God, she looked like an enchantress!
He was reminded of the scene painted across the ceiling of the hunting lodge. Potnia, the auburn-haired mistress of wild animals, cavorted in naked splendor among the clouds, surrounded by lions, griffins and deer.
Alicia turned to look at him, her fingers stroking Bashshar’s neck. The stallion raised his powerful black head suddenly, as though showing his master the strange interloper in their midst.
Dalton couldn’t believe his eyes. In one brief visit, Alicia had soothed the animal more than the other handlers had done in the past month.
How vulnerable and alluring she appeared in the soft lantern light. Gone was the stubborn glint in her large brown eyes. Now, those soft, velvety orbs were filled with compassion for Bashshar.
Perhaps it was appreciation that filled his heart. She had put aside her anger to come to the estate to aid a wounded animal. Just watching her with Bashshar gave him hope that this strange young woman might accomplish what the horse experts had said couldn’t be done.
Were you in love with Justin Sykes? he wanted to ask. Then for a split second, Dalton didn’t care. He wanted her. Desire charged through his veins like molten lava. He wanted to be the man who would tame her haughty spirit.
“You’re staring at me.” She bit her bottom lip as she studied him with an innocence that nearly undid him. What the hell was the matter with him? He forced the incredible idea from his mind.
Maybe his strange feelings were the result of learning the details about her fall from grace. When was the last time he’d heard of another human being, with nothing to gain, performing a sacrifice for him?
Sacrifice, hell! Even though Alicia had refused Cinnamon Rose, more than likely she knew that her father would insist upon the mare as payment.
Suddenly Bashshar whinnied, tossing his head, his ears back. Dalton leaped forward, grabbing the stallion’s bridle, holding the horse firmly. “Perhaps it’s best if you return to your cottage.”
“Bashshar has a right to express himself when he wants,” she whispered, not wanting to excite the horse.
Express himself? Dalton turned to stare at her. “Bashshar isn’t your common, tea-party-variety horse, Lady Alicia. He’s injured and he’s not responsible for what he’s doing. Besides, he obeys only me.”
Alicia pulled the shawl tightly around herself and lifted her chin in that stubborn way Dalton was beginning to recognize. “Then give Bashshar the orders, not me. For I don’t obey you, your grace.”
Dalton couldn’t help but laugh. “Then consider it a suggestion rather than an order. Return to your cottage, my lady. I had a good reason for wanting you to wait until morning to see the horses. Many guests wander into the stables, eager for a midnight ride. What would they think if they found an angelic beauty wandering half-clad among the stalls.”
She patted at the folds in her nightgown. “And what are you doing here, so late at night?” Her tone made him feel as though he were the trespasser. “Are you planning a midnight ride?”
“No. I always look in on Bashshar before retiring. Regardless of what you might think of me, I care about Bashshar.”
“Tell me how Bashshar was injured. You’ve frightened your stable boy so badly that the lad is afraid to speak of the incident.”
“You’ve been questioning my servants?” He smiled and folded his arms across his chest.
She glanced at Bashshar. “I’m here to try to heal your horse.” Her aloof expression faded to one of compassion. “I need to know the truth about the accident.” Her voice softened and there was no trace of her earlier rancor.
Dalton studied her. As she gazed at the stallion, goodness illuminated her face. When she looked like that, he felt he could trust her completely.
“It was late afternoon,” he began. “I was returning from exercising Bashshar, when a shot rang out from the nearby gaming fields. We were almost on top of the man when the second gun fired—the shot that struck Bashshar.”
“Did you see the shooter?”
“No, he was too well hidden in the hedgerow.”
“Then why do you think the shooter was a man?”
Surprised, Dalton hesitated. “The idea that it might be a woman never crossed my mind.”
Alicia’s eyes flashed. “Really?” Her lips twitched. “You’ve never given a woman reason to shoot at you?”
He chuckled. “You bring up an interesting point.”
Alicia’s expression turned serious. “Were you injured, too?”
“No.”
Alicia touched the horse’s cheek. “Since the incident, you haven’t found out any more about the shooter?”
“The authorities are still examining the matter.”
She nodded, as though satisfied for the moment. “I believe I understand Bashshar’s fear.” She stroked the length of the animal’s nose with a feather touch.
Dalton studied her delicate hands. For an instant, he could almost imagine those cool, soft, healing fingers upon his brow. “What is it you do? Do you see into the animal’s mind?”
She shook her head, her gaze fixed on the horse. “No. I can’t see things. I only sense things. Usually only fragments. But with Bashshar, I felt his panic before I opened the stall door and saw him.” Her eyes brightened. “I also sensed that he wanted me to help him.”
Bashshar was accepting her more readily than Dalton thought possible. What was there about this young woman that filled him with hope? Maybe he only wanted to believe that Bashshar might be saved? “How do you heal the animals?”
The question caused her to turn and smile at Dalton. How lovely she looked when she smiled. Or was it that she seemed, for the first time, to be at ease with him?
“It’s quite natural, really.” Her eyes shone. “First, I must gain their trust. Although this takes time, I begin by filling my mind with a sense of peace. Perhaps the animal senses that if I’m serene, then I won’t harm it.” Her cheeks brightened with a pink tinge, as if she expected he might ridicule her explanation.
Instead, Dalton was enthralled. “Who taught you this skill?”
“My grandfather taught me about horses and their training.”
“Your mother’s father?”
“Yes, the earl of Longworth.”
“I’ve heard of him,” Dalton said, amazed that he hadn’t made the connection between Alicia and her well-known grandfather.
She smiled when she recognized his admiration. “My grandfather built Marston Heath on land he had inherited from his father. Grandfather was an expert horseman, who had developed a fine stable of racing stock before he died.”
Dalton
