Susan Krinard - Fane - 2 by Lord Of The Beasts

Author:Lord Of The Beasts [Beasts, Lord Of The]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 2011-01-16T23:23:24.101000+00:00

Donal closed his eyes, no longer able to separate himself from his patient’s primal desires. No longer wishing to do so.

“Where will we have this race?” he said through clenched teeth.

Inglesham nodded with smug satisfaction. “Just over that rise is a long meadow bounded by stands of wych elms on either side. We shall start at one end and finish at the other.”

“And what are the stakes?”

“Given your limited funds, Doctor, I shall not strain your purse. If I win, you will formulate a convincing excuse, pack your bags and leave Edgecott within the week.”

Donal’s blood seethed in his veins. “And if Boreas wins?”

“I shall not speak to Sir Geoffrey about your inappropriate affection for his daughter.” His face sagged in a parody of regret. “How unpleasant it would be if she is forced to choose between placating her fragile father and keeping you…employed.”

Donal knew exactly how he should reply to such an outrageous threat, but his mouth refused to form the words. He had become as mute as Boreas, capable of showing his emotions only through the actions of his body and the resolution in his heart.

He turned and strode past Apollo to Boreas and snatched the lead from Gallagher. The groom stepped back as Donal swung onto the stallion’s back. Man and beast became one in that moment, perfectly attuned and intent on only one goal.

Boreas set off for the meadow at a trot. Tod flickered over the stallion’s neck, his face split in a devilish grin.

“Shall Tod knock that man off, my lord?” he asked. “There are nettles in the meadow.”

Boreas tossed his head. Donal shook his. “No, Tod. No magic.”

Tod shrugged and settled in for the ride. Inglesham and Apollo soon overtook them, Gallagher trailing at a breathless jog. Within minutes they were gathered beneath the elms at the south end of the meadow, gazing across the smooth expanse of sheep-cropped grass.

“Are you ready?” Inglesham asked Donal with a supercilious grin.

Donal nodded, his attention absorbed by the irresistible force of Boreas’s need. He hardly noticed when Gallagher took up the starter’s position and raised his cap. He gave no command when the cap fell.

Boreas plunged forward like an eagle stooping after its prey, and Apollo was only a hand’s-breadth behind him.

The working of legs like powerful pistons, the thrust of hooves that tore the sod and sent it flying, the flare of nostrils sucking in air to fuel lungs and heart and blood and bone…all these sensations became Donal’s world. He bent low over Boreas’s back, exulting in the sheer love of the race, the single thing this brave soul had cherished in an existence of abuse and neglect.

But the glory couldn’t last. A pale blur appeared at Boreas’s right side, its elegant form marred by the figure who clung to its back. Donal bared his teeth and whispered a rhythmic chant of encouragement, even as he recognized that Boreas’s courage was not enough. Even as he felt the pull of tendons and the grinding of bones as an old injury dragged the stallion back to earth.

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