don’t I?”
“Yes, and you talk about kissing me and you put images in my head that have no business being there. I am a man, Lady Ariadne, a man with normal, healthy, appetites, and spending time together may very well inflame something that is better left dormant.”
“Do I inflame you, Dr. Lord?”
“Lady Ariadne, please .”
“Well, do I?”
“You make my head ache. That’s what you do.”
“I can kiss it and make it better, you know.”
“You’re a damned flirt,” he said, but not unkindly.
To his surprise, she let loose a peal of high laughter, and put her hand on his arm. “Yes, Dr. Lord, I suppose I am. Now what do you say we start looking for a place to stop for lunch? My stomach’s growling and I’m sure yours is too.”
CHAPTER 7
The stallion came up lame several miles later.
Colin felt the sudden lurch of the reins through his hands, the quick stumble before the horse recovered himself. He pulled back to get the animal to halt, but Shareb-er-rehh only shook his head, fighting him and staggering a few last steps before finally answering the pressure on the bit. He stopped, shuddered, and dropped his head dejectedly as the two humans leapt simultaneously from the chaise.
“Shareb!” Ariadne cried, racing to his head.
The stallion raised his foot and held it up beseechingly, his eyes large, wounded, and hurt.
“Shareb! Oh, Shareb, sweetheart! Dr. Lord, his leg!” She was close to tears. Shivering in pain, Shareb put his face against her chest.
Colin put one hand on the stallion’s hot and sweaty shoulder, and ran the other down the long foreleg.
“That bandage is going to have to come off.”
“Oh no, I can’t take it off, it’s on there to conceal—”
“Hold his head then, and I’ll take it off.”
She bit her lip, about to protest. Colin knelt down, his shoulder close to the stallion’s, his hands quickly unwrapping the thick, unnaturally heavy bandage.
He removed it and looked up at her, his gentle eyes suddenly angry. “Why the devil do you have weights wrapped in this bandage?”
The stallion shifted his weight, regained his balance, plaintively raised his foot once more.
Sheepishly, she looked away. “To . . . disguise his gait.”
Colin made a noise of disgust and flung the hot, damp bandage to the grass at the side of the road. The stallion’s leg was long, fine, and straight, the bones strong and well-formed. It was the leg of an aristocrat, but all he was concerned about was locating the injury. He checked the carpus, ran his hands down the long cannon bone, palpated the flexor tendons in search of a blown tendon.
Nothing.
“What is it, Dr. Lord?” she asked anxiously, hovering over his shoulder. Her voice sounded perilously close to tears. “Is he all right?”
He palpated the splint bones.
Nothing.
Searched the joints for swelling.
Nothing.
“Dr. Lord? Please, tell me, is he all right?”
“So far,” he answered, and moving his hands down to the stallion’s white-ringed fetlock, gently picked up the animal’s foot.
“What are you doing?”
“Looking for a nail, a stone, or a bruise on the sole.”
He pressed his thumb against the tough triangle that made up the hoof’s frog. The stallion didn’t flinch. He examined the hoof wall; aside from some caked mud, it was strong and healthy.
Gently, he let go of the stallion’s hoof.
Shareb stamped it down on his toe, hard.
“Ouch!” Grimacing, Colin pushed hard on the animal’s shoulder to get its weight off his foot. The stallion stumbled, and drove his head into the cradle of his mistress’s arms. One ear remained on Colin, and he had the strangest feeling that the animal was laughing at him.
“Oh, Dr. Lord, I knew it was a bad idea to hitch him to that dreadful chaise, now he’s lame, he’s injured, and what if he’s broken something and has to be destroyed—”
“He’s fine,” Colin said, wryly. He grasped the bridle and tried to pull the noble, cunning head
“Yes, and you talk about kissing me and you put images in my head that have no business being there. I am a man, Lady Ariadne, a man with normal, healthy, appetites, and spending time together may very well inflame something that is better left dormant.”
“Do I inflame you, Dr. Lord?”
“Lady Ariadne, please .”
“Well, do I?”
“You make my head ache. That’s what you do.”
“I can kiss it and make it better, you know.”
“You’re a damned flirt,” he said, but not unkindly.
To his surprise, she let loose a peal of high laughter, and put her hand on his arm. “Yes, Dr. Lord, I suppose I am. Now what do you say we start looking for a place to stop for lunch? My stomach’s growling and I’m sure yours is too.”
CHAPTER 7
The stallion came up lame several miles later.
Colin felt the sudden lurch of the reins through his hands, the quick stumble before the horse recovered himself. He pulled back to get the animal to halt, but Shareb-er-rehh only shook his head, fighting him and staggering a few last steps before finally answering the pressure on the bit. He stopped, shuddered, and dropped his head dejectedly as the two humans leapt simultaneously from the chaise.
“Shareb!” Ariadne cried, racing to his head.
The stallion raised his foot and held it up beseechingly, his eyes large, wounded, and hurt.
“Shareb! Oh, Shareb, sweetheart! Dr. Lord, his leg!” She was close to tears. Shivering in pain, Shareb put his face against her chest.
Colin put one hand on the stallion’s hot and sweaty shoulder, and ran the other down the long foreleg.
“That bandage is going to have to come off.”
“Oh no, I can’t take it off, it’s on there to conceal—”
“Hold his head then, and I’ll take it off.”
She bit her lip, about to protest. Colin knelt down, his shoulder close to the stallion’s, his hands quickly unwrapping the thick, unnaturally heavy bandage.
He removed it and looked up at her, his gentle eyes suddenly angry. “Why the devil do you have weights wrapped in this bandage?”
The stallion shifted his weight, regained his balance, plaintively raised his foot once more.
Sheepishly, she looked away. “To . . . disguise his gait.”
Colin made a noise of disgust and flung the hot, damp bandage to the grass at the side of the road. The stallion’s leg was long, fine, and straight, the bones strong and well-formed. It was the leg of an aristocrat, but all he was concerned about was locating the injury. He checked the carpus, ran his hands down the long cannon bone, palpated the flexor tendons in search of a blown tendon.
Nothing.
“What is it, Dr. Lord?” she asked anxiously, hovering over his shoulder. Her voice sounded perilously close to tears. “Is he all right?”
He palpated the splint bones.
Nothing.
Searched the joints for swelling.
Nothing.
“Dr. Lord? Please, tell me, is he all right?”
“So far,” he answered, and moving his hands down to the stallion’s white-ringed fetlock, gently picked up the animal’s foot.
“What are you doing?”
“Looking for a nail, a stone, or a bruise on the sole.”
He pressed his thumb against the tough triangle that made up the hoof’s frog. The stallion didn’t flinch. He examined the hoof wall; aside from some caked mud, it was strong and healthy.
Gently, he let go of the stallion’s hoof.
Shareb stamped it down on his toe, hard.
“Ouch!” Grimacing, Colin pushed hard on the animal’s shoulder to get its weight off his foot. The stallion stumbled, and drove his head into the cradle of his mistress’s arms. One ear remained on Colin, and he had the strangest feeling that the animal was laughing at him.
“Oh, Dr. Lord, I knew it was a bad idea to hitch him to that dreadful chaise, now he’s lame, he’s injured, and what if he’s broken something and has to be destroyed—”
“He’s fine,” Colin said, wryly. He grasped the bridle and tried to pull the noble, cunning head
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