A Difficult Disguise by Kasey Michaels Read Free Book Online Page B

gray eyes narrowed, Fletcher set out for the stable, his boot heels striking sharply against the gravel path as his many-caped drab coat billowed out behind him and raindrops gathered into a puddle inside the curved brim of his hat.
    Fletcher threw open the door to the stable so that it crashed against the wall, startling the horses into whinnying and pulling against their halter ropes in their stalls, and stepped inside, to stand very still for a moment as his eyes became accustomed to the dimness. He saw his personal saddle perched atop a low wall, his rolled baggage beside it, and his jaw set.
    Pagan, the huge black in the first stall, recognized his master and moved to hang his head over the front of the half-door as Fletcher approached, searching in his pocket for a carrot he had commandeered from the kitchens.
    “Presently, Pagan, presently,” Fletcher told the stallion, which showed all the signs of being ready for a good run. “First I do believe I shall have to fight a battle of wills with a recalcitrant young groom—if I can locate him, that is. I can only hope he hasn’t already loped off somewhere, knowing I’ve seen through his disguise. I didn’t used to be so unsubtle. I must be getting old, Pagan, which is a lowering thought indeed, and yet another grievance I shall hold over Master Smith’s head, as I wouldn’t have entertained the notion of age at all if it hadn’t been for him.”
    Leaving the horse for the moment, Fletcher walked along the long row of stalls that lined either side of the stable, looking into each stall in the hope of discovering his truant groom. Pausing in front of the last stall, he at last located his quarry, curled up in a corner of the small enclosed area, fast asleep atop a mound of fresh straw.
    He unlatched the half-door quietly and entered the stall, walking up to Billy to deliver a short, sharp poke to the groom’s hindquarters with the tip of the umbrella. “Come on, slugabed, time to get up!”
    There was an immediate, very vocal response as a small hand snaked out to push the umbrella to one side. “Ow! Hey, what do you think you’re doing, you sapskull? Can’t ye see I’m sleeping? Who do you think you’re poking anyway, Hedge? I’ve got a good mind to... Oh, Lord!”
    “Oh, Lord, indeed, Master Smith,” Fletcher repeated with as much hauteur as he could muster, dropping the umbrella and deliberately putting his fists on his hips and trying to look intimidating, a feat that was, according to Beck, impossible to achieve, thanks to his youthful blond good looks and perpetually laughing eyes. “I thought I had made it clear that we had planned to be on our way at first light?”
    Billy scrambled to her feet, a thundercloud aspect on her small face, and growled, “We didn’t plan anything. It was all your idea, and a worse one I cannot remember since your aunt thought it would be a jolly good idea to paint the stables pink. Can’t you hear? It’s raining fit to flood out there.”
    “And the sun will be shining before noon, if it isn’t already shining on the other side of the hill. You know that, Master Smith, as well as I do. Besides, you look as if you could do with a good bath. Do you really sleep in here every night? Why don’t you sleep in with Hedge? Surely there’s more than one cot in the room. I am not so pinch-penny an employer as to have my people bedding down in stalls.”
    Billy rolled her eyes at this last bit of nonsense, willing to overlook his insult concerning her personal cleanliness because he was right: bathing head to foot with any frequency at Lakeview was a problem she had yet to overcome. “You don’t know much, do you?” she retorted, too sleepy and out of sorts to guard her tongue. “No one in their right mind ever stands, yet alone sleeps, downwind of Hedge. He hasn’t seen soap or water in twenty years.”
    “Thirty would have been my guess,” Fletcher replied, grinning. “Now let’s be on with it. I want to reach