Miss Spencer Rides Astride (Heroines on Horseback) by Sydney Alexander Read Free Book Online

thought she must look very fine indeed.
    The gypsy on the ground, evidently agreeing, stopped talking and looked up at her. Then he looked at Len, thick eyebrows raised in question.
    “This is the lady herself,” Len explained. Then he looked at Grainne. Then he looked some more. He gave her a slow nod to let her know he appreciated the effort. Then he spoke. “Grainne, lass, would ye go and make us a pot of tea? Our business is nearly finished.”
    Grainne took a deep breath, which was the minimum amount of calming that her nerves would require if she was to avoid rushing at Len and murdering him for being so dismissive of her, and then nodded, lips tight. She spun on her booted heel and went stomping up the narrow steps of the caravan.
    She banged around the cramped quarters within, yanking down the dented old teapot from its hook and rooting around in a despicably unkept cupboard for the tin of tea. Just go inside like a dear and make us a spot of tea, darling! Don’t mind the menfolk doing their important menfolk business! All men were the same, weren’t they? Len was just as bad as the rest of them. Funny how she hadn’t seen that before! Did he think he was going to treat her like the little wife once they were out of Ireland? He had another think coming.
    She leaned against the wall for a moment, trying to recover her composure before she went out to put the kettle in the fire, and then realized that she could hear the men’s voices through the wall.  
    It’s a risk, bringin’ some gentleman’s daughter. There’ll be search parties, rewards. And nae dowry, Did ye think of that?
    Of course she’ll bring a dowry. What kind of a fool do you take me for?
    Ah. That horse?
    Aye. Good blood-mare, ought to bring a fine sum on the other side of t’channel. Keep us in clover for months.  
    Good thinkin’, man. Good thinkin’.
    I’m not thick-headed, whatever ye may have thought. I know what I’m about.
    Grainne was very still. The men outside were laughing; their business, she supposed, was completed at last. Their trip to the Continent was financed. She was financing it. Gretna was financing it. Grainne realized, somewhat belatedly, that she was committing herself to stealing a horse and running away with a gypsy. When you put it in so many words… She put a hand to her head, dizzy with horror.
    Then there was a step on the caravan, and a shadow in the door. Len was standing there, looking worried. “Alright, lass?”
    “A touch of headache,” Grainne lied.
    “Ye’ll want the tea for that. Hand me that pot and then have a lie-down in the bunk. I’ll bring ye a mug.”
    She nodded mutely and when he’d gone she clambered up into the bunk. The straw mattress was prickly beneath the quilt and she squirmed, trying to find a comfortable way to lie. She’d never been up here before; Len loved to lie her down on the grass and kiss her senseless, but he wouldn’t take her to bed. Not yet, he always said. Not yet.  
    If he had loved her as passionately as a man who wanted to marry a woman ought, he wouldn’t have been able to resist bringing her to bed, she was sure of that much. Grainne worked with a bunch of lads who gossiped like auld grannies. She knew about fits of passion, and compromised girls, and babes born five months after the wedding. Len had had ample opportunity to drag her up to this poky mattress and put her in a family way. But he hadn’t even suggested it.
    So perhaps Len didn’t love her, she thought. Perhaps he needed money, and she was a pretty girl who was good with horses and willing to be bedded and could steal a nice horse on her way out of her father’s house and good graces.  
    But no, that couldn’t be. She remembered the smoldering fire in his dark eyes when they were together, playing their dangerous games in the hidden meadow. The rasp in his voice when he finally ended their embraces, the way his hands would shake as he pushed her sleeves back upon her shoulders, her