5
Pain will force even the truthful to speak falsely.
—PUBLILIUS SYRUS
Victoria gritted her teeth against the painful spasms that rippled in her thigh. She’d realized, all too late, of course, that an entire day of riding might prove too great a strain. She hadn’t thought. She nearly laughed aloud, remembering how she’d been so anxious to ride the entire distance to London.
She closed her eyes, willing herself to control the pain. The mare, sensing that her rider was losing control, snorted, flinging her head up, and wheeled to the left.
“Victoria. Pay attention to your mount.”
She set her jaw and brought the mare under control. She should have broken it off when they’d stopped for lunch. But then, she’d felt only a tightening, not really any pain.
It was only early afternoon, a warm, blue-skied day in Somerset. But Victoria was beyond basking in the lovely day and the sweet-scented grass of the fields beside the road. At a particularly vicious spasm, she knew she had no choice.
“Rafael,” she called. He was riding a little way ahead of her, and at the sound of her voice, he pulled up, turning in his saddle.
“I think I should like to ride in the carriage for a while.”
He grinned. “Your bottom hurt?”
If only that were true, she thought, not taking offense at his outrageous remark. “No. It’s just that I would like to ride in the carriage now.”
His grin fell away and he looked at her with lowered brows. Did she look different? Was her voice shaky?
He said with appalling frankness, “Do you need to relieve yourself?”
“No.”
“Well, then, why? I thought you wanted to ride all the way to London. Your bottom is sore, isn’t it?”
This time, she wasn’t too much of a fool to grasp at the proffered straw. “I am sore. I’ve never ridden so long and at such a pace.”
Still, he continued with t
hat steady look of his. She was pale, and there was something in her eyes that wasn’t quite right.
“Please.”
“Very well.” He wheeled back and waited for the carriage to round the bend just behind them. Victoria was relieved. He wasn’t paying her any attention at the moment. Slowly, painfully, she managed to slide off the mare’s back. She clung to the mane, willing her leg not to collapse beneath her.
“Giving your mare a kiss?”
“Only in the morning. She’s too sweaty now.”
“That’s better. Pull over, Tom, our lady wishes to ride in the carriage.”
“Aye,” Tom called. “Ye wish to lead the mare, or will ye tie her to the back?”
“The back, I think.”
It wasn’t a great distance, only a few steps. She had only not to disgrace herself for six steps. Tom opened the carriage door. Victoria looked at the door, then back to Rafael. Thank God, he was tying the mare to the back of the carriage, on a long lead, paying no attention to her.
She managed to make it to the door, then grasped it when her leg collapsed.
“Miss? What be the matter with ye?”
“Nothing, Tom, really.”