Page 14 of The Untamed Duke (The Secret Crusaders #3)

CHAPTER 14

J ournal of the Duke of Foxworth:

Do not forget why you are here. Do not lose sight of your goal. Do not allow another to steal your focus, or unravel your resolve.

Sophia challenges me at every turn, threatening my control as none before. There is something about her, something I want so very much. The thought of letting her go becomes more impossible by the day.

I know what I have to do.

His heart stopped.

His breath caught.

His world shattered.

As Sophia plummeted into liquid darkness.

“No!”

He didn’t remember running. Hardly heard the roar that drowned out the thunder. Barely felt the burst of speed, as the ground transformed from soaked grass to blue waves in an instant.

He jumped in after her, diving into the depths of the noxious, slimy water. It smothered like a thousand sweltering blankets, swirling him like a child’s top. Muscles screamed as he maneuvered the churning depths, fighting the river’s brutal attempt to take control. He fought his way up, bursting thorough the surface. As he gasped a breath of rain-filled air, he frantically searched the violent waves.

Sophia was nowhere to be seen.

He dove again, blinded by darkness, motivated by hope. That she had already been swept away was not something he would consider. She was still there, waiting for him to rescue her.

She would be all right.

He fought the dense, frigid liquid. Sharp vegetation sliced his palms, sending the metallic taste of blood into the water, as the powerful current urged him forward like a horizontal waterfall. He searched spindly plants, threaded around silvery fish and over jagged rocks, until suddenly something smooth floated by. Triumph surged as he grasped what could only be fabric, as he pulled a supple form into his arms…

She wasn’t moving.

He had to get her to the surface! He pushed up, yet something captured her down below, clutching her in a deadly tug of war. Lungs screamed as he kicked with feet that felt weighted with lead, pulling against the never-ending current. Sounds dimmed, white fog clouded his mind. The world grew quiet…

Fight! With a last burst of strength, he pulled once more. The shirt tore free!

He soared up, up…

They burst into the raging storm. He gasped a breath of sweet air, coughing as he spit out the wretched water. Sophia did the same, breathing in huge gulps as she emptied her lungs. Never had a pained sound been so sweet.

“It’s all right. I’ve got you.” Holding her with one hand, he used the other to paddle them to shore. He grasped the craggy bank, lifted her onto land. She was cold and shivering but breathing and alert, and most importantly alive . But still not safe.

He scooped her up, holding her against his chest, as he hurtled back to the house. Behind him, lightning brightened the world in nonstop flashes, never-ending thunder adding its beat. Another crash roared, different than thunder, then a booming splash. He didn’t look back as his precious cargo burrowed into him.

A minute and an eternity later, they reached the manor, its door whipping wildly in the wind. He caught it with one hand, holding tight as its sharp edges tore into his palm. He pushed forward, leaping into the safety of his family estate.

For a moment he stilled, exhaling pure relief. Yet the danger was not over, as iciness surrounded them, the frigid water chilling from within. Sophia started to tremble, slightly at first, then more violently. He had seen strong men succumb to such injuries.

He had to get her warm.

Slamming the door, he raced forward, moving from memory as he navigated the darkened hallways like a childhood maze. He burst into his room and placed her on the heavy cover, sacrificing but a moment to stoke the fire. He returned and grasped her, yet her limbs seemed crafted of ice. She had been unnaturally silent through their journey, a condition far more dangerous that any hysterics.

She was so very cold.

“Speak to me, Sophia.” He removed the ruined slippers, pulled off the soaked stockings. It was only when he began to peel off the shirt that she protested. “What are you doing?”

That raspy whisper brought untold relief. “I won’t touch you more than necessary, but I have to get you warm.”

Her teeth clattered so loud, it was audible over the never-ending pounding of the rain. “Do you have a hundred blankets?”

Only she could make him smile at a time like this. “A thousand if you’d like.” He carefully pulled the fabric from her damp body. “I’ll take good care of you, lass.”

He moved quickly and methodically, removing all clothing before drying her with a thick cloth. It was not how he imagined seeing her naked for the first time, and although she was the most beautiful creature on earth, his only urge was to care for her, to get her warm. He wrung her hair twice, absorbing the moisture, before sliding a dry shift over her head.

He brushed a hand against her cheek. “How are you feeling, lass?”

“A little better,” she whispered.

