The Captive by Amanda Ashley

together.
You could ride the old nag my father bought for my mother. He’s too old and
lazy to do anything but walk.”
    Magny shook her head again. “No. I like having my feet on
the ground, thank you very much.”
    With a sigh of exasperation, Ashlynne wheeled the stallion
around and touched her heels to its flanks. Just then, old Otry came out of the
barn, shaking the dust out of one of the horse blankets.
    The sudden flapping noise, combined with the waving blanket,
spooked the stallion and it raced toward the opposite side of the corral,
bucking wildly all the way.
    Falkon swore under his breath as the stallion made a quick
turn, felt his heart plummet as Ashlynne toppled over the horse’s rump. The
stallion fled to the far side of the corral, head high, eyes wild.
    “Lynnie!” Magny ducked through the rails, only to be pulled
up short by Falkon.
    “Stay here,” he said brusquely. “Otry! Get that damn blanket
out of here!” He was running toward Ashlynne as he spoke, his heart pounding
with fear as he knelt beside her. Damn!
    She was lying face down, unmoving, her eyes closed. His
hands were trembling as he ran them over her arms, down her legs. Nothing
seemed to be broken. He tunneled his fingers through the heavy mass of her
hair, marveling at its softness as he checked her head for swelling.
    He was wondering if he should try to turn her over when her
eyelids fluttered open.
    Ashlynne blinked and blinked again, felt her cheeks grow hot
as she realized what had happened. She had been thrown. And he had seen it.
    She started to get up, but Number Four placed a hand on her
shoulder, holding her down. “Are you all right? Do you hurt anywhere?”
    “Of course I’m all right.” She pushed his hand away and sat
up, her heart pounding at his nearness.
    “Here now! What the hell is going on?”
    Falkon glanced over his shoulder, swore under his breath
when he saw Ashlynne’s father striding toward them, his face contorted with
rage.
    “She was thrown, Mr. Marcus,” Magny explained quickly.
    The anger on Marcus’ face turned to concern as he entered
the corral and ran toward his daughter. “Ashlynne!”
    “I’m fine, Father.” She held out her hands and her father
lifted her to her feet.
    “Are you sure you’re not hurt?” he asked anxiously.
    “It was all my fault, Lord Marcus.” Otry shuffled into the
corral, his rheumy old eyes filled with fear as he faced his employer.
    “It’s all right, Otry,” Ashlynne said, brushing the dirt
from her clothes.
    “What happened, Otry?” Marcus asked.
    “Father, it wasn’t his fault at all. I should have been
paying more attention.” And she would have been, if she hadn’t been showing off
for Number Four. “I’m fine, really.” She looked up at her father and smiled.
“Nothing badly bruised but my ego.”
    Marcus frowned at her, and then laughed. “Come along, let’s
go up to the house.” He brushed a bit of dirt from her cheek. “You’ll want to
clean up before dinner. And for goodness sakes, don’t say anything about this
to your mother.”
    With a nod, Ashlynne slipped her arm around her father’s
waist and they left the corral.
    Magny fell into step beside them. “See, Lynnie?” she said.
“See why I don’t ride? You could have been killed.”
    “Don’t be silly, Mag. That’s not the first time I’ve fallen
off a horse, and it probably won’t be the last.”
    Marcus looked at Magny and grinned. “We’ll get you on a horse
one of these days,” he predicted. “Just wait and see.”
    Ashlynne fought the urge to glance over her shoulder. She
could feel Number Four watching her. Warmth flooded her cheeks as she recalled
the touch of his hands skimming over her arms and legs, the touch of his
fingers moving ever so gently in her hair. Maybe it was a good thing that she
was going to Trellis next week, she mused, before she did something really
stupid, like throw herself into his arms. She had a feeling Number Four was far
more