Page 34 of Win Me, My Lord (All’s Fair in Love and Racing #5)

CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

A FEW HOURS LATER

S he was a tiny donkey.

But the problem of her was sizeable.

For this tiny donkey had taken it into her stubborn little head that she would no longer move.

And any donkey that didn’t want to move, no matter how diminutive her size, was not going to move.

It was that simple.

And that difficult.

This was the problem facing Artemis as she stood in the center of a quiet country lane with her faithful Bathsheba and the little gray Jerusalem donkey, who had planted her hooves in packed dirt and decided none of them were going anywhere.

Artemis heaved yet another sigh of frustration, which would get her nowhere, of course. As with all animals the world over, this tiny donkey had a mind and thoughts of her own. This little lady would decide her future, thank you very much.

Artemis understood her point of view, truly she did, but … “I’m taking you to a very nice home, little lady. A duke and a duchess live there.”

The little lady snorted, thoroughly unimpressed by aristocrats.

“A believer in democracy, are you?” She couldn’t imagine what a person who happened across them might think if they saw her talking to a donkey in the middle of the lane. “As a democratically minded little donkey, could you listen to reason? The Greeks came up with that, too.”

Little Lady’s ears twitched.

Artemis took that as permission to continue. “When we arrive at Somerton, we’ll get you a nice bath and pick all the burrs from your coat. Won’t that be lovely?”

Little Lady yawned.

“And we’ll get you the freshest, most scrumptious hay and a fluffy blanket.

The warmest blanket you ever felt. And fields, Little Lady.

” Artemis was really warming to her sales patter.

“Not a small square of dirt, like you’ve had, but green fields to roam with other donkeys.

” Her brow crinkled. “Does Rake have donkeys?” She rather doubted it, but no matter.

“Anyway, you shall have company, Little Lady. Won’t that be nice? ”

Little Lady remained unmoved—and unmoving.

“Oh,” exclaimed Artemis. “I know of an especially juicy apple in the kitchen, and it’s yours if you would …” She began punctuating each word with a firm tug of the rope. “Just … take … one … step …”

Sweat had broken across Artemis’s body; Little Lady looked cool as a cucumber.

At Artemis’s side, Bathsheba whined, her one eye imploring and her tail quivering with pent-up energy.

She only awaited the signal to use her inborn skill at herding to bring the little donkey in line.

Artemis shook her head. “I appreciate the offer of your services, my girl, but we won’t be giving any elderly donkeys a fright today. ”

Artemis swiped her brow with the back of her hand, then set her hands on her hips, glancing up and down the lane, praying for a conveyance to happen along and spur Little Lady into motion.

Her prayers were met with bucolic stillness.

With beech trees to either side of the lane, at least they had shade, even if autumn coolness had crept into the air.

The green of the leaves had taken on an ombre orange hue in transition to full, crunchy brown in the coming weeks.

A blessed breeze swept through and lifted the tendrils of hair stuck to her neck, and she closed her eyes and took a moment’s joy from the cooling sensation.

When they opened, a lone figure had appeared around the bend in the road some hundred yards ahead.

The man had a familiar hitch in his step, even as she noticed he’d fashioned a staff from a long branch.

Bran.

Her body had registered his identity in the split of the second before her mind had, a ripple of effects cascading through her. The fluttery beat of her heart. The rush of blood through her veins. Her breath gone shallow.

A smile tickled about her mouth.

She was glad to see him.

Nay.

She was happy— ecstatic —to see him.

And it wasn’t simply that he was here, but what his presence meant.

He was here because he’d sought her out.

For no other reason.

He was here for her .

How long had he been walking? How many country lanes had he trod?

It wasn’t easy for him—and he was here.

“I see you found your donkey,” he called out.

“I did,” she returned. “But presently she’s being very much a donkey.”

“Ah,” he said, with a rueful smile that was too attractive by half.

As he closed the distance between them, one determined, intentional step at a time, her breath was taken away by the sheer gorgeousness of the man, the sun illuminating the light brown streaks in his hair and the shimmering gold of his eyes.

He’d always been handsome, but with the scar on his cheek and the undefinable hardness of his person, now he was handsome in the way of a Greek hero after the Trojan War.

He’d come through the battles, tested and weathered, and was the more appealing for it.

Though he’d lost his way for a time—as all heroes did—he was moving forward again, with purpose.

