The Prince Kidnaps a Bride by Christina Dodd

the beasts, and it was only MacMurtrae and his monopoly that held her back now.
    “That’s outrageous!” Sorcha’s light, cultured, very feminine voice carried clearly to Rainger. “These horses are worth twenty times what you’re offering.”
    “They’re worthless beasts, old and bandy-legged.”
    “They are not!”
    “Yet there’s na one else t’ sell them t’.” MacMurtrae sighed in fake sadness. “So I guess ye’ll take what I’m offering.”
    “I’ll ride them all the way to Edinburgh before I sell them to you!” She meant it, too.
    Rainger would have to step in.
    “What will ye feed them, young man?” MacMurtrae asked. “Between here and the capital there’s little but rain, mud, and soggy grass. No shelter, barely a path through the dales and o’er the passes. Ye’ll have trouble riding those other two animals ye brought int’ town, so ye might as well offer them t’ me, too.”
    She laughed, and the carefree sound startled Rainger—and MacMurtrae, for he jumped and nervously fingered his stained cravat. “We’ll eat the horses first.”
    “Don’t say that, lad! Ye don’t eat fine beasts like these!” Realizing what he’d admitted, MacMurtrae swore long and colorfully.
    With a smile, Rainger backed up again.
    Sorcha was good at barter, but she couldn’t win in this town with this buyer. Not without some help, and Rainger was the man to give it.
    “I’ll give ye twenty-five guineas for the two o’ them,” MacMurtrae declared.
    “I want twenty guineas for the pony and two hundred guineas for the horse.”
    “Twenty pounds... and two hundred... .” MacMurtrae sputtered at her cheek. Trying to regain control of the situation, he said firmly, “Twenty-five guineas and na a tuppence more.”
    Stepping out of the shadows, Rainger stared long and hard at MacMurtrae.
    MacMurtrae’s eyes narrowed, and he laid his hand on the pistol at his side.
    Sorcha swiveled to see why MacMurtrae glared over her shoulder.
    Rainger slipped back around the corner.
    He heard her say with authority, “Two hundred and twenty guineas for the two of them, and not a tuppence less.”
    Rainger moved back into view. With the tip of his knife, he indicated the price should rise.
    The horse trader glared, his male pride offended.
    Rainger grinned at him, that toothy grin he had perfected which didn’t indicate happiness but rather a willingness—no, a desire—to beat MacMurtrae into calf’s-foot jelly.
    Amazing, how an unspoken threat could make a bully like MacMurtrae straighten up and take notice. The color drained from his face and as quickly as he could he said, “As a favor t’ ye, I could give ye an extra twenty guineas... ”—at a gesture from Rainger, he changed it—“twenty-five guineas. But no more!” He pointed his finger at Sorcha and tried to ignore Rainger, but when Rainger’s grin changed to a snarl, MacMurtrae jumped like a hunted rabbit.
    Sorcha recognized that she’d suddenly developed the upper hand. In a persuasive tone, she said, “The pony’s well broken in, the perfect mount for a child or as a beast of burden. The horse is young with good lines, with years of service ahead of him, and MacMurtrae—you should see him run. He’s like harnessing the wind!”
    By the time the negotiations were finished, Sorcha had over two hundred guineas for both beasts and MacMurtrae was sweating like the horse when it had run flat out for a mile.
    When the final terms had been agreed upon, Sorcha petted St. Donkey. “MacMurtrae, this sweet girl has to go to a good home, and Wulfgar needs a good master, one who’ll understand his wild spirit.”
    “Would ye like t’ interview the buyers?” MacMurtrae asked sarcastically.
    Rainger sighed at MacMurtrae’s folly.
    “Can I?” Sorcha’s eager question echoed up the walls.
    “Nay.” MacMurtrae took the reins from her.
    “But you’ll make sure St. Donkey has a good life, won’t you?” Sorcha gave the pony a last long, loving pet.