Guardian of Ruses (Ruses of Lenore Book 3) by Kate Stradling

Author:Kate Stradling [Stradling, Kate]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Eulalia Skye Press
Published: 2021-10-31T16:00:00+00:00

Somehow, Edmund convinced the rest of Minerva’s riding party not to wander off into the woods. A whole group had been on the verge of leaving the road when he and Rosia arrived in their midst, but he donned his most innocuous smile and chattered about how forest creatures liked their boundaries respected. The more pleasantly he spoke, the quicker the scheme vanished. In fact, they were another quarter mile down the road before anyone realized they were moving again.

Awed, Rosia glanced back over her shoulder, barely able to discern the tracks that marked the embankment on either side of the road. Something—whether centaur or another monstrous beast—had certainly passed this way. She scanned the trees for any sign of the mysterious creatures, well aware of how their lithe bodies could blend in with forest leaves and branches.

Abruptly her mount stopped, jerking her attention forward. A spot of yellow danced across the road several feet ahead of them.

“It’s only a butterfly,” she said, rubbing the horse’s tawny mane. “You’re a million times bigger than it, so it would never even think to hurt you.”

Reluctantly the horse walked, side-skirting the tiny, fluttering set of wings. She cooed reassurances, allowing him to pause and glance back at his sunshine-colored foe. Edmund still rode in the main group, oblivious that she had lagged so far. Rosia didn’t mind. They were still within the red string’s boundary, and she rather preferred some momentary solitude. Her horse, now that it had successfully passed the butterfly, resumed an easy gait.

That such a small creature could spook it, though, did not bode well. Perhaps she should have traded mounts with Edmund after all.

Up ahead, he glanced next to him and then back over his shoulder. His gaze connected with Rosia’s. A questioning frown wrinkled his brows, but she only wagged her hand for him to continue as he was. Despite this, he slowed his pace.

“I declare,” said Miss Blakely among the riders that straggled out between them, “even the trees can’t block the heat of the sun. Stevens, I need my parasol.” Her groom obediently extracted one from the trio secured behind his saddle, but when he proffered it, she sweetly smiled. “Not that one. The pink one, please.”

Stone-faced, he traded a folded white parasol for pink. Miss Blakely stopped on the road’s edge with the groom right behind her, obliging Rosia to go around. As she came upon the two, the parasol snapped open.

Rosia’s mount startled and jerked to the side. Her hand flew to his neck. “No, no,” she uttered, but in the split-second those words left her lips, the horse tossed and veered, then bolted into the woods.

And she instinctively kept her saddle, which was a mistake.

“Rose!” Edmund shouted. She had no time to react. As the horse crashed through the bracken, power flared at her wrist and wrenched her backward. She soared through the air, her brain registering a pair of scrambling hindquarters ahead and a ruby-colored filament in her periphery. Then she hit the ground flat, and the impact knocked the wind out of her.

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