Relief as he’d never known it liquefied his muscles, as his heart finally dipped from its crescendo. He grazed his knuckles against her arm. She winced as a droplet of water dripped off his shirt and onto her.

“You’re still wet.” Her eyes widened, as if she only just realized he carried half the river. Yet in truth, he barely noticed the dampness. The heavy physical activity had kept him warm, and he was accustomed to the cold temperatures of Scotland.

He gave a soft grin. “I am well.”

“You most certainly are not. Why haven’t you changed?” She tried to wave her hand, but he’d tucked it securely in the blanket. “You need a hundred blankets, as well.”

He smiled. “Yes, my lady.”

He traveled to his chest and retrieved a pair of clean black pants and a crisp white shirt. Ducking behind the screen, he dried himself, not realizing how cold he was until the warmth of the dry fabric covered the chill. He strode with renewed vigor, emerging to find Sophia vastly improved. A healthy pinkness had overtaken her ashen pallor, and the trembling had lessened to a modest shiver.

She even produced a weak smile. “You’re supposed to be wearing a hundred blankets.”

It would take far more than a dip in the river to convince him to wear a blanket. “I’m fine.” He sat on the edge of the bed and touched her arm. “Men do not need such things.”

“So you’re impervious to the cold?” Despite her state, she managed a wry smile. “You should take better care of yourself.”

“Men also do not need to be cared for.” A lock of hair fell across her cheek, and he gently swept it away. Yet instead of retreating, he stayed.

Her eyes shined. “I believe couples should care for each other.”

Something shifted within him, amidst emotions he couldn’t name, as he sat next to this beautiful woman. She was covered in a shirt and two blankets, and he was fully dressed, yet a moment had never felt so intimate.

It almost felt like a love match.

He cleared his throat, removed his hand. A love match was impossible. His mother had sacrificed everything for his father and had paid for it the rest of her life. He could never risk his heart.

It didn’t mean he wasn’t planning on keeping this woman.

No other option was possible. A match with Sophia was most logical. She was practically raised to be a duchess, with all the necessary abilities and skills. They communicated well, got along famously. They were compatible in every way.

What could be better revenge?

He frowned deeply at the final thought. If revenge was the journey’s reason, why did it now seem so wrong?

“What are you thinking?”

The softly spoken words brought him back to the captive who had captivated him. “How very sorry I am.”

She sat up, or at least she made the attempt. He placed a firm hand on her shoulder, keeping her secure. “You will not exert yourself tonight.”

For a moment she looked ready to argue, but then she relaxed back with a sigh. “Why are you sorry?”

“I never should’ve allowed you to get hurt.” He flexed his fingers. “I should have protected you better.”

“As much as it pains me to say this, and believe me, it pains me…” She exhaled deeply. “This was my fault. I never should have ventured into the storm.”

“No, you shouldn’t have.” A vision flashed, of her plunging into the river, disappearing underneath the inky waves. The fear he would never forget. “You will never put yourself in danger again.”

For a moment, defiance sparked in her eyes, but then she grimaced. “I have no desire to tempt another storm. If you hadn’t been there…” She swallowed, blinked.

The urge to comfort her was all-consuming. “It’s all right,” he murmured. “You’re safe.”

“Only because of you.” Her voice cracked. “I didn’t mean to go into the water. I didn’t even see it…”

“All is well.” He lowered his voice. “I will always be there.”

“You cannot say that.”

He could indeed, for she was his. She just didn’t know it yet.

She took another quivering breath. “I can’t believe you jumped into a raging river to rescue me. You could have been killed.”

He laid a gentle kiss upon her forehead. “I told you I would keep you safe.”

She burrowed into his touch, casting the all-consuming urge to pull her close and never let go. Yet she didn’t belong to him – yet. And when she did, he would not allow emotions to take control. “What type of kidnapper would I be if I let you get hurt? It’s specifically forbidden in the kidnapping handbook.”

The words elicited the desired smile. “Wouldn’t a book on kidnapping etiquette say it’s impolite to kidnap?”

“I’d rather not say.”

“Are there any other rules of kidnapping etiquette you’ve broken?”

“Only a hundred or so.”

At her soft chuckle, he drew back with mock sternness. “Of course, you’ve broken etiquette as well.”

“Have I?” Her eyes glittered. “Was I supposed to play lady in distress?”

