On this side of the mountain the morning sun shone bright and warm. The sun was well up. About now her husband would be discovering his only option was to ride sidesaddle.
He’d be furious, that went without saying, but would he come after her, or would he do what she’d suggested in her note, and go on to England? And would he try to ride her horse?
She smiled. Lord Ripton wouldn’t be caught dead riding with a lady’s saddle. No man would.
He’d comb the village and find there was no other horse, let alone a saddle—the groom had assured her there were only donkeys in the village, not even a mule, and she couldn’t imagine Lord Ripton on a donkey, not with those long legs of his.
He’d either have to send to the next town for a saddle or ride bareback, which she very much doubted he would. Bareback was all right for short distances and emergencies, but a whole day bareback would be very hard.
Whatever he did, she had an excellent head start, and though she didn’t know the roads very well, all she had to do was keep heading east, and the mountains and the sun told her where east was.
Valle Verde was about two days’ ride from here, she guessed; three if she’d miscalculated. The land immediately around her might be unfamiliar, but the mountains were in her blood. It was so good to be out from behind the high convent walls, with nothing between her and the horizon.
She wasn’t sure where she’d sleep tonight. Perhaps she might find a barn or a derelict building. She was a little nervous about the prospect, but Papa had taught her how to live off the land, she reminded herself, even if it was more than eight years ago.
What would it be like, living in England? The thought of it was more unnerving than the possibility of having to sleep under a bridge. But she’d always dreamed of going to England. Mama was half English, after all, and Bella had vague memories of a tall, black-bearded English grandfather who’d given her a small dolphin statue cunningly carved from whalebone and told her marvelous stories. He’d died not long after Mama had died, Papa told her.
She shivered. Almost every one of her relatives was dead. Apart from horrid Ramón, and a few distant cousins she’d never even met, there was only Reverend Mo— No, Aunt Serafina in the convent, and Perlita.
Was that why she was so desperate to find Perlita? She hardly knew her half sister. She’d hated her for most of her life. And yet now she was risking everything to find her.
Why? Family feeling? Or guilt and atonement? A little of each? Bella didn’t know. Mama used to say Bella should always try to listen to her heart and do what she thought was right. Mama, who had listened to her heart and married Papa—and where had that got her?
Right or not, all Bella knew was that before she started her new life as the wife of Lord Ripton, she had to make sure Perlita was all right. She was determined to be happy with Lord Ripton, to build a good life in England and make him a good wife, and she couldn’t do that with Perlita on her conscience.
And that, thought Bella bleakly as she rounded the mountainside into full, bright sunlight, was the answer to her question.
Riding sidesaddle took a bit of getting used to, Luke decided, but as long as a man didn’t mind looking ridiculous—and the applauding peasants were far behind him now—it wasn’t so bad. Surprisingly comfortable. More secure than he’d expected— He caught himself up on that thought. Had he really believed all this time that riding sidesaddle was precarious, even a little bit dangerous?
He had, and yet he’d never questioned the necessity for it, even though his mother and Molly rode sidesaddle—and his wife. The people whose safety he should care for most.
The worst thing about it was the difficulty of remounting. He’d stopped once to relieve himself, and getting back up was much more awkward than it should be—he was sure he made a ludicrous sight—and he wasn’t hampered by a long-skirted riding habit. If Isabella had been riding sidesaddle she might have been stranded without anyone to boost her up.
The thought mollified his anger with her. Slightly.
If by some miracle he found her—and please God it was soon and she was unharmed—he’d teach her a lesson she’d never forget. Run away from him, would she? Two bedrooms indeed! Never again would she trick him thus. When he caught up with her it would be one bedroom, and one bed.
He’d show her who her husband was, and by God, she’d learn to obey him as she’d vowed to do. Just one day into their marriage and she had him careering all over Spain—sidesaddle!—on a wild-goose chase!
A hare burst from beneath a bush and went bounding across the stony ground, causing Luke’s horse to shy. Bringing it under control was trickier than usual. Normally he controlled a mount with his thighs, but on sidesaddle it was all about reins and whip.
What if a hare startled Isabella’s horse and she fell? Out here in the mountainous wilderness she could lie injured and helpless for days with nobody any the wiser. And wolves still roamed these mountains.
He shoved the thought from his mind. He’d learned years ago the futility of worrying about things he could not control.
She was making for Valle Verde, he knew, but by which route? He’d chosen the quickest way through the mountains, cutting along the edge of the escarpment, the roughest and most dangerous route. With luck she’d taken the more well-traveled, slower, longer, and less dangerous route. Either way, he hoped to intercept her before nightfall.
He knew these mountains, had crossed and recrossed them during the war. His perfect Spanish and his dark hair and eyes were a boon to the gathering of local intelligence, and a large part of his job had been liaison with the various bands of Spanish guerrillas.
Some of them were little better than bandits, terrorizing the local population as much as they terrorized the French; stealing, murdering, raping—all in the name of patriotism. And from all accounts some of them hadn’t disbanded after the war ended.
The mountains—as always—offered endless opportunities to lawless men.
And lawless women.
He urged the mare faster and hoped to God Isabella had taken the safer route. If she hadn’t…
Accident, bandits, wolves—the number of possible dangers she faced made his blood run cold. The last time she’d found herself alone in these mountains… No, he wasn’t going to think about that—though dammit,sheshould have! No blasted common sense!
