The Horsemaster's Daughter. Сьюзен Виггс

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СКАЧАТЬ one wife on Assateague. This island was a place where people with secrets might come. He wondered what Henry Flyte’s secret had been.

      As he surveyed the landscape, a movement on the beach below caught his eye.

      In a dazzle of sunshine, Eliza Flyte walked along the broad ribbon of sand. Her bare feet left a trail of imprints. She moved slowly, though a curious sense of purpose marked her demeanor. She was strange indeed, with her bare ankles and tattered skirts, and thick, indigo hair pulled back in a long tail. She was as slender as a girl, and at first glance yesterday he had mistaken her for one. One look at her full breasts and curving hips had disabused him of that notion. She was no girl, but a woman. A crazy woman, alas.

      In one hand she carried a loose length of rope, and she held a halter looped over her shoulder.

      He was about to call out, but then he caught another movement at the edge of his field of vision. His jaw dropped. It was the stallion, a huge rust-colored shadow trailing in her wake.

      A single thought streaked through his mind. The horse was a killer.

      Half running, half falling down the slope of the dune, Hunter raced toward the beach. He had seen what the stallion could do. The woman had no idea of the danger she courted. Hunter wished he had his gun, but the fool woman had drowned all his shot. He had to make do with yelling, waving his arms as he ran down the hill.

      Both horse and woman turned to him at the same moment. The stallion whistled and snorted, then reared and landed with front feet splayed, ready for battle. Eliza Flyte regarded Hunter with fury in her eyes. The horse tossed his head to one side, and Hunter feared he would attack her.

      He redoubled his speed, pausing only to pick up a length of driftwood. He flung it with all his might at the horse. He missed, but the stallion broke and ran. Hunter released a sigh of relief, but he knew the danger wasn’t past. He had to get Eliza Flyte to safety.

      “This way,” he yelled, grabbing her arm and pulling her toward the dunes. “For Chrissake, hurry!”

      She pulled back, her strength surprising as she wrenched free of him. “Are you mad?” she demanded. “I almost—”

      “I’m not the crazy one around here.” He reached for her again.

      She feinted away. “It took me half an hour to get him this far,” she snapped. “Now you’ve spooked him and I’ll have to start all over again.”

      He cast a look at the horse. Finn stood tensely some yards away. His skin twitched, and his tail flicked nervously over his flanks. His nostrils were distended, eyes wary.

      “I’ve seen what this horse can do,” Hunter said. “I won’t stand by and watch him attack you.”

      “He won’t attack me.”

      “Damn it—”

      “Look.” She edged away from him as if fearing he’d try to touch her again. Her long hair twitched in a manner that reminded him of the horse. “Give me a chance with this horse. That’s all I ask. Just a chance.”

      “No. It’s too dangerous.”

      “Please,” she said, her anger draining away to desperation. “I need to try. Just let me try.”

      He didn’t know why she moved him. What was she, anyway, but a strange hermit woman with crazy ideas? Yet he found himself softening, relenting. “I’ll wait there,” he said, pointing to a gnarled, budding tree at the edge of the marsh. He stooped and picked up the stout piece of driftwood. “And if he goes on the attack, so will I.”

      “But you have to promise you won’t unless I call for your help.”

      He hesitated. Then, surprising himself as well as her, he said, “I promise.”

      She didn’t smile, though her eyes shone in a way he shouldn’t have noticed, but did. “I hope you have a lot of patience,” she said, hefting the rope over her shoulder. “You’re going to need it.”

      Hunter waited quietly in the shadows, feeling the wind dry the sweat on his face. He was convinced he’d have to save Eliza Flyte from herself, from her own fool notions. He was amazed at how scared he’d been, seeing her stalked by that horse. He was even more amazed that she’d convinced him to let her try her weird training again.

      Walking along the beach as if just taking a stroll, she completely disregarded both Hunter and the horse. The stallion turned at an angle, but Hunter could tell Finn was watching her with one wary eye. She continued walking, elaborately and disdainfully ignoring him. Like an inquisitive child, the stallion sidled closer.

      Hunter’s fist closed around the makeshift club. Instinct told him to act quickly, spook the horse, but he forced himself to stay still. And watchful.

      The horse moved closer and closer, inexorably drawn to the woman walking along the empty beach. Hunter could relate to that level of curiosity even as the tension churned in his gut. He tried not to think about the hired groom almost fainting from the pain in his shattered wrist.

      The horse closed in near her shoulder. She sent Hunter the swiftest of looks, warning him not to interfere. His muscles quivered with the urge to act.

      Eliza turned, quite calmly, and made a shooing motion with the rope. Snakelike, the rope sailed through the air and dropped on the sand. The horse immediately shied back, pawing the sand and dipping his head in irritation.

      But he didn’t spook the way he had when Hunter had run at him. He wondered why Eliza would do that with the rope. Why provoke a dangerous animal? What was she thinking?

      She continued walking, unconcerned. She reached a tall brake of reeds where the sand disappeared into the spongy estuary leading to the marsh. Making a wide turn, she headed back the way she had come, staying on the beach. To Hunter’s surprise, the horse followed her, though he gave her a wide berth.

      After a few minutes, the stallion approached her obliquely again, and again she shooed him away, flicking the rope in his direction. She behaved like an exasperated mother flapping her apron at a wayward child. And like the wayward child, the horse never did lose interest, but kept trying to move in closer. They repeated the bizarre exchange several times more, always with the same result.

      Then, with her shoulders square and her eye fixed on the horse, she moved abruptly toward the stallion.

      Her motion alarmed Hunter. He took a step forward, then remembered his promise and made himself stop. Finn cantered in a tight loop, his attention fixed on her. Hunter expected him to disappear, but instead, he loped around and came back again. She kept pushing, taunting, startling him into flight over and over again. She never looked away from the horse, and the horse never looked away from her. It was an intricate dance of aggression and surrender, the partners intent on one another. The fascination was mutual.

      Hunter kept expecting her to call for help, because the horse had moved in too close for comfort. Then he realized, with a start, that Eliza was controlling the situation completely. She dictated when the horse could come near, and when she wanted him to flee. There had to be a point to her actions but he couldn’t quite decide what that point was. She had the posture of ritual—the fierce attention of her stare, the dignified stance of her body, the solemn flick of her arm shooing him away.

      After a few minutes, her gaze underwent a subtle СКАЧАТЬ