“Exactly,” he shared. “Perhaps I shall write my own book on etiquette for kidnappers.”

“And I shall write a book on etiquette for the kidnapped.” She laughed again. “I am certain they shall be instant sensations.”

After another chuckle, they settled into a soft silence. Her breathing evened as he sat next to her, holding her as her eyelashes fluttered, as she slowly surrendered to sleep. Then he did what any gentleman would do: tore himself away.

As he lay on the miniscule settee, emotions scattered like the storm still raging outside. It was a miracle she was uninjured, with no visible harm from her treacherous journey. If he had arrived a minute later…

Stop. He had made it in time, and she was well. Now he would ensure she never did anything like that ever again.

Protecting her would be his greatest responsibility.

The bridge was gone.

Well, not exactly gone. The supports still stood on either side of the river, the wood was still present, the nails and rope visible. Yet instead of a coherent whole, the wood was splintered into a thousand pieces, the rope was a tangled ball and the supports were jagged pieces of metal.

No one was crossing the river any time soon.

Sophia stepped towards the bank. Next to her, Kenneth watched with wary eyes, clearly poised to grab her if she delved too close to the water. He needn’t worry. She had no intention of navigating the perilous rapids ever again. “The bridge is gone.”

He regarded her as if she’d remarked the sky was blue, or the grass green. “It would appear so.” He prowled beside her, his steps easy and assured, even on the rocky ground.

She blinked and closed her eyes, opened them to unhidden amusement.

“Were you hoping it would suddenly appear?”

He was entirely too jovial for a man who just lost the only feasible path to civilization. “It would be nice.”

She clutched her skirt, carefully stepping around the stumps of fallen trees. Despite the earth’s chaos, the sky was as serene as a sleeping babe, the sun shining brightly, with only a few wispy clouds sailing the blue expanse. A gentle breeze had replaced the night’s fierce wind, and the air smelled clean and fresh. It was a moment of rebirth, a reawakening, as nature celebrated night’s end. “You said the bridge has failed before. How long did it take to rebuild?”

“Not long.” He picked up a piece of debris and tossed it onto the shore. Then another, and another. “It should only take one.”

She relaxed. “One week isn’t that bad–”

“Month.”

A month?

A month!

She stomped after him. “There has to be another way.”

He stopped and gestured to the surroundings. His muscles bulged with every movement, which make her stare, which made her angry for staring, which made her look away, which made her indignant for looking away, which made her turn back, which made her notice how his muscles bulged with every movement, which made her stare–

“Does there appear to be another way, Lady Sophia?”

She frowned as he interrupted her staring. She glanced back at the land extending for miles, the dense forests in the back of the estate, the wide river still flowing in rapid gurgles. There would be no magically appearing bridges.

She was trapped.

“Your mother will not be back for some time, correct?”

She paused at the unexpected comment. “Yes, thank goodness. It’s bad enough making poor Bradenton suffer, but my mother–” She halted. “How did you know she was away?”

He turned away from her. “I heard it somewhere.”

Could he actually care about her mother’s sensibilities? It was not the sort of thing a typical kidnapper considered.

Yet he was not a typical kidnapper.

Do not soften, she chided herself as she hurried to catch up with him. Kidnapping was not his only transgression. Priscilla’s words flashed in her mind, alongside an image of the journal he had likely stolen. He may still be planning to expose them.

Even if she couldn’t escape him, perhaps she could at least prevent that calamity. “What about the journal?”

His amusement faded. “You accused me of taking a journal before. I’ve only ever stolen one thing. You.”

She narrowed her eyes. “Don’t you mean borrowed?”

“Borrowing indicates you are going to give something back.”

She swallowed. Ignore him. He is just trying to unbalance you. “Priscilla has a journal, which she brought to the masquerade. Someone stole it.”

“You’re fighting for something that doesn’t even belong to you?” Suspicion seeped into his gaze. “Why do you assume I have it? Is it because I’m the villain of your story?”

“You’re no villain.” The protest came on its own, immediate and instinctual. Despite his transgressions, he wasn’t a bad man, just a thoroughly misguided one. He believed her brother to be the villain, but in truth, both were heroes.

A cool wind blew, and he edged closer to her, rubbing her arms, warming her instantly. She inhaled dewy air.

“Tell me why you believe I have the journal.”

