The Cruel Count (Bantam Series No. 28) by Barbara Cartland Read Free Book Online Page A

forehead,” he said unexpectedly.
    “I ... I ... walked into a ... branch of a ... tree,” Vesta said quickly.
    “It must have had sand on it,” he remarked dryly.
    Then keeping his hand under her elbow he helped her back through the wood to where the horses were patiently waiting for them.
    He picked her up in his arms and lifted her into the saddle.
    “Do you feel well enough to go on?” he asked. “We have not far to go to the Inn where we must stay the night.”
    “I am ... quite all ... right,” Vesta replied proudly.
    “Do you wish to put on your hat?” he asked.
    She realised he had carried it in his other hand and she had been too bemused to think of it.
    “No, I do not ... need it,” she answered.
    “Then I will take it with me,” he said.
    “Not if ... it is any ... trouble.”
    “It is no trouble,” he replied. “Tell me if you wish to stop again.”
    “Your ... your brandy has cured my ... sickness,” Vesta said. “I am sure I shall be ... all right ... now.”
    She did not dare look at him in case he should see through her pretence. She could not bear him to know that it was only her cowardice and her fear of heights which had made her feel so faint.
    ‘How he would despise me,’ she thought.
    But sea-sickness was something no-one, however important they were, could prevent.
    They set off again. Now the sun was low in the sky and the thickness of the trees made the wood seem dark and mysterious.
    ‘I wonder if there are dragons somewhere in the patches of green darkness,’ Vesta thought.
    When she was a child she had always imagined that dragons lived in fir-woods and had told herself stories about how she was rescued from them by Knights in shining armour.
    But no-one, she thought, would have imagined the Count was a Knight in shining armour. Rather he was like the Devil himself trying to tempt her into shirking her duty and, when she would not be tempted, evoking all the fires of hell to support his vendetta against her.
    ‘The fires of hell,’ she told herself, ‘are the right simile, for I would rather encounter them any day than the ride again along that cliff’s edge!”

 
    Chapter Three
    Their path now was straight and the woods were dense on each side. Then quite unexpectedly the trees cleared and Vesta saw ahead of them a building.
    It was not a very prepossessing sight, for the building was rough half-timbered and its roof was held down with large stones.
    It appeared at first sight to be derelict: most of the windows had no glass in them and some were blocked with what appeared to be rags.
    Her expression must have shown her surprise, for the Count explained:
    ‘It is an Inn used only by woodcutters and an occasional hunter after bear or chamois. It is the only possible place to rest, and I cannot believe you will relish riding through the night toward Djilas.”
    “No of course not,” Vesta said, “and at least it will be a roof over our heads.”
    She tried to smile as she spoke, but they had now drawn nearer to the Inn and at close quarters it looked even more dilapidated than it had at first. What was more, she had the suspicion that it was extremely dirty. The Count dismounted and because Vesta was staring at the building she was not quick enough to reach the ground before he lifted her from the saddle.
    “There will be stabling of a sort where I can put these animals,” he said.
    “I will come with you,” Vesta said quickly.
    She felt reluctant to enter the Inn alone and perhaps have to explain her presence.
    The Count had been right in supposing there would be “stabling of a sort.” There were just two rough byres, into which he put the horses and removed the saddles.
    There was water in a bucket in each byre and some rather mildewy-looking hay, which however the animals began to chew with apparent relish.
    “They are used to roughing it,” the Count said with a smile as he secured the byres by a wooden bar which was attached with a piece of rope.