The Innocent's One-Night Confession: The Innocent's One-Night Confession / Hired to Wear the Sheikh's Ring. Sara Craven
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with me earlier.’
Alanna, staring down at the tablecloth, murmured that she hadn’t been on a horse for some time.
‘No matter.’ Niamh dismissed that with a wave of her hand. ‘We’ll put you on Dolly. She’s quiet and easy paced.
You’ll be fine.’ She paused, her brow wrinkled. ‘And I could always call Felicity. I’m sure she’d be glad to ride over and keep you company.’
Alanna became aware that all other conversation at the table had suddenly ceased.
The silence was broken by Gerard. He said evenly, ‘There’s no need for that, Grandam. I expect Felicity has plenty to do. Anyway, I’m taking Alanna riding.’
‘But not this morning, darling.’ She gave him a tranquil smile. ‘Didn’t I say I wanted you to ride over to the Home Farm for a chat with Mr Hodson? It must have slipped my mind, but he’ll be expecting you.’
She paused. ‘But you’re probably right about Felicity. After all, it’s little enough her father sees of her these days, poor man.’
Alanna saw Joanne and her mother exchanging glances, and hurried into speech.
‘Gerard, I honestly don’t mind about the riding. I can explore the cloister and have a wander round the gardens instead.’
‘No, no,’ said Mrs Harrington. ‘A good canter in the fresh air will do you more good. Put some colour in your face instead of that pale London look.’
She nodded. ‘I’ll tell Jacko, my groom, to go along with you and make sure you don’t get lost.’ And returned to her boiled egg.
Alanna, her cheeks burning, decided bitterly she need no longer worry about her pallor.
If Mrs Harrington was delivering a message that she was out of place here, it was quite unnecessary. And so she would tell Gerard as soon as the first opportunity presented itself. In fact her immediate impulse was to request him to drive her to the nearest station and a train back to London, and to hell with the party, the abbey, and everyone in it.
Except, of course, that Zandor might draw the conclusion that this unexpected departure had some connection with him, and that was something her pride could not risk.
No, she decided grimly, she would stick it out to the bitter end.
Her breakfast finished, she excused herself politely and left the dining room. Gerard, tight-lipped and his eyes stormy, halted her at the foot of the stairs.
‘Where are you going?’
‘To change.’ She indicated her jeans and boots. ‘I’ve decided to save your grandmother’s groom the trouble after all and spend the morning here.’
‘No,’ he said urgently. ‘I must talk to you—and privately. So, I’m going to ride over to the Home Farm and while I’m down at the stables I’ll tell Jacko to take you up to Whitemoor Common, and join you as soon as I’ve finished with old Hodson.’
Alanna hesitated. ‘Do you think that’s wise?’
‘I think it’s essential.’ He paused. ‘Is it agreed?’
She sighed. ‘I suppose—yes.’
After all, she reasoned as she continued to her room, this time to fetch a sweater, this private talk could work both ways.
* * *
Dolly was a dapple grey, sturdy rather than elegant, but with a calm eye and Jacko was on much the same lines, watching critically as Alanna swung herself into the saddle and rode beside him out of the yard and along the track beside the paddock.
He was also a man of few words. ‘Whitemoor Common, is it, miss?’ and her response of, ‘Yes, please,’ being the sum total of their conversation.
Fifteen minutes along a quiet lane brought them to their destination, a wide expanse of scrubby grassland and bracken, studded with pale rocks and the occasional tree.
Jacko gave her a brusque nod and turned his own horse back towards the abbey.
Alanna watched him go, then dismounted, hitching Dolly’s reins over a low branch of a mountain ash. Removing her borrowed hat, she pulled off her sweater, tying it loosely over her shoulders, before seating herself on the short grass at the side of the lane, her back against a white painted stone, announcing ‘Whitemoor’ in faded black letters, and lifting her face to the sun while Dolly cropped contentedly a few feet away.
All in all, she thought, a pretty isolated spot, but she knew that Gerard had set off for Home Farm over an hour before, so maybe she would not have to wait too long.
Nor did she. The warmth was just beginning to make her feel drowsy after her restless night when Dolly gave a soft whinny.
Alanna opened her eyes and sat upright, as she saw a solitary rider on a stylish bay cantering slowly towards her from the opposite side of the common.
It occurred to her, watching his approach, that Gerard was a much better horseman than she would have supposed. But then, she chided herself, what possible justification did she have for making such a judgement about him—apart from his seeming perfectly at home in the city?
Yet, she thought as she got to her feet, lifting a hand to shade her eyes, he was also the heir to the abbey.
Except...
She drew a swift, sharp breath.
Except, now that she was no longer dazzled by the sun, she could see that the new arrival not only had hair as dark and glossy as a raven’s wing, but was also wearing a deep crimson shirt as opposed to the blue that Gerard had been wearing at breakfast. And knew exactly who was getting closer by the second.
To this isolated spot—her own assessment—where every instinct was warning her that it would be too dangerous to be alone with him.
I won’t, she thought. Dear God, I can’t...
Her mouth was suddenly dry, her heart thundering in panic as she stumbled towards Dolly, unhitching her reins with a jerk, then hurling herself up into the saddle and recklessly kicking the startled mare into a gallop.
She heard him shout her name, but ignored it, bending low over Dolly’s neck and urging her on, her breath sobbing in her throat, realising too late that the treacherously uneven surface of the common was the last place to stage any kind of race.
Because Zandor was coming after her. Gaining on her fast, even though Dolly, rudely jolted out of her normal placidity, was now making a fight of it with her stablemate, leaving Alanna to curse her own stupidity.
She tried to pull on the reins, but the mare tossed her head in protest and tore them from her grasp, leaving her clinging desperately to Dolly’s mane.
At the same moment, Zandor drew level with them. He reached an arm across and snatched Alanna from her saddle, his iron grip pinning her to his side and leaving her dangling helplessly as he brought his own horse under control and then to a complete halt.
Alanna began to struggle. She said breathlessly, ‘Let go of me, damn you. Put me down.’
‘With pleasure,’ he returned curtly and dropped her, letting her land on her backside on a tussock of coarse grass with a thud that seemed to jar every bone in her body.
Dolly had slowed too, and was trotting in bewildered circles, apparently realising that the unexpected excitement was over.
Zandor patted his horse’s neck, murmuring something soothing in a language Alanna did not recognise, then dismounted looping his reins round the branch of a small stunted tree, then walked over to Dolly, whistling softly.
At first she shied away, then as he waited, still whistling the same quiet tune, she dropped her head and came to him, allowing him to walk her back and tether her near the bay.
Meanwhile, Alanna, her breathing still flurried, had scrambled