Kingfisher Morning

He had Juniper's bridle now, his strong brown hand clenched on the leather. Juniper was quieter, calmed by Ross's very presence, aware that a new element had been called into play.

'Get down,' Ross told her crisply.

Emma obeyed, thankful to stand on firm ground once more, her legs somewhat shaky after her ordeal.

Ross turned Juniper's head, began to move off.

'Where are you going?' she called, not believing her eyes. He could not mean to abandon her here, surely?

'You can walk back,' he snapped. 'It may well teach you a well-deserved lesson.'

'Ross!'

He did not even look back. Leading the bay and riding the great black horse with straight-backed ease, he disappeared towards the sandy bridle track without a word.

'Ross!' Her voice rose angrily, sending the birds spiralling upwards again, uttering cries of irritation and alarm. 'Ross, wait for me!'

She followed him, along the trail of broken branches, crushed leaves, trodden bracken. The scent of sap and earth rose fresh and heady around her. She saw a grey squirrel scamper up an ash tree. A crow screamed hoarsely, amused and mocking. Ross was out of sight when she gained the bridle path. She heard hoofbeats in the distance, the two horses moving at a calm trot.

'Damn him,' Emma said softly, half amused, half furious. 'He might have waited!'

She hurried forward, then winced, remembering the thorns which Juniper had managed to embed in her legs. Looking down, she saw several thorns still projecting from her sturdy blue jeans. The material had deflected some, no doubt, but others had pierced right through the cloth.

She bent and pulled them out, wincing as she did so, and looking at the thorns with distaste. When she lifted her jeans and inspected her calves she found that her skin was scratched and bleeding in a number of places.

'I won't ride Juniper again,' she told herself. 'Ross was right about him!' Then she grimaced at the thought. There was nothing as maddening as a man who was always right!

She found her handkerchief, dabbed the blood away as best she could, then rolled down her jeans again and set off at a steady pace.

Ross met her at the edge of the wood. He stood, hands in his pockets, watching her approach with a mocking tilt of the head. 'It's going to be a long walk home,' he said maliciously. 'Think you can make it?'

'I'll make it,' she said flatly.

His eyes narrowed. 'Are you limping?'

'No,' she lied averting her gaze.

He caught her by the shoulder to halt her, knelt and rolled back the left leg of her jeans until the red, scratched shin came into view. The cuts were bleeding again. Ross swore under his breath.

'How

the hell did you do this? They look like razor cuts.'

'Thorns,' she said succinctly.

'So Juniper did throw you?' He looked up at her, his hands absently moving as he wiped the blood away with his own handkerchief. 'Why didn't you tell me?'

'He didn't throw me,' she said. 'He just tried to—he kept plunging around near a huge gorse bush. My legs took the brunt of it.'

'It looks painful,' he said tightly. 'I hope it is. It may teach you a lesson. I'd like to beat you!' He rolled down her jeans, stood up and stared at her broodingly. 'Now how am I to get you home? You can't walk in that condition.'

'It isn't far,' she said. 'I'll manage.'

He shook his head. 'No. Hang on…I've had an idea. Wait here…' He ran back along the road. In a short time he was back, riding a rather ancient bicycle. He grinned at her. 'You can sit in front.'

'It looks very unsteady,' she said doubtfully. 'Are you sure it's roadworthy?'

'It will save your legs,' he said. 'Come on, girl, take a chance!'