Prologue
Essex, England. 1833
The dare had seemed simple enough.
Ride his father’s new stallion bareback around the stable and return it to its pen, none the worse for wear. Colin’s cousin, William, had issued the challenge and watched from a garden bench some yards away. The boys were at Colin’s house, alone for a spell as their parents attended a funeral in the village.
Well, alone except for the servants, including the new stable master, Patrick Callahan. Colin’s father had been quite reluctant to hire an Irishman, let alone one who was but twenty-two years old, yet he had relented when he witnessed Patrick’s unquestionable mastery with the horses. When Colin asked why it mattered where Patrick was from, his father had told him he’d understand when he was grown.
At thirteen, Colin was quite tired of being treated as a child, although he still looked like one. William had sprouted up, and though they were the same age and Colin was months older, he remained small and spindly.
As Colin neared the stable, Patrick emerged unexpectedly. Colin stopped in his tracks, heart in his throat. He’d never spoken with Patrick before, and from a distance he seemed a stern sort of man. Patrick nodded to him. “How is the young lord today?”
“W-well. And you?” Colin stammered, his pulse racing. He’d thought Patrick was playing cards with the groundskeepers in the shed. Colin had heard their raucous laughter drifting on the air only moments before. His austere parents were away so infrequently that everyone took advantage of their absence to engage in some sport.
“Aye, well enough.” Patrick was six feet tall and lean, his muscles firm. His light brown hair complemented hazel eyes, and freckles faintly dusted his cheeks. His jaw was strong and usually rough with stubble. Colin had overheard the maids swooning over Patrick since his arrival. “Did you need something?”
“No, just going to visit Viola.”
“She’s a good mare. I’m sure she’ll appreciate the company. I’ll just be in the shed, playing a hand.” He leaned down and whispered, “That’ll be our little secret, all right?”
Colin nodded vigorously. He was delighted to be in Patrick’s confidence and couldn’t blame him for wanting to take a break from his work. As Patrick went on his way, Colin mused that the stable master was unlike anyone he had ever met. He’d never even been to London, which his parents had declared far too dirty and full of heathens. The fact that Patrick was Irish made him quite exotic.
As Colin entered the stable and approached the stallion, the happy fluttering in his belly became a churning. The animal was taller than Colin remembered, and climbing atop would prove to be quite a challenge. Although he was a fair rider, Colin had never been on a stallion, let alone bareback. He’d never even ridden Viola without a saddle. He was beginning to think he’d made an unwise decision, to say the least.
Still, he’d been dared, and he’d never backed down from a test of courage yet, even though once it had resulted in him falling from a tree and snapping his arm. He’d insisted to his parents that it had been his idea to climb, although it was William’s. It always was. William was a daredevil, and Colin’s pride compelled him to try his best to keep up.
After a few deep breaths, Colin approached the stallion’s pen. He plucked an apple from a bucket and cautiously held it on his flat palm. The horse nipped him, but Colin didn’t cry out. He murmured to the animal in what he hoped was a calming fashion and tentatively stroked its snout.
When it seemed comfortable enough with Colin’s presence and was munching the fruit, Colin clambered up onto the side of the stallion’s stall. He took another breath, gathering his nerve. Then another, and another. He feared he might swoon before even getting on the horse at all.
It’s now or never. Patrick wouldn’t play at cards all afternoon, and Colin’s parents would return. Leaning over precariously, he reached for the door to the stall. He exhaled and muttered a quick prayer. Then he lifted the latch and dropped onto the horse’s back, his fingers clutching its mane.
The stallion bolted, hooves pounding as it burst out of the stable. Colin dug his knees and heels into the horse’s flanks, trying to steer it around the building. As he held on for dear life, he very quickly realized he didn’t have the skill or power to control the stallion, certainly not without a bridle. Panic flared as he gasped for air.
Colin could hear William’s faint shouts as the stallion thundered off across the meadow, but he didn’t dare look back. All he could do was keep his head down and cling to the horse as it galloped away. Time seemed eternal as it ran across the grounds and continued along the river. He called for it to stop, his voice hoarse with terror, convinced of his impending demise, but the stallion had a mind of its own.
The countryside was beginning to look frighteningly unfamiliar when suddenly another set of hoofbeats approached. He heard a voice, and then in one movement, a strong arm pulled him from the horse’s back as a rope looped over its neck. Colin found himself facedown over the back of Patrick’s horse as Patrick yanked on the reins and brought both animals to a stop.
In one smooth motion, Patrick dismounted and put Colin on his feet. Colin was perilously close to tears, and he blinked rapidly, gasping, his heart thumping painfully. Patrick knelt in front of him and took his shoulders gently. He shook his head, clearly exasperated.
“You’re all right, lad. You’re damn foolish, but you’re all right.”
Colin struggled to catch his breath. He actually was all right. He was uninjured and, most remarkably, still alive. He’d never been so frightened in his life and hoped he never would be again.
“I’m impressed you stayed on. You’re a natural rider. Next time, come and ask and I’ll give you a more suitable horse, eh?” Patrick mussed Colin’s hair lightly.
Colin nodded, amazed Patrick wasn’t angry with him.
“And next time don’t do whatever your cousin tells you. He’s a little devil, that one.” Patrick smiled, dimpling his cheek. “I should know. He reminds me of myself.” He stood and glanced toward home. “Let’s get you back before your parents return.”
Once Patrick was in the saddle, he swung Colin up to sit in front of him. They cantered back along the river, Patrick holding the rope with the stallion in tow. As they rode, Colin found he was actually enjoying himself. He felt utterly secure with Patrick at his back, and laughed with pleasure as they moved into a gallop across the final meadow.
William paced by the stable, face pale with worry. “Colin! I thought you’d broken your neck for certain!”
Sliding from Patrick’s horse, Colin grinned. “I told you I could do it.”
“He would have ridden all the way to Dover if I hadn’t stopped him and made him come home.” Patrick winked and dismounted. He led the two horses inside.
William was shamefaced. “I shouldn’t have made you do that. I’m sorry.”
Colin felt oddly exhilarated by the whole experience, despite his recent terror. “It’s okay, Will.”
Just then the carriage could be heard on the drive. “Hurry! Let’s pretend we were reading!” William hustled toward the house.
“In a moment.” Colin darted inside the stable, where Patrick was brushing down the stallion. “Thank you. For rescuing me.”
Patrick shrugged. “’Twas nothing. Perhaps one day you’ll return the favor.”
As Colin stole into the house through the back entrance, he promised himself he would.