She pursed her lips. She could evade him, and probably should. If Kenneth didn’t know about the guild, it was vital he remain ignorant, for it posed yet another method of revenge.

Only if he could help retrieve it, perhaps it was worth the risk. “Priscilla saw someone take the journal, a man with your general shape and build. As you know, few men are as…” Muscular. Powerful. All-too-tempting. “Unfashionably well-formed as you.”

He lifted an eyebrow, and she blushed. “A mask hid his exact features, and his costume was indistinct. She chased him to the carriages, but he escaped before she caught him.” She took a deep breath. “The crest on the carriage was yours.”

He stiffened. “Is she certain?”

“It was dark, and several of the crests were similar. Still with the man’s size, the coach and your motives–” She grimaced. “It seemed like a forgone conclusion.”

Something flashed in his eyes, before they shuttered a moment later. Did he know who took it? “Why is the journal so important?”

“It’s private.” She broke eye contact. “No one should read another person’s journal.”

He folded his arms across his chest. Ah yes. She had read his journal. And his father’s journal. And if she hadn’t been interrupted, she would have read every single one.

“I quite agree,” he drawled. “Could you imagine looking through someone’s private musings without their permission?”

The heat started at her neck and spread through her entire body. “There are exceptions.”

“Indeed.” He edged closer to her. “Perhaps he has a good reason.”

Undoubtedly, he had a reason, but good? Doubtful. “Do you know who took it?”

“I’m not certain.” He looked down at her with unrevealing eyes. “If I am to help you, you need to tell me more about the book.”

She exhaled slowly. Sharing the secret of the guild was a step too far. “It contains nothing of consequence, yet they are personal matters. I cannot break my friend’s confidence.”

“Why would Priscilla bring something so sensitive to the masquerade? It seems like an unnecessary risk.” His voice deepened. “Unless others are involved.”

Sophia hesitated just long enough to confirm his suspicion. “It does not matter who is involved, only that it is returned. The journal is not bad itself, yet in the wrong hands, dozens of people could be impacted.”

“Dozens?” He stopped, turned to her. His voice was lower, deliberate. “Who?”

Priscilla. His sister. Her. “I can only tell you it is imperative it’s returned.”

His gaze hardened, yet he didn’t press further. That he would investigate was now all but certain, yet whether he would ultimately aid or sabotage remained to be seen. If he learned the ladies were part of a secret society of social action crusaders, there would be no way to predict his reaction.

She stepped over a fallen log. Despite the calmness of the day, restlessness infused her. She had a month’s forced holiday, with no way to contribute to the guild’s cause.

Unless…

Perhaps the trip could be useful. She had already learned the basics of self-defense, instruction that gave Molly the courage to escape her attacker. So many women could benefit from such knowledge, yet a day’s lesson could only go so far. With a month of training, she could learn enough to teach others, perhaps create some sort of school…

“Since I am stuck here with you, I should get a benefit.”

He lifted an eyebrow.

And she imagined every benefit he could bestow in clear, detailed imagery. It involved lips, hands…

Not really a lot of clothes…

She cleared her throat. “That’s not what I meant.”

His gaze darkened.

Maybe it was what she meant. Because really, what could be better than lips, hands…

Not really a lot of clothes…

She pushed herself forward, too quickly, as her foot slid into a branch. Her dress caught, and she fell forward…

Straight. Into. Him.

Strong hands caught her, spanning her waist. Bulging muscles shifted, tightening and flexing. “Are you all right?” he murmured.

She nodded a lie.

“Were you imagining something between us? Some benefit?”

Yes. Lips, hands, not really a lot of–

A thousand shoulds swirled in the air. She should chastise him. Should flee. Should tell him they would never kiss again.

Instead she pressed closer.

“Would you like to show me what you were thinking about?” he murmured.

She couldn’t.

She shouldn’t.

She wanted to.

She did.

His lips were as warm as the sun burning above, as tender as the breeze dancing with the leaves. He smelled like oak and fresh dew, with just a hint of spice. He cupped her cheek, stroking the soft skin under her neck, bringing warmth, security, delight.

He explored with abandon, freeing her hair from its pins, grazing her neck with his teeth. He was everywhere at once, and yet not enough, as he surrounded her, brought her deeper into an embrace of pure power. A soft moan escaped, as sensitive spots molded against unyielding hardness.

