Murder A'la Mode. G. A. McKevett

herself for her cowardice. Since when did you sprout wings and start clucking, Savannah girl? asked a voice in her head that sounded a lot like her Granny Reid’s. Get up on that horse before you’re a minute older!

      “Let’s do it,” she told Ryan. “Daylight’s a’burnin’.”

      Ryan placed his hands on her waist, and much more smoothly than she had expected, lifted her onto the horse. From her seat, which felt at least ten stories aboveground, she said, “I can’t tell you how stupid it feels to be sitting sideways on a horse.”

      “But that’s the way fair ladies sat in days of yore,” Ryan told her.

      “Yeah, well, if straddle was good enough for Dale Evans, it should be okay for me. I’m afraid I’m going to slide off.”

      “I’ll walk beside you, and if you do, I’ll catch you.”

      At any other time, Savannah might have been tempted to fall off intentionally, just for the chance to land in Ryan’s arms. But the prospect of meeting Lance Roman was even more enticing. Realizing that those were her two worst possible scenarios, she decided she might just be the luckiest woman on earth, sidesaddle or not.

      Her only scare was when the horse first began to move, but before she knew it, she was across the courtyard and standing near Tess, who was hidden from the camera’s view behind a hedge.

      “That’s it,” Tess was saying. “Just wait right there. Leonard—the gate! Lance should be coming through it right about…now!”

      The cameraman and everyone else turned toward the castle wall’s arched gateway. Anticipation built by the second, until Savannah felt as though she would pass out cold, then and there. Then she realized she wasn’t breathing, and she knew it wasn’t because of the bodice.

      She was about to see him. Lance Roman himself. And if she didn’t stop shaking she was going to fall off the horse and onto her face. And having that happen twice in a lifetime—in front of a male she was in lust with—would simply be more than a body could bear. She’d wind up shopping on eBay for a hara-kiri knife.

      Fortunately, the suspense was quickly broken by the sound of a galloping horse, coming toward the castle entrance. She heard the thundering of its hooves on the wooden drawbridge, then suddenly, a white horse and its rider burst through the gate and into the courtyard.

      It was Lance all right, dressed in blue and black medieval garb, racing toward her, his dark hair streaming out behind him, wearing thigh-high leather boots, leggings that hugged his famous muscular thighs, a blue suede doublet that accented his broad shoulders and narrow waist, a white cavalier’s shirt that was open just enough to reveal a sprinkling of hair on a deeply tanned chest. He was the living embodiment of Savannah’s favorite highwayman fantasy. And he was riding straight to her.

      The next few minutes were a hazy pink blur for Savannah as he pulled his horse to a halt beside hers and jumped down from his mount. In a couple of strides, he was standing beneath her, looking up at her with the bluest eyes she had ever seen.

      “Lady Savannah,” he said, extending his hands to her, “what a pleasure to meet you. May I help you down from your horse?”

      “Ye-es, please,” she managed to croak.

      She was going to place her hands in his, but he reached for her waist instead, and a moment later she was on the ground in front of him, her hands on his broad shoulders, gazing up into those amazing eyes.

      He smiled at her, and she felt herself melting into a puddle at his feet. “You’re just as lovely as they said,” he told her. “I’m looking forward to getting to know you.”

      Know me? she thought. Know me intimately? Know me in the biblical sense of the word? Her eyes traveled over his face, taking in the high cheekbones, the patrician nose, the strong jaw and chin line that would have been perfect for a shaving commercial. Oh, yes…know me, darlin’! Know me good!

      But Granny Reid had raised her to be a lady…or at least to act like one when being filmed for a television show, so she batted her eyelashes, smiled demurely and said, “Why, kind sir, it will be my pleasure, I’m sure.”

      He offered her his arm. “Would you join me this evening at my banqueting table?”

      “I would be delighted.” She laced her arm through his, and together they strolled through the front door of the keep.

      As they walked together she momentarily forgot everyone and everything around her: grungy Leonard with his camera in her face, Pete the soundman with his fuzzy microphone over her shoulder, even Tess and Mary…they all faded into oblivion as she savored the touch of her hand on his arm, the warmth that radiated through his shirt, the hard, rounded muscles just below the cloth.

      And the way he looked down at her, his sapphire eyes aglow, locked with hers as though they were the only two people in the wor—

      “Cut!” Tess yelled. “That should do it.”

      Do it? Do what? What do you mean, “Cut”? Savannah thought.

      “Let’s go get the other girls. We’ve got a lot to do this afternoon before we lose the light,” Tess said, motioning to Lance.

      Other girls? What other girls? He was looking at me like I was the only woman on earth.

      Instantly, Lance dropped her arm and walked away from her without a backward glance, let alone a lovelorn gaze.

      The spell had been so abruptly broken that Savannah felt a bit like a princess who had been changed into a frog. And Tess was the wicked fairy godmother who had given her warts.

      “Well, if that ain’t a fine how-do-you-do,” she muttered.

      She sensed someone standing behind her and turned to see Mary Branigan watching her, a sympathetic look on her face. “You did that well,” she said, “for someone without acting experience.”

      “Who was acting?” Savannah said. “I mean, he’s so gorgeous.”

      Mary looked over Savannah’s shoulder at the retreating figure and sighed. “How true! Every woman between the ages of eight and eighty must fall in love with Lance at first glance,” she said dreamily. Then she shook her head as though coming out of a trance. “You’d better go upstairs and get some rest while you can. It’s going to be a long, long night for all of us.”

      “No more horseback riding, I hope.”

      Mary shook her head. “No. Tonight’s the royal banquet.”

      Savannah brightened at the thought of food. “A medieval feast? Warm, honeyed mead, roasted venison, and all that?”

      “Well…” Mary gave her a quick, sideways glance that didn’t inspire confidence. “I don’t know how much eating and drinking anybody will actually do, but that’s the impression we’re supposed to give…for the camera, that is. And you’ll get to meet the other girls.”

      “Ah, yes, my competition.” Savannah looked around and leaned closer to her. “What do you think of them?”

      For just a second, Savannah was certain she saw a flicker of disgust cross Mary’s face, but it disappeared just as quickly. The young woman shrugged her thin shoulders. “They’re okay, I guess. A diverse group. A little bit of this, a little bit of that.”

      “What do you mean?”

      “You’ll see tonight. Like I said, you’d better get some rest. Knowing Tess and Alex, they’ll work our butts off this evening.”

      Work? Savannah thought as she climbed the stairs to the third story, where her assigned bedroom was located. Feasting, drinking, making merry, and looking at Lance Roman’s face. How much work can that be?

      “I’ve gotta tell you,” Savannah whispered to her nearest competitor, a petite redhead named Brandy, “I don’t recall when I’ve been so aggravated, tired and hungry.”

      Brandy