Heir Untamed - By Danielle Bourdon Page 0,12

than everywhere else. She let the mare stay put, waiting to see if a deer hopped into sight. That's what Chey thought it was—a deer. The snap of twigs had been too solid to be something as small as a squirrel or a raccoon.

Nothing appeared.

The deer probably caught her scent and was standing there frozen, afraid to move.

Chey reined the buckskin around, kneeing her into a walk for the trail. They had diverted off of it to get a better look at the lake. Ducking a few branches, Chey stroked her hand once more along the buckskin's neck, giving her a confident pat. The animal really was a joy to ride.

Reaching the trail, the mare instinctively wandered onto it and headed in the direction of the stables, as if she knew her rider was ready to return home.

Another snap of wood swerved Chey's attention over a shoulder. She was in time to see a shadowy figure slip between trees, on horseback no less, obviously following her.

If it were one of the guards, he would have just made himself known. The guards, she'd discovered even after this short of a time, had no problem announcing themselves.

So who could it be?

Unease trickled down Chey's spine.

Urging the mare into a canter, she thought to put some distance between the shady figure and herself. A stable hand would have called out. What if someone had managed to slip onto the property to do the Royals harm?

The sound of hoof beats on the path behind her whipped Chey's attention back. To her shock, the horse charged onto the same trail, its shadowy rider bent low and half obscured by a branch and leaves.

“Yah!” She dug her heels into the startled mare's side. The buckskin surged forward, ears pricked back. Chey guided the equine along the path, fear gripping her shoulders to the point they ached.

The sun inched lower, stealing even more light from the day. Now the trees aided the advance of shadow, dipping whole sections of the trail into a gray gloom.

To her horror, the hoof beats behind her grew louder. Closer. Someone was in open pursuit. Yet they didn't call out for her to stop, or halt, like a guard should have.

Veering swiftly off the main trail, Chey took the mare overland, between the tree trunks, desperate to lose their follower. It was treacherous business, with roots, rocks and other debris poised to trip the buckskin. Bring her down, and Chey along with her.

Twilight faded, gloom pervading the forest. Between one minute and the next, Chey found it harder to see. The mare, more sure footed than Chey gave her credit for, dashed around trees and over a fallen trunk. It was low, only a foot or so off the ground, but Chey was not an experienced rider in jumping and had to hang on with both hands.

In the next second, Chey found herself falling. Falling to the right, toward the ground, with a body impacting her from the left. A heavy, strong body that knocked the breath from her lungs when they landed. Grunting, she twisted beneath the weight of the attacker and jammed her heel against his shin. One fist swung out with the intent of cracking him—or her—on the jaw.

She landed both blows, for all the good it did her. The feel of short whiskers against her knuckles let her know it was a man that she'd struck. His head snapped to the side while his body sprawled, pinning her shoulders like a wrestler might.

“Get off me!” she shouted. She knew she was too far from the stables, from help, for her yelling to do any good.

A resonant voice thick with a Latvala accent sounded above her. “Hold still. Who are you and why are you riding unaccompanied through the woods?”

“I was told I could ride this trail, if you don't mind!” Chey stilled, breathing hard. The scent of both fresh and dried leaves beneath her vied with the masculine scent of leather, oil and a light, spicy musk she would have found pleasing any other time. Finally, she got a good look at her attacker as they both stopped struggling.

Glittery blue eyes the color of a clear sky glared down at her from a face shaped by a straight nose, defined cheek bones and a chiseled jaw. Hair so light brown it was nearly blonde, cut through with golden streaks from time in the sun, hung to the top of his shoulders. Half the front had been scraped back