“Is this what you want?”

“Oh, yes.”

Oh no.

She opened her eyes, blinked at a world so bright, it hurt her eyes. Pulled back from the forbidden. “I didn’t mean to kiss you.”

“Yet it is what you want.” It was a statement, not a question, irrefutable truth belying any denial. How easy it would be to surrender, to allow him to do as he wished. She would love every second, yet the aftermath would destroy her ability to make her own path. Would he demand more?

Demand her?

She could not deny the obvious, not to him, and not to herself. She had to focus on those who needed her. “I want to fight.”

That stopped him. “I’m sorry?”

“I want you to teach me to fight.”

Confusion overtook the raw hunger in his eyes. He retreated ever-so-slightly, allowing a dose of sanity to return. “I did teach you how to fight.”

She stepped away, resuming her journey to the manor as if they hadn’t just paused for her ravishment. One step after another, eyes straight ahead, away from the man who would usurp her control. “You gave me one lesson. I want more.”

In the corner of her eye, his expression softened. “You need not be afraid, Sophia. No one will harm you.”

His gaze pulled at her like an invisible rope. “I’m not afraid.”

“You’re not?” Now he moved closer, casting dueling urges to approach and flee. Another step and then another. “Molly’s situation was difficult to witness, yet she is well, and her stepfather will never bother her again. Do not worry about your own safety. You are well protected.”

She licked dry lips. “Of course. Few would challenge my brother.”

“I wasn’t talking about Edmund.”

She almost missed a step, managed not to fall into him. Ignored her disappointment.

This was why she needed her own power: to snatch it back from men who would dare claim it. “I wasn’t referring to me. I was talking about all the women of society. Do you know how many women are abused?”

He visibly tightened. “Far more than either of us imagine, no doubt.”

“Exactly.” She clasped her hands. “Some are abused by the men sworn to care for them, others by strangers in broad daylight. They have no way to escape, and no one to help. I’ve seen it many times, even experienced the threat myself.”

His eyes narrowed into little slits, as suddenly, his entire demeanor changed. Gone was the gentleman of the ton, in his place, a warrior. “Explain.”

She swallowed a suddenly parched throat. “Someone on the street accosted me.” Or rather someones, a fact she would not mention. “It is of no matter. I got away before anything happened.”

“It is a grave matter.” He stared at her, a pure Scottish laird. “Tell me, Lady Sophia, where were you when this incident occurred?”

Perhaps now would not be the best time to mention she traversed the slums regularly.

When she didn’t respond, he folded his arms across his chest. “Matters of your personal safety will change once we return to London.”

Not if she had any say in it. “My point is it happens everywhere, and women should learn to defend themselves.”

He stared at her a moment more. Just when she was sure he’d deny her, he nodded. “Very well. I shall help you hone your defensive techniques.”

“You will?” She didn’t quite manage to hide her shock. While she was at it… “I also want you to teach me how to sword fight.”

His gaze immediately turned suspicious. “Please don’t tell me you plan to arm ladies with swords.”

“Of course. I thought we could roam London, rounding up criminals. We’ll call ourselves the Distinguishes Ladies of Sword Fighting.”

“I don’t know whether you are serious or jesting.”

Neither did she. “I do not plan on teaching every lady in London how to sword fight.”

Just the ones who were interested.

He grimaced. “I suppose there wouldn’t be any harm in teaching you sword fighting, so long as you refrain from displaying your skills at Almack’s. Please tell me that is your final request.”

“Not even close.”

“Any chance it doesn’t involve danger?”

“Probably not.”

He rubbed the bridge of his nose.

She smiled. “I want to learn how to ride astride.”

He grimaced. Likely he would provide the same response Edmund had given when she posed the question. How riding astride was wholly inappropriate, most improper, and simply not done by ladies of the ton.

“All right.”

She started. “Did you say all right?”

“Why not?” He shrugged. “Riding sidesaddle is nonsensical and dangerous.” He took a step around her. “You’ve crafted me as a man who lacks empathy, doesn’t listen and ignores conflicting viewpoints. I am different than you believe.”

Yes, he was.

And the more she learned about him, the less she could dislike him.

“Maybe you can teach me something in return for all my instruction.” His gaze turned mysterious. “Something you learned at your guild perhaps?”

