Total pages in book: 102
Estimated words: 95222 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 476(@200wpm)___ 381(@250wpm)___ 317(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 95222 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 476(@200wpm)___ 381(@250wpm)___ 317(@300wpm)
She inhales and withdraws. ‘Mama was forced to call the doctor.’
I nod.
‘Eliza sweated like a pig for days and could not stop vomiting.’
I nod again. I shall surely go to hell. I realise this tall tale has a short lifespan, but so long as it’s long enough to get her home and caged.
Clara pouts, contemplating that, and then fixes the filthiest look onto me, so filthy, in fact, it could melt me here where I stand. ‘You talk rubbish. I am not gullible, Frank.’ She smacks my arm. ‘Now go home, I have important matters to deal with.’
I laugh loudly, and she kicks the broken wheel in a temper and growls under her breath. ‘I hate you, Frank Melrose.’
So we are back to hating, are we? I breathe out heavily and re-evaluate my approach, for I am currently going round in circles. ‘Tell me, my dear, sweet sister, what do you––’
Clara gasps, her scowl falling and a smile rising. ‘Benjamin!’ she shrieks.
‘What?’ I ask, following her sparkling eyes to the stables not too far away. There I find the one and only stable boy, standing stock still looking somewhat, and expectedly, I suppose, struck.
‘Clara?’ he questions.
‘Yes, it is I!’
‘What are you doing here?’
‘What are you doing here,’ she asks, ‘for this is miles from your home?’
‘It was the closest village in which I could find work.’
My head swings back and forth between the young pair, so much so, my neck starts to ache. This is a disaster. I had a chance, albeit slight, of getting her home, even if I was forced to manhandle her. Now? This is most unfortunate.
Clara steps towards him, but Benjamin remains where he is, and then Clara stops, and I look past her to see a young girl emerging from the stables, pulling at the neckline of her dress, hay in her hair, looking downright dishevelled. Oh boy. I have rolled around in enough hay with females to know what I am looking at now. The little scoundrel.
I peek at Clara, seeing her nostrils are flaring dangerously, and that tells me she is well aware of the situation we are faced with. ‘I hope you catch the flu and die a hot, painful death!’ She runs to my horse, jumps on and kicks it hard, making it break into a gallop, then a canter.
‘Clara!’ I yell, watching her getting farther and farther away. ‘Bugger it all!’ I scan around me for a horse, any horse, preferably with a saddle, but I find none. I growl and run round the corner. ‘Yes!’ I jump up onto the back of the black stallion and kick it hard, trying not to pay too much attention to the fact that I am, yet again, stealing another horse, a crime that could see me hanged. How the hell do I get myself into these situations? I race out and see the stable boy up ahead. I cannot help it. I stop, swing my leg out, kicking him accurately in his chops, before racing away in pursuit of my sister.
Clara is an experienced rider, our childhood in the countryside an advantage, so it is no surprise that she has gained some distance, but, lucky for me, I have stolen quite a speedy steed, and I have caught up to her in no time. I take no pleasure in the tears streaming down her cheeks. None at all. I should have kicked the little brute harder. ‘Clara, stop,’ I yell over the pounding of hooves.
‘Go away!’
‘Clara, please, you will injure yourself travelling at such speed!’
‘Good!’
‘You will injure me.’
‘Good!’
I flinch, stung, despite knowing she wishes no such thing. I am left with one option, a crafty – and dangerous – one at that, but I am desperate, and I will be pained if she takes a tumble from my horse and breaks a bone. I slow, bellow a yell, and then, like a prize idiot, throw myself off the horse.
I land on the ground with a thwack, flinching, a piercing pain searing my shoulder. ‘Bloody hell,’ I bark, coughing, getting a nose, mouth, and eyes full of dust. That didn’t exactly go to plan.
‘Frank!’
I wince as I peek up, seeing Clara galloping back towards me. It is a relief. How annoyed I would be if I had thrown myself from my horse and broken something for nothing. She hops down before my horse has stopped fully and runs to me, dropping to her knees and assessing me.
‘Don’t die,’ she pleads. ‘I beg you do not die. I love you, Frank! I do, I love you!’
‘I am all right,’ I assure her, though I seriously doubt that, if the pain in my shoulder is a measure. I hold it and sit up with Clara’s help, wondering what in God’s name I was thinking. I shake my head in despair at myself and look at my baby sister, hating her wet-stained cheeks and sad eyes. ‘You should listen to your brother, Clara, for I have your best interests at heart, and I only ever want to avoid your hurt.’