Page 87 of The Music of Love

The forest flickered past in a green-brown blur and a low-hanging branch ripped painfully at her hair. She hunkered low just in time to feel Honey gather her strength, bunch her hind legs, and sail over something that lay across the path.

Portia screamed as they flew. She wanted to squeeze her eyes shut but suppressed the foolish urge and stared with wide, tearing eyes as they burst from the woods and entered a gently sloping vale. Emboldened by the lack of obstacles, Honey doubled her speed.

Something wet hit Portia in the face, blotting the vision in one eye and she gripped Honey’s mane in one hand and the solitary rein in the other, blinking rapidly to clear her vision.

A dark shape thundered into her peripheral vision and a hand shot out and grabbed Honey’s bridle, pulling the horse to a stop so abruptly Portia had to hug the horse’s neck to keep from flying over her head.

Portia buried her face in Honey’s hot, damp mane until a strong hand grabbed her shoulder and pulled her upright. She brushed at her eye and saw blood on the York tan glove.

“Are you all right?” Frances’s face was white except for two slashes of color over her high cheekbones.

“Blood.” Portia held up her hand as if Frances might not believe her without proof.

“It is Honey’s, she’s been shot. The bullet clipped your hat and hit her ear. That is what set her off.”

“Shot?” Portia repeated, her voice sounding oddly sleepy.

Rowena came cantering up on her other side. “Are you hurt, Mrs. Harrington? My heart was in my mouth when I saw you bolt.”

Fury distorted Frances’s normally impassive features as she whirled on the viscountess. “Somebody shot at her, Rowena.”

Rowena flushed at the accusation in the other woman’s tone. “It must have been somebody shooting hares or wood pigeons, a poacher. I daresay they never even realized we were there or that anyone had been hit. It looks as though Honey has lost the tip of her ear.” Her pale eyes moved from the horse to Portia. “You are extremely fortunate, Mrs. Harrington, the bullet passed less than an inch from your head.”

Portia’s mouth fell open. Why, in the name of all that was holy, would the woman feel the need to reiterate such a horrible thing?

Frances must have wondered the same thing and made an irritated noise and pushed her horse closer. “I will take you back, Portia. You must be scared witless and poor Honey will need her ear seen to.” She turned her back on Rowena and leaned over to grab Honey’s reins.

The return trip took forever and the entire way through the woods Portia’s scalp itched, as if waiting for another bullet. She was shaking so badly by the time they reached the house the groom had to lift her off the horse.

“Carry her up to the house,” Frances ordered.

Portia rebelled at the thought of being carried anywhere. “Oh, no, please, Frances. I am perfectly able to walk. I am just a little shaky but will be fine in a moment.” Portia turned to the strapping groom who’d already bent down as if to scoop her up. “I shall be fine, really.” She was ashamed by the wobbly sound of her voice.

“I will go and arrange that a bath and tea be sent up immediately,” the viscountess said.

Frances watched her depart with a hard look before taking Portia’s hand. “Come, Portia, you will feel far better once you are in a nice hot bath.”

Portia was lying in the bath and wondering if she would ever stop shaking when the door flew open so hard it bounced off the wall.

Stacy crossed the floor in a few long strides, dropped down beside the enormous tub and took her wet soapy hand in his. “Good God! I just heard. Are you all right?”

She thrilled at his worried expression and the unrestrained anxiety in his voice.

“I am unharmed, it is the poor horse who lost a piece of her ear.”

Stacy exhaled noisily, as though he’d been holding his breath. He lowered his head and reached up to take off his glasses with a shaking hand. When he looked up, she could see the terror in his arresting eyes. He squeezed her hand so hard it hurt.

“Robert thinks it was a poacher they’ve been having trouble with lately. He has men combing the woods.” He shook his head, his lips thin. “I should never have allowed Lady Rowena to choose your horse. She has no idea of your skill level.” He frowned. “But I cannot stay. I should go and help them search. I just wanted to make sure you were unharmed first.”

Now that the immediacy of the moment had passed, he looked awkward.

“The child . . ?”

“I do not feel anything amiss, either with the child or myself.” She gave him a teasing look, hoping to lighten the mood. “Does this mean I’m forbidden to ride from now on?”

His expression became even haughtier. “It means I’m not going to let you out of my bloody sight.”

Portia’s mouth fell open. Was he blaming her because some idiot poacher shot her horse?