Stand and Deliver

“M’Lady!”

The urgency in the voice behind Catherine only made her press her heels more firmly into the fine mare beneath her. Marvellous muscles bunched and released under her thighs, the powerful animal surging forward in smooth obedience. The rhythm of hooves struck the earth in a steady drumbeat, leather creaking beneath her shifting weight.

Cool wind whipped against her face, tugging loose strands of hair from beneath her hat. Laughter threatened to spill from her lips when her guard called out again.

“M’Lady! Slow down immediately. I will have to inform the Earl. M’Lady!”

She knew she was stretching her luck. It had taken weeks to convince her father to let her enjoy the harmless pleasure of a ride. Not wishing to risk her freshly gained freedom, she sat up straighter, shifted her weight, and gave a gentle tug at the reins to slow Saoirse down.

The guards, as well as Maisie – her chaperone – gradually caught up. Master Henry forced his horse to her side, coming close enough for her to smell the onions on his breath.

“M’Lady, what did you think? Heavens know what might have happened had we lost you from sight!” he chastised.

Catherine turned toward him, lowering her lashes to hide the bright spark in her eyes. She swallowed the tremor threatening to betray her amusement.

“Oh, good Sir, these Irish breeds are so stubborn! I thank the Lord our Saviour she slowed down. How fortunate I am to have brave horsemen like yourself and dear Squire James protecting me.”

She let her mouth stretch into a smile, carefully modulating her expression so it showed nothing but docile sweetness. The red-faced, burly guard softened at the sincerity of her tone. His chest puffed up just a little at her praise.

“It is beyond me why the honorable Earl allows you such frivolous leisure, M’Lady, when it is clear you are not used to the local breeds. We should head home now. Enough excitement for the day.”

A pout threatened, but Catherine inclined her head obediently.

“Of course, good Sir.”

She shifted her weight, pressing her heel down and curling her wrist to guide Saoirse. The mare responded instantly, turning with fluid grace. Henry and Squire James moved ahead, setting a brisk but controlled pace.

Maisie and Catherine allowed the distance to widen slightly.

“Just why, Cate?” Maisie hissed, her gloved fingers tightening on her reins. “You know he’ll have you confined to the castle again.”

Catherine shrugged. “Don’t you realise this might have been my last ride anyway?” she whispered back. “I might be betrothed after tonight. Who knows what my honorable future husband thinks about women riding?”

Maisie cast her a quick glance, her shoulders dipped. “Oh – so he arrived?” she asked.

Catherine nodded. “Yesterday. He’s residing in his family’s city house, apparently. I’ll be presented to him at dinner.”

This time the bitterness she had carefully avoided earlier leaked into her voice. She heard it herself and tried to swallow it.

Maisie, the Viscountess Clifden, briefly sucked in her bottom lip. “You’ve never met him, Cate,” she reminded her gently.

“I know. And I’m aware how important this alliance is. Father has been horribly stressed lately. If my marriage can save even one life – on both sides – I’m happy. But he’s still an old man, Maisie. He must be in his fifties!”

The Viscountess opened her mouth to respond when the sound of hooves thundering against the ground cut her off.

Catherine’s mouth twitched, envy flickering briefly in her chest. Only minutes ago it had been her rushing along the peaceful road. Dutifully, she guided her horse to the side of the pathway, making way for the approaching riders.

“We should catch up,” she suggested, noticing Henry and James were already some distance ahead.

Three horsemen were approaching fast.

Catherine’s heart began to race when the guards started shouting. Their warning drowned in uncomprehending battle cries. Maisie’s eyes widened in terror, her lip trembling.

“M’Lady…” she began.

Ahead of them, horses swerved sharply. Two of the riders cut across Henry’s and Jame’s path, driving them of the centre of the road. Dust burst up between them, revealing the silhouette of the third horseman.

He did not slow.

He broke away at full speed, clearing the confusion in a single stride and angling straight toward Catherine and Maisie.

“Quick!” Catherine urged, already turning Saoirse. “Maisie, quick! QUICK!”

The chaperone followed her lead, and Catherine snapped her whip across Maisie’s mount. The gentle mare neighed in protest but lunged forward into a gallop.

Impatience tugged at Catherine’s gut when she forced herself to hold Saoirse back. She could have been yards ahead already, but she would never leave Maisie behind.

She cast a glance over her shoulder, hoping the guards might have overpowered the highwaymen.

Instead, she saw him.

Alone in the saddle, bent low over his horse’s neck as the animal thundered down the road in relentless strides. Each bound devoured the stretch of earth between them.

Catherine felt Saoirse straining beneath her, eager, powerful, ready to outrun the wind itself. One shift of weight, one release — and the mare would fly.

But Maisie was barely holding onto the horn of her saddle, unused to the speed Catherine was forcing both horses into. Another glance back.

Closer.

The rhythm of his pursuit grew heavier, more distinct, until it no longer echoed at a distance but pounded directly behind them.

Moments later he cut across their path, driving them off the road and into the trees.

Catherine might have tried to resist — but she would not leave Maisie at the mercy of a man like him.

He drove them into the woods, low branches whipping against their shoulders. Only a few yards in, Maisie shrieked.

Catherine’s head snapped toward her just in time to see her lose her balance.

Time seemed to stretch as the chaperone was flung from the saddle, falling heavily to the ground with an ugly, breath-stealing crash.

Catherine forced Saoirse to a halt and was off her back within seconds, kneeling beside her friend, frantically checking her for injuries.

To her relief, Maisie seemed largely unharmed, her breath simply knocked from her body.

Catherine’s exhale was cut short by the sound of boots stepping up beside them.

To her surprise, the man lowered to one knee, a gloved hand reaching toward Maisie. Catherine watched him touch her upper arm, then move across her torso in quick, assessing motions. Was he checking on her well-being? Her eyes widened at the thought – but then she heard the chaperone whimper in fear.

Catherine did not remember deciding to move.

She knocked his hand away and rose to her feet in one swift motion, placing herself squarely between him and Maisie. Defiance sparked in her eyes, though her voice betrayed her with the faintest tremor.

“Take your hands off her.”

Her words were met with a low, rumbling chuckle as he unhurriedly unfolded his tall body to a stand. Distinct amusement laced his voice.

“Mall, a Bhean Uasal beag.”

Catherine’s eyes narrowed at him. She did not understand a single word of Irish.

The upper half of his face was concealed by a mask. A pair of intense green eyes mockingly mustered her. A brief shimmer of teeth greeted her assessment.

His voice lowered to an intimate rumble.

“Jealous?” he inquired, laughter trembling beneath the word. “If you’d rather have my hands on you, little Lady, I’ll happily oblige.”⁸