Page 114 of A Tenuous Betrothal
She dug in and tried to race back, but Firestorm lifted her front legs, rearing back. Rhi would have fallen to the earth had she not clung tightly to her horse. Riding astride, bareback, was a skill she’d thankfully practiced often in Wales, much to her mother’s chagrin.
Then, off to the side, the man lit the whole pony cart on fire. He was shielded from the sight of the others by one of the palace outbuildings.
“Oh no.”
He stood at the front of the flaming cart, urging the horses onward, straight toward the palace.
The flames were dying in all the other locations, the lines of water buckets doing their job to douse the fire.
But the man leaped off the cart and rolled to the ground, then took off running back toward the woods. He would be gone forever if he were not caught. She turned Firestorm in that direction, trusting that the others were evacuating the palace and would stop the flaming cart, and her horse responded, this time away from the flames.
“Good girl.”
They soon caught up to the man and cut him off. He tried running in the other direction, but she raced around to head him off there. But as fast as her horse was, he could go in any direction, and she couldn’t turn as quickly through the trees. She would not be able to stop him.
And then the man pulled out a knife, his face crazed, blue eyes blazing.
“What is wrong with you? Stop!” Rhi shouted.
“Napoleon will return! France will reign eternal!Vive l’empereur!”
Firestorm lifted her front legs again, kicking into the air in his direction.
“Rhianna!” Marc shouted as he ran toward them, several others following close behind him.
The man jerked his head at the sound of Marc’s voice and then took off running again in the opposite direction.
She pointed, shouting, “It’s him! Stop him!” She raced after the man, everyone else following on foot.
As she again moved to cut him off, he swung his knife. A searing slice burned her leg. “No!” She turned Firestorm to try to cut him off again, but he ran into the thicket of trees.
Frustrated, she turned toward Marc.
He and a group of men were almost upon them. She held her breath. The man must not be permitted to escape.
As they ran past, Marc paused, panting. “You’re bleeding.”
“Am I?” She started to feel faint. Her skirts were red through. Leaning forward, clinging to Firestorm’s neck, she closed her eyes.
Chapter Thirty-Seven
Rhi woke with a start.The room was dark, and she was plagued with confusion. Was she in Wales? London? She sat up, gasping. The palace?
“Miss?” Catrin’s voice comforted her. At least she was with her maid. Things had to be reasonably normal if that were the case.
“Marc? That man! Did he get away?” All the memories from earlier were now fresh and clear in her mind. She lifted her covers and shifted her legs. “Oh, ow!” A sharp pain raced up her leg. “Oh dear.” She studied the bandaging. “Was it so bad?”
“The doctor said it was deeper than he’d like. He suggested you rest.” Catrin lit a candle. Her face was worried, the lines around her mouth running deeper than usual.
“Has it been terrible?” She reached a hand out to her maid, which the woman took, moving beside her.
“It has been heart-wrenching for us all.” Her voice shook.
Rhi pulled Catrin into her arms. “Oh, my dear. I’m so sorry.”
“Forgive me, miss, but you running out after that terrible man, trying to stop him...” She shook in Rhi’s arms but then pulled away. “My apologies. I am forgetting my place.”
“No, you aren’t. Catrin, you’re far more than a servant; you are my friend. Thank you for remaining with me through all of this. Are the others equally concerned about the attack on the palace?” She realized she’d not even checked on her servants from Wales since their coming to Oldenburg, to know how they were managing.
