Rake Most Likely to Thrill. Bronwyn Scott

‘don’t jump here, it’s too wide, jump at the back of the boat where it hasn’t left the dock yet’. The back of the boat was flat for loading and there was a section that sported no railing. It would be Brennan’s best chance.

      That was when Archer realised Brennan wasn’t alone. In his excitement, he hadn’t noticed the two men racing behind, one of them armed. There was something more too. Behind the men was a horse, thundering past them, jumping knocked barrels, headed straight for Brennan and the drink. That wasn’t just any horse. That was his horse. Archer exchanged a look with Nolan and they dashed off after Haviland.

      The stern of the ship was chaos. Haviland was yelling, Brennan was running, the horse had pulled up alongside him, matching his pace to Brennan’s, but the two men in pursuit were gaining. As long as they kept chasing him, they couldn’t get a worthy shot off. It was when they stopped that worried Archer and that would be soon. There wasn’t anywhere else to run. The ship had nudged away from the dock, leaving a gap of cold dark water between itself and the pier. Archer gauged the distance. Even with Brennan’s speed, it would be close. Not close enough. Bren would need some help.

      ‘Get on the horse, Bren!’ Archer shouted into the wind, gesturing wildly towards the animal. It would be beyond dangerous. What if the horse refused to jump? What if they both missed the boat deck? Like him, Brennan had been born to the saddle. If anyone could do this, it would be Bren. There was no other choice unless Bren wanted to face pistols. Haviland and Nolan joined him in the wild charades. They held their breaths as Brennan Carr grabbed mane and swung himself up on the running steed. He put his feet to the horse’s sides.

      They leapt.

      They landed.

      Just barely.

      Another foot and they would have missed. The shock of the landing and the uneven movement of the deck beneath him brought the horse to his knees. Archer and Haviland raced forward.

      Brennan rolled out of the saddle. Haviland was there to catch him, but Brennan pushed him down with a rush of incoherent words. ‘Stay down, Hav! Arch, the horse, keep him down!’

      The first bullet whined overhead, missing Haviland by inches. Archer crouched beside the frightened horse, using his words and his hands to keep the big animal from becoming an accidental target. Now that they were all safe, Archer wished the boat would move faster. There was suddenly not nearly enough space between them and the dock. It wouldn’t surprise him to see Nolan’s man from the hotel show up. Everyone else was here, even the horse. Thanks to Nolan and Brennan, the morning had got off to quite a start.

      Assured they were out of range, the foursome picked themselves up cautiously, brushing off their clothes and exclaiming over Brennan. Archer exchanged knowing glances with Haviland. It was going to be quite a trip with those two along, but Haviland was smiling as England disappeared. Archer nodded to the reins in his hand. ‘I’ll go speak to the captain about where we can stable this boy.’ As he moved off with the horse, Archer could hear Nolan drawl at the rail, ‘The real question isn’t where you’ve been, Bren, but was she worth it?’

      Brennan’s laugh drifted over the wind, as if the mad chase had been a simple lark, as if there hadn’t been bullets fired. ‘Always, Nol, always.’ Sometimes, Archer envied Bren and Nolan their nonchalant ways, not seeming to care too much. They were proof that perhaps the unexamined life was underrated.

      There was a makeshift stall above deck where the horse would be relatively safe. The Channel crossing was short. Just twenty-one miles of water separated England from France, but the water could be rough. Archer didn’t want to risk the horse doing further injury to himself, so saw the horse installed and ran a hand down each of his legs to make sure there’d been no damage from his leap.

      Satisfied the horse was no worse for his morning adventures, Archer placed a hand on the horse’s neck. ‘I guess you’ll need a name if you’re going to stay with me.’ Archer thought for a moment. ‘How about Amicus? It means friend in Latin, and you were that today. You stood Brennan in good stead when he needed you.’

      ‘Especially since Cleveland Bays are carriage horses.’ Haviland’s voice was quiet behind him. Archer shrugged. He’d long since stopped caring if anyone heard him talking to the horses.

      Archer smiled and stroked Amicus’s long nose. ‘Especially because of that.’ He gave Amicus a considering look. ‘I wonder if you might have been a hunter once, boy? It looked like you knew what you were doing when you made that leap.’ Fearlessly, as if he’d taken hedges and logs, heights and wide spreads, before. Cleveland Bays were the preferred carriage horse of royalty, and Archer knew a few breeders who enjoyed riding to the hunt on them.

      Haviland stepped up beside him and petted Amicus. ‘Why do you suppose he did that? It was an extraordinary leap. I know horses that would have balked. He could have been killed.’

      Archer gave Haviland a solemn look. ‘He decided England could no longer hold him.’

      ‘Like you, old friend?’ Haviland ventured. ‘Are you still determined to do this thing?’ Nolan and Brennan might not know of his choice to stay in Italy, but he’d confided in Haviland.

      Archer nodded. ‘And you?’ Haviland had done some confiding of his own. Archer wasn’t the only one using this trip as an escape.

      ‘Yes. I want to taste some freedom, I want to know my own power, to see what might have been before...’ Haviland shrugged, his sentence dropping off. Haviland didn’t have to say it. Archer knew how that sentence ended: before he had to go back and give himself in an arranged marriage to a woman who did not inspire his passions.

      Archer silently thanked the heavens again that he wasn’t firstborn. He at least had choices. He just had to make them. He and Amicus had something in common. He too had decided England could no longer hold him.

       Chapter Two

      The Pantera Contrada, Siena, Italy—early July, 1835

      Tonight, nothing could hold her! Elisabeta threw her head back and laughed up to the starry sky. She let the wildness loose, humming through her blood in time to the musicians playing in the Piazza del Conte as she and her cousins drew near to the neighbourhood’s centre. There was already a crowd gathered for the celebration and they were jostled on all sides by good-natured merrymakers filling the narrow streets. She didn’t care. The press of people only added to her excitement. Tonight she was going to dance until her shoes were worn through and then she was going to dance barefoot. She’d dance until the sun came up!

      It was her first real party since coming out of mourning and she was going to enjoy it, no matter what, which was no small thing in light of what had transpired this afternoon. Elisabeta grabbed her cousin Contessina’s hands and swung the younger girl around in a gay circle. ‘I’m going to do something scandalous tonight,’ Elisabeta declared, watching Contessina’s pretty brown eyes widened in shock.

      ‘Do you think that’s wise? Papa just announced—’

      ‘Especially because of that!’ Elisabeta cut her off. She wasn’t going to think about it—the fact that her uncle, Rafaele di Bruno, the contrada’s capitano, had bartered her off in a proposed marriage to Ridolfo Ranieri, the relative of another neighbourhood’s priore in order to secure an alliance for the all-important Palio.

      Like her first marriage, it was not a match of her choosing and it wasn’t fair. Five years ago at the age of seventeen, she’d served her family and married the very young Lorenzo di Nofri. It was meant to be something of a dynastic connection for the family, and her feelings had not been considered. Then, Lorenzo had died after three years of marriage and she’d dutifully but begrudgingly done her year of mourning for her adolescent husband.

      Now, at the very first decent opportunity, she was to be married off again. This time to a man in his late forties, more than twice her age, heavy and gouty from rich food and wine. Where would the chance