Silk and Shadows(16)

Having had time to become accustomed to the Kafir's ways, Sara was slightly less stunned than the rest. Presumably her companion would return when he and the horse had ridden off their high spirits, but meanwhile Sara felt uncomfortably conspicuous.

Then, to her relief, a familiar voice drawled, "My eyes say that it is you, Sara, but my mind flatly refuses to believe it. Pray clarify my confusion."

Sara turned to see the stout, good-natured figure of a distant cousin, Sir Wilfred Whiteman. "Believe your eyes, Wilfred." She offered her hand. "How are you today?"

"Prospering, my dear." He bowed gracefully. "Who is your energetic companion? A Red Indian from the American frontier? I understand that they prefer to ride without saddles."

She shook her head. "He's a friend of Lord Ross's, Prince Peregrine of Kafiristan. He rides well, doesn't he?"

"That he does," Wilfred replied with unfeigned respect.

Sara smiled inwardly; if the prince wanted to become an instant legend, he was going about it very cleverly. Fashionable gentlemen like Wilfred might be startled by his actions, but in an approving way. Even Mr. Tattersall looked indulgent after his shock wore off, though he handed the prince's hat to a groom.

For ten minutes or so, Wilfred amused Sara with scandalous gossip. Then Peregrine trotted in on the stallion, both of them looking vastly pleased with themselves. "Magnificent, Mr. Tattersall," he said as he reined the horse in. "What is your price to sell him before auction?"

The proprietor's eyes narrowed as he speculated how much an ignorant foreigner might be willing to pay. "A thousand guineas."

"Done."

Sara almost laughed at Tattersall's expression when he saw that he might have gotten much more for the horse. However, she did not waste much sympathy on him; a thousand guineas was probably more than Mr. Tattersall could have gotten at auction.

Then Peregrine rode over to Sara. His wavy black hair, which he wore a little long, was tangled from the wind, and he looked untamed and splendid and free, not at all like an Englishman. "His gaits are like silk, Sara." He extended one hand to her. "Come, ride with me."

Sara felt the blood drain from her face. She looked up at him helplessly, knowing that he did not understand what he was asking. Then, as their gazes caught and held, his expression changed. He saw too much, damn him. His green eyes compelling, he said so softly that no one else could hear, "Trust me."

She wanted to turn and run. Instead, before she could think too much about what she was doing, she took a deep breath and clasped the prince's hand. Effortlessly he lifted her onto the stallion, turning her in midair so that she landed crossways in front of him, her legs resting against his left thigh.

He waited a moment for her to settle herself. Then, as she convulsively clenched the gray mane, he urged the stallion out into the street. It took only a few moments to trot through the traffic of Hyde Park Corner and bring them to the park proper.

Peregrine turned the horse into the wide lane called Rotten Row, which was nearly empty at this hour, then put the stallion into a canter. At first the lack of a saddle made Sara's fear infinitely worse. Terror held her rigid, and she bounced against the horse with bone-rattling force. But gradually her fear began to subside, for the prince's warm, hard body held her more securely than any saddle. As she relaxed against him, she felt all the subtle movements he used to guide and control his mount.

As Peregrine had promised, the stallion's gait was sweet and smooth. Sara began to soften into the rhythm of the horse's motion. As her body remembered and her fear ebbed away, she began to enjoy the almost forgotten touch of wind against her face. It had been so long....

"Are you all right?" he asked quietly.

She nodded. "Now I am."

"You have not been on a horse since your accident?"

"No. The usual advice is to remount as soon as possible after a fall, but I couldn't, not for years. And by the time I had recovered physically"—she shuddered— "I couldn't make myself do it. I'm such a coward."

"On the contrary, sweet Sara, you are very brave. Are you not here, defying custom and riding the wind like Pegasus?"

"The credit for that belongs to you, not me," she said dryly. Her mind seemed split in two. On one side was the knowledge that she was behaving in an utterly irrational fashion by riding bareback through a London park with a wild man. Her father would be shocked, her friends disbelieving.

Yet at the same time, she felt as if her actions were completely natural. The mysterious prince had been born on the opposite side of the world, raised with values and customs that were completely alien to hers. Yet no man but Ross had talked to her as directly as Peregrine did, or seen as deeply into her. Ross was very nearly her brother, but what was Peregrine?