thought. But of course, he said none of this. And besides, he still needed to get to the bottom of what had actually occurred.

"Well, then, John, I am not sure how this is..."

"How this is his fault, you mean? I tell you, it is. He plied the other riders with drink—and the horse, for all I know. Raced at a foolhardy speed and coursed all the way through the hunting grounds, whereupon he fell in the pond."

Will screwed his eyes tightly. "Trenton fell in the pond? But I thought you said that⁠—"

John de Blois turned to him sharply. "He did. And it was down to my poor knight to rescue him."

Will blinked. This tale was grating on him. He wished that John would just get to the point.

"So, Trenton fell in the pond but won the race?" said Will, his mind marveling.

"Indeed," huffed John brusquely. Then, he turned sharply to Will and looked him up and down. "Sir, I am not furnished with all the particulars of this harebrained scheme. Only that Trenton took my horse and jumped it into the water, where it stuck hard. And it has taken a team of my top men to extricate the creature. I should be incredibly lucky if it ever runs again!"

Will sighed. Finally, he had come to the point.

"I see," he said delicately, while wishing to send Trenton and the riders of the drunken race to the bottom of the sea, never mind the millpond. "I shall compensate you for your lack of palfrey."

"Destrier," said John abruptly. "Large destrier—large, expensive destrier!"

Will stubbed his thumb with the quill tip, sending black ink splurging everywhere. Of course, it is. Nothing Trenton ever does is cheap. Setting his quill forth, Will got ready to write down the cost.

"Pray tell me, John, how much do you need?" he said plainly.

"Seventy pounds, seven shillings, and sixpence," said John crisply.