A Rogues Proposal (Cynster 4)

"I'll ride home through the park. I'll see you on the Heath tomorrow afternoon."

"No."

Surprised, she stared at him. Before she could scowl, he clarified, "I'll ride back to Hillgate End with you. It's after midnight-you shouldn't be out riding alone."

She didn't scowl, but he sensed her resistance. She studied him, then opened her mouth, doubtless to argue, when a breeze wafted through the clearing and set the trees shivering. It moaned, softly, eerily, through the branches, then died away on a sigh, an expiring banshee leaving only the rustling leaves slowly stilling in the deep darkness.

Flick shut her mouth and nodded. "Yes, all right."

Shaking her reins she set out; muttering his by now customary oath, Demon wheeled Ivan and set out to catch up. He did in short order; side by side, they rode across the next field-the last bastion of his domain. Beyond its hedge, directly ahead of them, lay the furthest reaches of the former park of Hillgate End.

There was a spot they both knew where the hedge thinned; they pushed through onto an old bridle path. Flick led the way into the dark shadows beneath the trees.

Although some of the park's paths were kept in good condition for riders, notably Flick, to enjoy, this was not one of them. Bushes pressed close on either side, branches flapped before their faces. They had to walk their mounts-it was too dangerous to even trot. The path was deep in leaf mold; it occasionally dipped, creating the added danger of their horses slipping. They both instinctively guarded their precious mounts, alert to every shift in weight, in muscle, in balance, of the beasts beneath them.

The General had no love of shooting, so the park had become a refuge for wildlife. A badger snuffled and growled as they passed him; later, they heard rustling, then the yips of a fox.

"I didn't realize it would be this bad." Flick ducked beneath a low-hanging branch.

Demon grunted. "I thought this was the route you used to go back and forth to the cottage. Obviously not."

"I normally take the path to the east, but that crosses the stream twice, and after last night's rain, I didn't want to risk Jessamy's knees going up and down slippery banks."

Demon didn't point out that she was risking Jessamy's knees right now-they were deep in the park, with the centuries-old trees forming an impenetrable canopy overhead; he could barely see Flick, let alone any irregularities in the path. Luckily, both Jessamy and Ivan could see better than him. They stepped out confidently; both he and Flick fell back on trust and let their horses find their own way.

After some time had elapsed, he asked, "Doesn't this path cross the stream, too?"

"Yes, but there's a bridge." After a moment, Flick amended, "Well, there was a bridge last time I came this way."

Lips thinning, Demon didn't bother asking how long ago that had been; they'd deal with the rotted and possibly ex-bridge when they came to it.

Before they did, it started to rain.

At first, the light pattering on the leaves high above was of little consequence. But the tattoo steadily grew more forceful, then the forest about them started to drip.

Flick shuddered as a series of heavy drops splattered her. Instinctively, she urged Jessamy on.

"No!" Demon scowled through the night. "Hold her steady. It's too dangerous to go faster-you know that."

Her silent acquiescence told him she did. They plodded on, increasingly damp, increasingly cold.

Above them, above the trees, the wind started to rise, to whistle and moan and shake the leaves. Jaw set, Demon searched his memories, trying to gauge how much farther they had to go, but he'd never been on this path before. He didn't know how it meandered, and he couldn't place where it came out. But given the fact that this path crossed the stream only once, and they'd been making very slow progress…

He didn't like the answers his estimations suggested. They were still a long way from the manor.

Just how far was revealed when they came to a break in the trees, and he saw before them the stream with a narrow log and plank bridge spanning it. And the charcoal maker's hut in the clearing beyond. That, he recognized.

Beneath his breath, he swore.

As if in answer, the heavens cracked; the rain positively teemed. Faced with the sudden torrent-a curtain falling between them and the bridge-Jessamy and Flick balked.

Muttering all manner of dire imprecations, Demon swung down. He tied Ivan's reins to a tree; the stallion, made of stern stuff, seemed unfazed by the downpour. Head up, he sniffed the air and looked toward the bridge.

The bridge that, if not in good condition, would assuredly collapse under his weight.

"Stay back!" Demon yelled at Flick. Pushing past Jessamy, he strode the three paces to the bridge. Ignoring the rain, he checked the structure thoroughly, in the end standing atop its middle and jumping up and down. The timbers didn't creak; the bridge seemed sound enough.

Ducking back through the rain, he nodded at Flick, then freed his reins and was back in the saddle. Despite the downpour, he wasn't soaked; the bridge itself was protected by a huge oak on the stream's opposite bank.