Page 59 of Pippa of Lauramore
“I don’t have a particular destination. Are you in ahurry?” There’s that little crooked almost-smile on his lips again. His eyes are more blue than green today.
We’re close enough my leg brushes against his. I think of riding with him, his body blocking me from the cold night, and the memory makes me tingle all over.
I need to move, to run. I nudge Willowisp forward, urging her to a gallop. She obliges, happy to stretch her legs.
“Catch me,” I call over my shoulder, laughing.
There is nothing like the wind whipping through my hair, making me feel as if I’m flying. Archer’s behind me, and he’ll pass me if I’m not careful. I coax Willowisp on.
This has always been ours—Archer’s and mine—this mad run through the woods with no one to tell me to be careful or slow down. Archer is the only one who will match my speed. The only one who will dare me for more.
Somehow, despite the head start and the breakneck speed we’re running, Archer is closing in on me. We’re head-to-head now, and his horse is pulling forward. I steal a glance, and he flashes me a grin. He looks unburdened and carefree.
“To the tree,” he yells as he passes us completely.
He veers off the main road to a worn trail. An ancient pine, tall and alone, towers ahead of us. There’s no way Willowisp will pass Archer now, but we try.
He beats me by a few seconds. As he passes the tree, he slows his horse. His eyes are bright from the chase. “I won, Princess.”
“This time,” I say, breathing in deep. “Next time you won’t be so fortunate.”
We keep our horses at an easy walk, riding next to each other where the trail allows. It seems like ages before either of us speaks. I feel his eyes on me, and I hesitate before I look over. He wears the same expression he wore the night in the cottage, and only now do I realize what it is. It’s reckless and a little wild—consequences forgotten, live-in-the-moment, act-now-and-think-later wild.
“Archer?” My voice is barely a whisper. There are so many questions in that one word. So much longing, so much regret.
He swings down from his horse, and before I can overthink what’s happening, his hands are on my waist, pulling me from Willowisp. My heart races, its pace fast and urgent.
“Why have we stopped?”
I’m on the ground, but he doesn’t remove his palms from my waist. My hands itch to stroke through his light brown hair, but instead, I clench them at my sides.
Archer is the controlled one, not me. What’s going on? When did our sides switch?
His eyes are intense. “I have things I need to say. I will never forgive myself if I stay silent.”
I soften my hands, stretching out my fingers, trying to relax. “You can’t unsay things, Archer.”
He moves his hands from my waist to my hands, stilling them. I must have been backing up, because I find myself against a sheep fence. With no more room for me to retreat, there’s nothing slowing him from stepping into the space between us.
“Pippa, I?—”
“Stop!”
He looks startled, and his hands tug back. I grip them. I don’t want him to leave. I don’t want him this close.
“What about Marigold?”
His face goes blank, confused. “What about Lady Marigold?”
I bite my lip. I need to know, but I don’t want to know. “What are your feelings for her?”
He raises his eyebrows, looking at me as if I were daft. “I have no feelings for her.”
My heart soars, but then it crashes, because now I have no doubt. It’s Archer. Somewhere through the years—through the lessons, races, and careless banter—I have stumbled in love with him. It’s not right. We won’t work. We’re bound for misery.
I didn’t leave it alone.
“When did we happen?” I ask. I brush a stray hair back from his forehead. “How did we let it happen?”
