Page 5 of Nothing But a Rakehell
“Yes, I’ve forgotten to explore the nautical terms. Stranded—no, I’ve used that already.” His eyes were closed and he swayed a bit, but the water was so thick with mud at that spot, it barely rippled around him. “Foundered! Wrecked!”
Glory cleared her throat. “Excuse me?”
His eyes flew open and he turned his head toward her. “Grounded?” he asked.
She pursed her lips and paused a moment. “Swamped,” she said wryly.
“Yes!” He smiled in delight and his teeth looked very white against the mud spattering his face. “Perfect!
Chapter 2
Keswick stared across the expanse of murky water. From this distance he could only surmise that his savior looked and sounded young. She sat straight in the saddle, certainly, as she waved a hand.
“Now that you have satisfactorily labeled your situation, are you going to come out of it?” she called.
“If it were possible, then so I would,” he told her. “But I’m sunk in a good eight inches of sucking mud at the bottom of this. I cannot move my legs forward or backward at all, and if I bend my knee and lift straight up, then the mud grips my boots tighter than my Irish granny squeezes a penny—and that’s saying something.”
She said nothing, merely waited.
He frowned. “I cannot abandon my boots!” It did not bear thinking of.
“I’m not overly familiar with the local village, but I feel sure it must boast a cobbler’s shop.”
“These are myfavoriteboots,” he explained. “They were made by Hoby himself. They’ve been re-soled twice already by that same craftsman.” He wouldn’t budge on this. There were damned few things allowed any permanence in his life. His boots—after his friends—were something for which he allowed himself an attachment.
“Very well, then.” She shrugged. “I hope you and your boots are very happy together in your new abode.” She gathered up her reins.
“No! Wait! The track that leads to Greystone Park is nearby, is it not? Could you not just ride there and send back help?”
“I’m not sure anyone is getting both you and your boots out,” she said skeptically—and then she made a face. “And what are the odds that you won’t just fall straight back in?”
“Why would I . . ?” He flushed suddenly. “Oh. You are mistaken. I am not inebriated. I didn’t land in here because I’ve had too much drink.”
“Then,how?” she asked with another wave of her hand.
“It was my horse, if you must know. I’d taken the long route, through the forest. I’ve never traveled in this part of the country, you see, and I’ve never seen wooded areas like this.”
“They are magnificent,” she conceded.
“As is the meadow on the other side of this hedge. I stopped there.” He hesitated to admit that he’d had to stop, to drink in the mystical beauty of the place.
“I know,” she said with a nod.
He wiped mud from under one eye, where it had begun to itch. “Well, then, you’ll understand why I stayed. I stretched out to enjoy the peace of it, and while my mount was contentedly cropping grass at my side, a bee or a stinging fly must have crawled in under the saddle. When I mounted up and settled in, the horse flinched and jumped—and went wild. After diving and dancing about, he stretched out and raced for the hedge. I’d seen the barley field rising in the distance beyond it and thought I could hold on and make the jump.”
She was trying not to grin. He appreciated the effort.
“Your mount balked, I take it? I found him, reins tangled in the hedge.”
“He stopped at the hedge, but I went over, only to find it wasn’t barley on the other side.”
“And once in the bog, you proceeded to recite your mental dictionary of terms describing your predicament.” Even from here, he could see her raised brow.
“I did. I knew the path to Greystone lay not far from here. No one passing in normal fashion would think to look for a traveler stuck here—unless they heard him and came to investigate.” He returned the raised brow. “And it worked, did it not?”
“I’ll give you that.”
“Thank you. Now, if you’ll just run and fetch some men to pull me out of here? I just need some leverage and a pull. A rope and a couple of strong backs should do it.”