She saw all that as she stood in the middle of this country lane, a dog whining up at her to one side and an admirably stubborn donkey to the other.

And she saw one thing more.

She wanted him—as hers.

The man he was now —not her lost love from ten years ago.

Just as there was no recapturing the young lady she was then, there was no recapturing him , either. He was gone, and in his place was this man. A man she found attractive on his own merits, not as an echo of who he was ten years ago.

And one thing more—she liked seeing him here.

Not just on this country lane, but at Somerton, too.

A man who could hold his own with his brother and their friends.

A man who was admired by them, too. In most ways, that didn’t matter to her—she’d always followed her own preferences—but in some significant way, it did.

And she understood something yet more as he approached with that smile in his golden eyes—eyes that had only recently cleared of the shadows of the past—she was going to have a devil of a time withstanding her own desire for him.

But mustn’t she?

How could she keep the full truth of the past from him and keep him?

That crossed the line into duplicity.

Yet could she let him go?

He reached down and gave Bathsheba’s ear a stroke before turning his attention to the little donkey. “Now, who do we have here?” he asked in a low voice.

Little Lady’s ears perked forward.

He ran his hand across the velvet of her muzzle, and Artemis would have sworn on a Bible the donkey’s eyes closed in a moment’s bliss. “Hey,” Artemis exclaimed, indignant.

Bran’s brow lifted. “Yes?”

“You’re … you’re … you’re using your masculine wiles on her,” she spoke in a low hiss, rather than raising her voice.

His brow gathered in bemusement. “ Wiles? Do men have wiles ?”

Artemis crossed her arms over her chest. She didn’t want to answer that question. So, she didn’t.

She could only imagine the thunderous expression on her face.

Bran’s mouth twitched. “Do I possess these masculine wiles?”

She exhaled an exasperated sigh. Yes , she didn’t say. He possessed masculine wiles in abundance. She couldn’t help wondering if shivers purled along the length of Little Lady’s spine, too, when he spoke.

And there was the feel of his large, capable, deliciously rough hand.

Oh, this man had wiles.

He dug into a coat pocket, and his hand emerged with a sugar lump pinched between forefinger and thumb. “How about some sugar for the sweet?” he cooed down to the donkey, his palm open and flat for her to take the treat.

“You think flattery will get you anywhere with a donkey?” Artemis tried for a caustic tone, but it sounded more pettish to her ears.

Wiles .

And wasn’t he using them?

“What’s her name?”

“I’ve been calling her Little Lady.”

“ Little Lady ,” he cooed. “And aren’t you just?”

Artemis’s eyes rolled toward the sky.

If a donkey could look utterly besotted, Little Lady did.

“She likes you.” Her tone was most definitely pettish.

Bran cut her a quick glance. “Why shouldn’t she?”

Why , indeed?

Of course Little Lady liked him.

Artemis liked him, too.

Too much.

“Now.” His attention on Little Lady, he reached out and took the lead rope from Artemis.

She tried to ignore the brush of their fingers.

“Shall we try to move along?”

Artemis nodded, but she didn’t want to move along.

She was beginning to see Little Lady’s point.

If they didn’t move along, they could stay right here and live in this moment where no secrets or lies from the past could intrude.

They could exist forever in this uncomplicated Arcadia.

He and Artemis were engaged in a dance, Bran understood that.

Two people warily circling the fringes of a relationship, whether that be friendship or something else.

There were their past selves, still hanging about, but also fading.

And there were their present selves, as they faced one another.

Two people shadowed by the past, but— possibly —no longer prisoners of it.

Two people who could— again, possibly —come to know each other as they were now.

After all, they’d already made a start.

An impatient snort sounded at his side. Little Lady. She didn’t appreciate his attention being diverted elsewhere. He reached into his pocket for another sugar lump.

A snort came from his side. “Oh, wiles,” Artemis said, with equal parts annoyance and good humor.

How he liked her like this.

“Shall we?” he asked both ladies, wrapping the lead loosely around his hand.

He took a step. A small step, so the rope remained slack. Little Lady watched him—and remained exactly where she was.

As from a great distance, Artemis observed with her arms crossed over her chest. She lifted a single eyebrow.

On the next step, he would run out of slack—and options—if Little Lady decided she was happier where she was. But it was then the miracle occurred—Little Lady decided she would like to walk.

A rueful laugh sounded from Artemis. “Oh, you have surely made a friend.”