Eye of the Wind by Jane Jackson Read Free Book Online

his stride.
    Melissa gave him his head, relishing the speed, the rush of cool air against her face, the sense of freedom. Though rarely ill herself, she felt genuine sympathy for her mother’s suffering. Yet she couldn’t avoid a sense of relief that she would not, after all, have to attend the assembly the following evening. She knew most people would find it ridiculous that what, for them, was enjoyable entertainment should be, for her, a kind of purgatory. And naturally, as soon as her mother was well again, she would comply with her parents’ wishes and do her very best to find a husband acceptable to them and herself. But, in the meantime, her mother’s illness provided a most welcome reprieve.
    She bent low over Samson’s neck as he thundered across the rolling field, only reining him in as they neared the woods. The massive fallen bough of the horse chestnut reminded her of her intention to see what damage had resulted from the storms. This was the ideal opportunity, and meant her father would be spared the effort of coming down himself. His manner over the past months, anxious and indecisive, was so unlike him. She had assumed that after a year – though Adrian’s loss would remain with him always – her father’s abstraction would have receded. Instead, it had increased, especially during this last eight weeks. Yet who could say how long or how deeply grief should be felt? Understanding, not criticism, was needed. But all her reasoning and sympathy could not banish the growing suspicion that something more was preying on him.
    The sun was up now, angling through new leaves that fluttered in the stirring breeze and dappling the path with shadows. Blackbirds chirped and whistled, pigeons repeated their monotonous gargling coo, and iridescent mayflies danced over a puddle. Samson’s ears twitched continuously at the rustlings in the grass and bushes edging the path and he tossed his head, dancing sideways, still full of energy.
    Sharing his impatience, Melissa gathered up the reins again. She would ride on down to the yard. It was still early, but Tom would almost certainly be there. He could tell her if there was anything on which he needed a decision. Then, after speaking to her father at breakfast, she could relay any message when she rode out later.
    ‘Go on, then,’ she whispered, leaning forward, and laughed in delight as she felt the great muscles bunch and flex, and the horse stretched his long legs into a gallop. Ducking low to avoid overhanging branches, her hands light on the reins, she guided Samson along the path, exultant as he cleared two fallen trees without breaking his stride.
    As they rounded a curve, still at full gallop, Melissa glimpsed something ahead blocking the path and shouted a warning as she hauled on the reins. Thoroughly startled by this sudden rough treatment as well as by the moving shape that was straightening into the tall figure of a man, Samson skidded, rearing up on his hind legs.
    Instead of jumping back off the path and out of her way, the man dropped the bundle he was carrying and lunged forward. Melissa screamed in shock as he grabbed Samson’s bridle and pulled the horse’s head down, making it impossible for the frightened animal to lift his forelegs off the ground and unseat his rider.
    Stroking the horse’s arched, sweating neck with his other hand, he murmured softly. But the cracked, rasping sounds he made were barely human and did nothing to calm Melissa’s unease or her anger, nor did his size. Tall, with heavily muscled shoulders stretching his coarse linen shirt, he was the biggest man she had ever seen, and made even more unnerving by a darkly bearded profile half-hidden by a wild mane of curly hair.
    Still quivering and snorting, Samson had stopped trying to tear himself loose. The stark realisation that, on her own, she could not have achieved so swift a response punctured her fury. But this immediately flared again as it occurred to her that had