The Rebel Bride by Catherine Coulter

He continued, all cheerful as a choirboy, “When you have finished, I would that we ride this morning. I don’t think it will rain, and the fresh air will be invigorating.”

He saw agreement register on her face before she spoke. Riding, she wouldn’t be obliged to speak much with him. He wasn’t a threat to her riding. “Yes, I’d like that, Julien.”

“I’ll leave you to your breakfast, then, my dear, and see to having the horses saddled. Would an hour be sufficient for you to finish your breakfast and change?”

“Oh yes, thank you, my lord.” She couldn’t prevent the look of relief that swept her features as he left the room.

* * *

Dressed warmly, a thick, lined velvet cloak buttoned to her throat, Kate ventured past Mannering out onto the front steps, where Julien held Astarte and his own powerful stallion.

“Stay, Thunderer.” He released the stallion’s reins to toss her into the saddle.

“They’re restless and ready for a gallop,” he said over his shoulder as he mounted. “Take care that Astarte doesn’t get away from you.” Although he didn’t think riding at a sedate pace could harm her in her condition, he had felt a moment’s hesitation about their outing on horseback.

“I suggest, my lord, that you see to your own horse,” she said, eyeing the sidling and prancing Thunderer. “Astarte is far too much a lady to give me a moment’s worry.”

“Just so,” he said mildly, and reined in his horse beside her to canter side by side down the graveled drive.

He was relieved that she wasn’t paying any particular attention to the direction they took. It wasn’t until their horses broke through the woods into the small meadow bordering the copse that she suddenly reined in Astarte. “Julien, whatever are we doing here? I don’t want to be here. Let’s go to the lake, all right?”

He pulled up beside her, and before she knew what he was about, he grabbed Astarte’s reins from her gloved hands. He looked at her steadily. “It’s time to bury old ghosts, Kate, past time.”

“Whatever does that mean? Old ghosts? I don’t know what you’re talking about. Please, let’s leave here now.”

“Look around you. The copse, Kate. We must go there. That’s where the old ghosts are, and this morning we will bury them. Trust me, please.” He whipped the reins over Astarte’s head and urged Thunderer forward.

“No, damn you, no!” She tugged furiously at the reins, trying to pull them from his closed fist. He quickened their pace, and she had to grab the pommel to retain her balance.

“Stop now!” He heard the rising hysteria in her voice, but held firm. Jesus, he prayed he was right in what he was doing. He drew in at the edge of the copse, jumped from Thunderer’s back, and walked quickly to her side. She tried to pull away from him, but he grabbed her arms and pulled her down to the ground, holding her for a moment hard against his chest. He shook her lightly. Her face was growing more pale by the moment. She was beginning to look afraid. “Listen to me, please. You can no longer live in dread of this place. Haven’t you guessed that your nightmare had its beginning here? Look about you. There is nothing for you to fear here, not now, not any longer. And you’re not alone. I’m with you. There’s nothing here. Do you remember the small girl who played in this copse? It was her fairy kingdom, her private world, a place of security, until that day when the men came upon her. Look, Kate, damn you, open your eyes. Look! Do you remember?” He gently pushed her away from him, into the depths of the copse. Her hands twisted at the folds of her cloak and she stared ahead of her, unseeing.

“Was it summer that day?” He asked quietly, moving to stand beside her.

She didn’t answer him, and he saw that she was looking fixedly at an old tree trunk that was very nearly covered with thick ivy. She raised a gloved finger. “That was my throne,” she said softly. “How overgrown it has become.” She walked quickly toward the tree stump and gazed down at it, frowning.