was just about to tell her the rules.”
He smiled at Georgie. “There’s really only one rule. My dad is the master of the hunt and you must never overtake him on the field. Those other guys with him in red coats are Dad’s henchmen – the whippers-in, and the field masters. They’ll try and boss you around, but don’t worry, just do as I say and no matter what, always stick with me.
OK?”
Georgie didn’t have time to reply. Randolph Kirkwood raised the horn to his lips, giving a long, low blast. Then he set off at a brisk trot, the hounds following obediently at the heels of his great, grey hunter. The pack scampered across the pebbled driveway, heading to the right of the house towards a low stone bridge that crossed a small stream, leading out into the pasture beyond. They kept alongside their master in tight formation until they reached the field, and then they began to fan out, casting for the scent.
Two hounds to the far left of the field began baying, and soon the others had joined in their howling chorus. Randolph Kirkwood gave another toot on his horn to alert the riders behind him and then the hunt was off and galloping.
The hounds covered the ground far more swiftly than Georgie had anticipated. They kept pace with Randolph Kirkwood’s hunter, who flew the first obstacle, a clipped hedge at the far end of the field, without hesitation. Dedicated to the pursuit of the scent, the hounds squirmed and thrashed their way through the hedge. Several men in red coats followed, along with Mrs Kirkwood, who jumped the fence with expert finesse.
With the competent riders over the hedge, the rest of the field surged in a mad rush. Just as Damien had predicted, Heatley Fletcher was one of the first to fall. Georgie saw his big brown hunter skid to a halt in front of the hedge so that Heatley flew over his mount’s neck, landing face-first in the mud.
Heatley’s horse caused a collision with three other riders, two of whom also promptly fell off. Georgie watched the pile-up in astonishment.
“Total carnage!” Damien said with a grin as he rode up alongside her.
“I told Dad we should ride at the front,” Kennedy whined. “Now we’re stuck behind the losers.”
“Out of the way, please!” James was yelling at the riders dithering about and blocking the path in front of the hedge. He rode his liver chestnut, a pretty mare named Bambi, at an astonishingly gutsy gallop. If things went wrong and he came to grief it would make for a very nasty fall, but James’ confident style made it clear that he had no intention of either stopping or falling. Damien, Andrew, Kennedy, Tori and Arden all followed his lead, pushing in to take their turns over the hedge until only Georgie was left. She looked at the hedge. It was a fair-sized jump, probably a metre high. “Hurry up, Georgie!” James called to her. “We’re going to lose the hounds at this rate!”
Georgie took a deep breath and shortened up the reins. “Come on, Belvedere,” she pressed the big brown hunter on and rode him hard at the hedge.
At the last minute Belvedere tried to swerve away, but Georgie held him steady with her legs, growling to urge him on again. The hesitation meant they were now on a bad stride and Georgie considered pulling the horse off. Then she remembered what her old riding instructor Lucinda Milwood always said at moments like this: “When in doubt, kick on!” And so she did, giving a firm dig with both heels. Belvedere pulled himself together, knowing that his rider meant business. He chipped in a last-minute stride and managed to get them over the hedge with Georgie securely on his back.
That first jump gave Georgie a jolt of adrenalin and she felt her confidence come upon her in a rush. She stood up in her stirrups in two-point position, keen and ready for the next obstacle.
At the next jump, a low dry-stone wall, Georgie didn’t need any encouragement and popped Belvedere over it on a lovely forward stride. She was enjoying herself now, feeling the wind in her face, the thunder of hooves beneath her.
James was right beside her, but the rest of the hunters were quite spread out. Mr and Mrs Kirkwood, the scarlet-coated huntsmen and hounds were far ahead in the distance. There were about a dozen hunters in hot pursuit of the front runners, and then behind them came the stragglers, many of them sporting muddy patches on their breeches and hunting jackets.
As they approached the next fence, a large hedge, Georgie was squaring up to take her turn when James called her name and peeled off in front of her, making a sharp turn and riding away from the other hunters.
Remembering his instructions, Georgie pulled hard on the left rein to turn Belvedere away from the hedge and set off in pursuit.
They were galloping towards a small glade of trees – Georgie guessed that James must have an alternative route in mind. Straight ahead of them was a four-barred post and rail fence. James didn’t even slow down. He rode Bambi over it without hesitation and Georgie felt her blood racing as she did the same. Belvedere’s massive frame made it feel like she was riding an elephant, but there was no doubt that this horse could jump!
Over two more fences they went – a low fallen log and another quite large hedge. She heard the noisy crackle of branches as Belvedere dragged his hooves through the top of the hedge like an experienced hunter. Then she heard the low call of the huntsman’s horn and looked back over her shoulder. They had left the hunt far behind. The hounds had veered in totally the opposite direction and were getting even further away. Still, she figured James must know what he was doing. He knew the hunt fields like the back of his hand, so surely he must have a plan.
Ahead of her, James had ridden into a clearing in the middle of the glade. He pulled Bambi abruptly to a stop and flung himself out of the saddle. Georgie saw him dismount and immediately assumed the worst. If he was getting off his horse then Bambi must have thrown a shoe.
“James!” She cantered Belvedere up alongside and quickly vaulted off. “Are you all right? Is Bambi OK?” “She’s fine,” James said.
‘Then why did you dismount? What’s wrong?” Georgie took the reins over Belvedere’s head and led him over to where James and Bambi stood.
Both of the horses were sweaty and heaving. She could feel her own heart racing from the exertion of the gallop. “Why are we here…?” she began to ask. And then suddenly he was standing so close to her that she could no longer tell if it was her own heart racing or his, pressed up against her.
“I think I can smell aniseed,” was all she managed to squeak out, as he moved his face even closer and met her lips with a kiss.
It had quickly become obvious that James had no intention of rejoining the hunt. Instead, he took Georgie on a tour of the estate. They followed a bridle path, riding through woodlands and open fields, and by lunchtime they were starving and miles away from the Kirkwood mansion.
Georgie thought she was going to faint from hunger when James finally led the way through a gate out on to the main road and they rode along the grass verge to the junction where a petrol station, general store and diner stood on the corner.
They tied the horses up there and bought burgers and fries and sat down to eat beside their horses on the grass. Georgie was horrified by James’ habit of dipping his fries in his chocolate thickshake.
“It’s a trick I learned at Blainford,” he admitted. “The food in the
