She warned a second time, “If you continue your approach, I cannot be responsible for his actions. He is an outright demon of a horse. Lower your rope and go.”
“I will not.”
It was not only the harshness of his tone, or the mean look of him... it was the half-hidden female’s hesitation. Hubris or not, he frightened her. Had she been alone without her great beast, the woman’s command would never have been so steady. “You will.”
He offered a crass leer. “Whose household do you belong to? Or, are you some vagabond?”
The accusation brought a shadow to her lips. “I am not the one trying to steal a horse, Mr. Harrow.”
Chin lifted, Harrow sneered. “How do you know me?”
Before the horse might trample the intruder into an early grave, the woman reached out dirty fingertips, cooing even when her stallion snorted. The beast gave an agitated whinny, stamped, and stilled to the point it was uncanny.
In a blur of grey wool, she mounted his back, as haughty as any queen on her throne.
No matter her cold looks, Mr. Harrow knew why she’d scaled the creature. It was fear. And how easy it had been to terrify her so; all it had taken was one dark, promising look.
His black eyes glittered, the meanest of grins offered. “Your name, red-haired wench?”
Curving her lips in false delight, she mocked him in reply. “Imp was quite astute. You may call me that.”
A simple twitch of her thigh, and her stallion launched itself into the wilds.
* * *
Nothing had been gained in Harrow's hunt of horse and rider. The Imp was still running free, an occasional distant streak across the horizon he could not ensnare. He’d pursued the brazen harridan, only to turn his head and find her miles off—as if she were some specter capable of being in two places at once.
It was that devil horse—the beast too swift, the girl’s careless riding preserving her from him.
Unwilling to be reckless over such dangerous ground, Harrow was not about to risk his gelding or his neck giving further chase. Like all fools who bounded through unknown lands, the woman with her dirty feet would find soon enough the savagery of the landscape would not tolerate her games. He need not even bother. The bogs would claim her... or she would lose the road and wander without food or water. Either way, she would learn. And if she didn't, if he found her again, she would learn another way.
Hours lost and nothing gained, Mr. Harrow turned towards the direction of his initial goal. He was overdue to receive a new tenant—the complication another slight against the miscreant Imp.
Ambling up the pathway of the long vacant Crescent Barrows, Mr. Harrow peered past neglected foliage to find a cart had already arrived, as had a lanky figure, the gentleman ancient and ramrod straight.
The weathered fossil seemed a good match for a crumbling manor tainted by rumors of ghosts.
The old tales the landlord had found both baseless and bland. The only thing one needed to fear within Crescent Barrows was what living men could do.
Clearing the overgrown hedgerows, Mr. Harrow dismounted with little preamble. “Good afternoon, Mr. Griggs.”
Hollowed cheeks were sucked deep as Solicitor Griggs observed his tardy host. “I am here to take governance of the property.”
“Then by all means.” Pulling a tangle of iron keys from his pocket, Mr. Harrow brushed past the man to unlock the main entry. The heavy door whined under the demands of a heavy shoulder. “Let us enter.”
Before following, the old man looked to the solitary manservant. “Payne.”
A burly grey-haired African came from the cart, stoic as he followed the party inside.
The portal shut, little light filtering in to break up the gloom. Crescent Barrows was no country manor of extravagant rooms and fine gardens. It was a crumbling stone structure lacking more modern comforts, antiquated in its layout.
Beyond the narrow vestibule, a great hall waited, the room's massive hearth infested with the nests of its eight legged residents. Ignoring the squalor, Harrow threw several logs into the jaw and lit a quick blaze, singeing webs and forcing spiders to flee as the shadows retreated and heat worked to thaw the room.
Watching the old man survey shabby covered furniture and the threadbare rug, Mr. Harrow cleared his throat. “You have only the one servant? I shall send more to help unload your wagon.”
Unsmiling, Mr. Griggs answered. “That is unnecessary.”
“As you wish.” They were almost eye to eye, Mr. Griggs exceptionally tall and so slender it seemed sickly. Harrow needed his tenant alive if he wanted to continue receiving payment. “Yet a room must be prepared for you at this late hour.”