Pierson’s groom, however, started leading Jasmine straight to a stall in the U-shaped stable yard. Jasmine obviously didn’t want to go. She’d bolt the moment she had the chance, if Ainsley were any judge.

“Let her have a run,” Ainsley said. “Angelo.”

Angelo said nothing, leaning against another stall door to watch.

The groom shook his head. “His lordship’s order, m’lady. He’ll not let us go home until she’s safely locked away.”

“Horses don’t like being locked away.”

Ainsley had learned that as a child, and she’d seen it watching Cameron every day. If you had a nervous horse, you let them wander about the paddock and investigate the scary new landmarks, preferably with a horse who was calm and sedate. The new horse needed to feel safe, needed time to get used to things.

The groom sighed. “Well, Lord Pierson likes it, and I like me job, so in she goes, begging your pardon, m’lady.”

Ainsley folded her arms and let him go. What happened after Lord Pierson left would be different.

Jasmine didn’t fight the groom, though she danced nervously. All would have been well, except for the stallion.

He didn’t want to be shut up for the night. As soon as Raphael’s Angel was backed out of his cart, he snorted and danced and threw off the two grooms trying to keep him quiet. Cameron started for him, and Angelo clenched his fists as he watched, not daring to interfere.

Jasmine heard the stallion and looked back to see what was happening. Not in fear, but with the calculating eye of a mischievous child.

“Watch her,” Ainsley warned.

The groom gave her an irritated scowl. She, a mere lady of the manor, was presuming to tell an experienced groom how to handle horses.

The stallion danced out of reach, spied Jasmine, and headed toward her. Jasmine swung her hindquarters around and flicked up her tail—the horse equivalent of a lady sashaying her hips at a randy gentleman.

The stallion let out a low, rumbling neigh and ran for her, two thousand pounds of black horse barreling into the narrow yard. Stable hands scrambled out of the way, and Ainsley danced aside as Jasmine, at the last minute, got the jitters.

Jasmine threw up her head, breaking the halter rope, and whirled around, frantically looking for a way out. The stallion charged to pen her in, and both horses swung straight toward Ainsley.


Chapter 24


Ainsley’s world slowed. She saw Angelo’s eyes widen, the groom lunge for the stallion. Jasmine’s sweaty brown hide coming too close, the mare’s back undulating as she bucked. The stallion, a huge wall of horseflesh, ducked Jasmine’s flailing hooves, and swerved directly at Ainsley.

Ainsley heard her own shout, felt herself raise her arms, her attempt at scaring them off. Then the acrid odor of excited horse, the forequarters and flying hooves of the stallion, his huge chest, his hot breath, wide red nostrils, white-rimmed eyes.

Dimly she heard the stable hands and Daniel shouting, the whinnies of the other horses, and over it all, Cameron’s voice, terrible and harsh.

The instant before the combined might of Jasmine and the stallion came to crush Ainsley alive, she felt herself rising into the air. A tight band squeezed her chest, choking out her breath, but she slid rapidly upward and over the top of the stall behind her.

Both horses crashed into the wall where Ainsley had been standing, smashing through the boards. Ainsley landed in the soft hay in the back of the stall, rolling over Angelo, who seemed to be tangled up with her.

Jasmine and the stallion whirled from the corner stall and out the way they’d come. They charged from the yard and lit out for the fields, two streaks of horse on the green.

Angelo scrambled to his feet. “Are you all right, my lady?” He held out his hand to Ainsley, who took the bronzed lifeline.

I think so. Ainsley opened her mouth to speak, and nothing came out.

Cameron threw open the broken door and snatched Ainsley to her feet. Ainsley found herself crushed against him, Cameron’s strong arms like iron.

“Ainsley.” His voice was broken. “Dear God . . .”

I’m all right. Again, the words wouldn’t come. She couldn’t breathe, couldn’t swallow, couldn’t feel. She tried to put her hands on his shoulders, but they slid limply off. Shock, she thought. I’ll be fine once my heart starts beating again.

Cameron lifted a flask to Ainsley’s lips, the metal cool, and the burn of whiskey trickled inside her mouth. Ainsley coughed, swallowed, and coughed some more.

“Cam,” she whispered. Tears filled her eyes and spilled over.

Cameron held her. Ainsley sank into him, closing her eyes as chill terror rushed through her. That had been too close.

“Make sure Jasmine is all right,” she said worriedly.

“Angelo’s gone after her.”

“Angelo.” The word choked in Ainsley’s throat. “He pulled me out of the way.”

