Moonspun Magic (Magic Trilogy 3)
Page 16
“Prickly, aren’t you?”
Victoria didn’t answer. She was concentrating on staying on the horse’s back. The muscles in her leg knotted and pulled and throbbed.
“Fate,” Rafael said, staring between his horse’s ears, “is a bloody strange thing.”
“Yes,” she said, “yes, it is.”
He tried bits of conversation with her, but she was silent, and he guessed from her unnatural stiffness that she was in pain. But why didn’t she want a doctor?
When they came into Axmouth, Victoria forced herself to speak. “Mr. Carstairs, if you will take me to this inn you spoke about, I will be fine.”
“Will you?”
“Yes. Then you may go about your business.”
He sighed deeply. “What am I to do with you, Miss Abermarle?”
“Nothing. I will see to myself.”
“Just as you did so very well tonight? I don’t suppose you’ve ever heard of the Bishop?”
“Well, yes, I have. Before tonight, I thought he was just one of those Cornish legends.”
“Evidently he’s still very much with us. He isn’t at all a man of sterling reputation.”
“I know,” she said on a weary sigh. “I suppose I should thank you for saving me.”
“Yes, you should.”
“Thank you.”
Rafael pulled the tired horse to a halt in front of the Sir Francis Drake Inn. He wasn’t known here, thank God. “Do you wish to be my sister or my wife?”
He felt her go perfectly still.
“Quickly, it must be one or the other.”
“Sister.”
“Very well.”
A stable lad was there, thankfully, and Rafael tossed him their valises. Slowly, careful not to hurt her, he dismounted, Victoria close against his chest. Her arm was around his neck. “Good girl,” he said against her ear.
If the innkeeper didn’t believe them to be related, he didn’t say anything. He did, however, assign them adjoining rooms, a fact that made Rafael shake his head at the cynicism of his fellowman.
He carried Victoria into her small bedchamber and gently eased her down onto the bed. A maid stood close by, lighting a branch of candles.
“You may go now,” Rafael said over his shoulder. He didn’t turn, for he was staring down at Victoria Abermarle. Even dusty, a smudge of dirt on her cheek, her hair wildly disheveled, he saw that she was a beauty. And young, as fresh as a new winter snowfall. Chestnut hair, thick and lustrous, and blue eyes—not a faded, washed-out blue, but a vivid dark blue. No wonder Damien wanted her.
Victoria, in her turn, was looking up at him. He was so much like Damien, even those silver-gray eyes of his, that she flinched unconsciously in fear. Even in the light, she saw but one major difference—this man was deeply tanned. Unfortunately, the tan would fade.
“You are so like him.”
“Yes, as I told you, we are twins. Now, I am off to fetch you a doctor for your ankle.”
“No, please don’t.”
He heard the anxiety in her voice and frowned down at her. “Why ever not? You are obviously in pain. At least the doctor could dose you with laudanum.”