Page 13 of Beauty's Beast

“Yes, indeed,” Kristine said with asperity.

“She should have a sidesaddle,” Brandt said. “It isn’t fitting for a lady to ride astride.”

“Then fetch me a sidesaddle,” she said impatiently. If they didn’t hurry, she would never find Lord Trevayne.

“Begging your pardon, my lady,” Brandt said. “But we don’t have one. The master’s first wife didn’t ride.”

“Just saddle my horse,” Kristine said. “And be quick about it!”

In a matter of minutes, she was standing beside a long-legged, cream-colored mare. “Has she a name?”

“Aye, White Mist,” Brandt replied, “but we call her Misty.”

“Is she gentle?”

“Yes, my lady, you’ve nothing to fear. She has a soft mouth and a fine disposition.”

Brandt helped her mount. Until then, she had not realized how tall the mare was. The ground suddenly seemed quite far away and Kristine felt her newfound courage rapidly deserting her. She had never been on a horse before; now, seated precariously on the leather saddle, with nothing to cling to, she began to think she had made a terrible mistake.

But there was no turning back, not if she hoped to follow Lord Trevayne. Casting a tremulous smile at the two stable boys, she clucked to the mare, breathed a sigh of relief when the animal walked out of the barn.

Kristine was wondering how to make the mare go in the direction she wished when Misty turned of her own accord, following the path Erik’s stallion had taken.

Kristine focused all her concentration on remaining in the saddle. The thin reins clasped in her gloved hands didn’t seem sturdy enough to control such a huge beast. Experimenting, shetugged on the left rein, then the right, laughing with delight as the mare turned left, then right. Reaching up to resettle her hat, Kristine accidentally tugged on the reins and the mare came to an abrupt halt, almost unseating her.

“This isn’t so hard,” Kristine mused aloud. It was, in fact, rather exhilarating to be out riding so early in the morning. Diamond drops of dew still clung to the grass, the birds were singing cheerfully high in the treetops, the sky was a bright clear blue.

Kristine had left the castle far behind when she heard the neighing of a horse. Erik’s horse? Her heart began to pound in anticipation at seeing him. Misty whinnied a reply and then, without warning, broke into a gallop.

With a startled shriek, Kristine toppled from the saddle. She saw the ground rushing up to meet her.

And then she saw nothing at all.

Trevayne reined his stallion to a halt as a woman’s cry shattered the early morning stillness. For one swift moment, he was transported back in time as the sound of Dominique’s last anguished cry rang down the corridors of his mind.

Shaking the memory away, he wheeled the stallion around and rode back the way he had come. Rounding a stand of timber, he saw Misty trotting toward him, head lifted high to avoid stepping on the dangling reins.

Catching up the mare, Trevayne urged his horse into a gallop, a sudden sense of unease knifing through him.

He reined the stallion to a halt, his heart pounding with trepidation when he saw Kristine sprawled face down on the dew-damp grass. Vaulting from the saddle, Trevayne kneltbeside her, his gloved hands skimming over her arms and legs, along her back and neck. Satisfied that there were no broken bones, he removed her bonnet and examined the back of her head. Anger flared within him as he ran his fingertips over the short frizziness of her hair. Then, as carefully as he could, he turned her over, cradling her in his lap.

“Kristine?”

Her eyelids fluttered open at the sound of his voice.

“Kristine?”

She blinked at him. “My lord.”

“Are you hurt?”

“I don’t think so. What happened?”

“It seems you took a fall. What are you doing out here? Who gave you permission to ride?”

“No one gave me permission,” she admitted, not quite meeting his eyes.

“What are you doing out here?” he asked again.

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