“Aye, and I’m having a medal cast for him. Damn it, Ainsley.” Cameron cupped her face in his hands. “I thought . . .” His throat worked, and moisture formed on his lashes. “I thought I’d lost you.”

“Angelo is a quick thinker.” Her whisper was still too faint, and the words were lost.

Cameron’s lips shook as he kissed her. Ainsley held on to him, Cameron the anchor in her spinning world. He was the only thing that kept her from tumbling down, and she clung to him, loving him hard.

“Mackenzie!” Lord Pierson’s voice rang through the yard. “I told you to keep that Romany away from my horses.”

Cameron set Ainsley aside, gentleness itself, and then he ripped open the stall door and went for Lord Pierson. The volley of broad Scots and filthy swearing that followed flooded the yard and drowned out Pierson’s bleated protests.

By the time Ainsley picked her way out of the stable yard, her knees wobbling, Cameron was throwing Pierson into his carriage.

A ring of men stood about, Pierson’s coachman and grooms doing nothing to help their master. Cameron’s grooms and jockeys glowered their anger and disgust. The unruly stallion had been caught by Angelo, the Romany speaking gently to it while it lowered its great head to Angelo’s hands.

Jasmine, still elusive, cantered around the paddock, a string of grooms and Daniel trying to corner her.

“Ye take your bloody stallion and get out,” Cameron bellowed. His voice was hoarse, the beast inside him no longer contained.

Pierson, incredibly, still defied him. “If the stallion goes, you don’t get Jasmine.”

“Take her off, then. Get your fucking horses out of my sight!”

“Cam.” Ainsley tried to hurry to him, but her feet were too slow, her voice too soft. “No, don’t lose Jasmine.”

The grooms moved to let her through, the men furious, but not at her. “You all right, my lady?” more than one asked.

“Yes, thank you.” Her voice was breathless. “Cam.”

“Ye haven’t even bothered to ask if my wife is all right.”

“She shouldn’t be out here at all,” Pierson said. “Women belong in bed, not the stable yard.”

Cameron’s fist flashed out, and Pierson fell backward into the coach, his face bloody. Cameron slammed the carriage door, and the coachman leapt up to the box, quickly turning the vehicle.

The carriage’s hurrying wheels sprayed mud over Cameron, but he turned back to Ainsley, not noticing. As Pierson’s carriage moved toward the drive, Angelo managed to maneuver the stallion into his cart. A groom shut him in, and Angelo climbed out to head for the field to round up Jasmine.

“Cameron,” Ainsley said as Cameron’s arms came around her again. “You can’t lose Jasmine. You love that horse.”

“I almost lost you. Pierson can go to hell.”

“But Jasmine. She doesn’t want to go with him.” Ainsley felt reaction setting in, her mind seeing again the black horse’s body and hooves swerving to crush the life out of her.

Cameron caught her as her legs gave way. He swept her up into her arms and carried her swiftly to the house, past the servants who’d rushed out to watch, and up the stairs to Ainsley’s bedchamber.

He set Ainsley down on her chaise near the fire, and she waved a weak hand in front of her face. “When did my life become so dramatic?”

“When you agreed to marry me. It’s confounded cold in here.” Ainsley’s large bedroom had a fireplace, not a stove, and Cameron further ruined his shirt by shoveling more coal onto the hearth.

The fire built, and the room warmed until Ainsley was sweating. Or maybe it was the heat of delayed shock.

“Don’t go,” she whispered.

“I’m not going anywhere, love.”

“But Jasmine.” Ainsley’s teeth chattered. “She didn’t mean to. They were just being horses. I was standing in the wrong place.”

“Ainsley, shut it.”

Cameron trickled water from a large pitcher to its basin and wet a towel. He tugged Ainsley’s torn gloves from her and began wiping her dirt-streaked hands. The water stung where her palms had been sliced by her fall.

“Your hands are just as filthy,” Ainsley said. She caught sight of herself in the mirror and started to laugh. “And so is my face. I look awful.”

“Hush now.”

Ainsley heard voices outside the door. Two maids and a footman came in with a tub and ewers of steaming water, though Ainsley didn’t remember Cameron sending for them. Just as well he did. The mud in the stable yard, plus her scrambling journey over the door into the empty stall, had left her coated with dirt and horse leavings.

She’d have to speak to Cameron about installing taps in his house—the maids had to haul water up the back stairs. It was too far for them, really. She tried to break away from Cameron to help them, but he held her back.