She moved her hands behind her so he wouldn’t see her clench them. Did he suspect the guild was not as she portrayed? “If you wish to learn about sewing , I shall be happy to teach you. Yet I would like to start with riding, if that is acceptable.” She was still restless from last night’s storm, and even more so from their kiss. Physical activity was the perfect foil.

“I’m afraid I can’t teach you right now.” He gestured to the fallen trees marring the landscape. “I must clear the debris and address a few important matters.”

Could “important matters” relate to the journal? “Would you like me to assist with the trees?”

This time his smile was genuine. “Do I not look strong enough to move a few branches, lass?”

“You’re certainly strong.” She closed her eyes, opened them to wry amusement. “I mean you are reasonably strong.” Then because her sense had apparently been stolen by the lightning, she licked her lips. Then she looked at his lips. Then she wished his lips were on her lips.

She needed to get away from him. Well, first she needed another kiss, but then she needed to get away from him. It took all her strength not to demand that kiss. “I shall ride by myself until you are ready.”

“Absolutely not.”

Just when he wasn’t being an overbearing aristocrat. “I will do as I wish.” The wind blew a lock of hair over her eyes, and she swiped it aside. The wind blew it right back in her eyes.

Before she could react, he tucked it behind her ear. “We will ride later. Rest now. You are still recovering from your ordeal.”

Why did men always think ladies needed rest? “I am quite well, and more than capable of riding a horse.”

“Yet not astride. I shall be there to ensure your safety the first time.”

Dominating men and their authoritative tendencies. She opened her mouth to tell him exactly what she thought of it when she halted. Why was she arguing? She’d lived long enough with Edmund to know the best strategy for dealing with overprotective men.

She smiled.

He frowned.

She didn’t say a word. Instead, she pivoted and headed towards the manor, ignoring the weight of his stare on her back. That he was suspicious was without a doubt, but it didn’t matter. Time for him to learn she would do as she pleased.

Even if she was trapped.

She was trapped.

He was not.

Kenneth had not exactly lied. The bridge was obviously impassable in its current form, and it would indeed take a month to craft a new one. No other bridge was close. Yet “close” was a relative term, and Sophia did not ask precisely how long it would take to reach the next crossing.

They could be back in London within two days.

In a thousand opportunities to share the truth, he kept silent a thousand times. He needed time to learn more about his reluctant guest, to discover why she affected him. He could claim retribution as his motive, yet it would be untrue. Even with precautions, every minute together carried risks. He abated the risks as best he could with a letter to Adam, wrapped around a rock that he threw to the townspeople this morning. He wrote of his plans and asked that he contact him if matters deteriorated enough to force his return.

He just couldn’t bring himself to return her. Not yet.

Not ever.

Kenneth hefted one broken branch after the next, tossing them in a haphazard pile. Besides the bridge, there was no substantial damage, yet plenty needed clearing. He could have waited until later to do the work, yet he needed a few moments to regain his focus, especially after Sophia’s revelations. He hadn’t taken the journal.

He knew who did.

Or at least it appeared that way, if memories from the masquerade proved correct. A man with a tall and formidable build similar to his own. A man who shared his carriage that night. A man with a mysterious book.

Adam.

His cousin’s demeanor had been mysterious, odd even. If suspicions were correct, why had he taken the journal, and more importantly, what did he plan to do with it? His cousin was an honorable man, who would never steal anything without good reason. Sophia had mentioned dozens of people. His sister Clara was included in her groups of friends, and in the guild. Was she somehow involved?

It warranted immediate investigation.

A horse’s neigh broke the silence, as if bestowing its agreement. Dropping the last piece of wood, he brushed off his hands, already circling the edge of the house. He emerged onto the field and stopped.

Sophia stood out like a shining star, riding atop a large horse, wearing a shirt and trousers. Astride for the first time.

Horse and rider soared over the ground with wild abandon, like a favorite speeding down the home stretch of a horse race. Her excitement was palpable from afar, yet small wobbles revealed her lack of expertise. Clutching the reins, she urged the horse even faster.

He tightened as a corner appeared, as she took it far too sharp. The horse skidded one way and then the other, scrambling to compensate for the narrow turn. It regained its footing, yet dashed wildly, as it jerked its head and its rider violently. It careened straight towards a fallen tree.

Kenneth yelled to her, yet the wind swallowed his words. The horse reared…

And tossed its rider.