Total pages in book: 81
Estimated words: 75592 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 378(@200wpm)___ 302(@250wpm)___ 252(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 75592 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 378(@200wpm)___ 302(@250wpm)___ 252(@300wpm)
Katherine Blackburn is Gabe’s polar opposite—carefree, lighthearted and completely mischievous. Kat works hard as a horse trainer but never hesitates to let her hair down and have a little fun. And lately that has included poking at Gabe and his buttoned-up ways, much to his irritation. Getting a rise out of the cold but gorgeous Mardraggon heir brings Kat unfettered joy, especially given their two families’ ugly history together.
Blackburns and Mardraggons are bitter enemies. Any type of relationship would be strictly forbidden. But when Gabe’s business dealings hurt Kat in a way he never imagined, his walls crumble and he’s forced to lay his feelings for Kat bare. Now Gabe has to decide if he’s ready to alter the course of history or walk away from the only genuine thing he’s ever known.
The Forbidden: A Mardraggon Novel is an enemies to lovers novel within the Bluegrass Empires series. All books in the series can be enjoyed as standalones.
*************FULL BOOK START HERE*************
CHAPTER 1
Kat
The rhythmic sound of hooves striking the soft earth in the training arena accompanies my instructions. “Sit back in your saddle, Eliza.”
I scrutinize the young rider post atop Bentley, one of Blackburn Farm’s lesson horses. The morning sun filters through the open doors at the south end, throwing slivers of dappled light across the ground. Bentley tosses his head, ears pinned back as they approach, and he tries to decide how menacing those splotches of pale color may be. Saddlebreds are spirited horses and some even consider them a little crazy. Bentley’s a good boy, but sometimes he gets easily spooked.
Which is what he does, skittering sideways to avoid the light and throwing Eliza slightly off balance.
The sudden motion from the big bay scares the young girl and she leans her body forward, a counterintuitive move that actually makes her less stable in the flat English saddle.
“You’re fine,” I say, my tone a mixture of discipline and calm instruction that horse training demands. “Get him back in a trot.”
The girl straightens.
“Trot,” she commands, and Bentley falls in line, his big head held high as he slips back into the cadence of alternately lifting each diagonal pair of legs. Eliza rises and falls in the saddle appropriately, bringing the gelding back under her command.
I stand in the center of the arena, my keen eyes observing every movement—the way she holds her hands, her posture, heels down and toes up—as Eliza guides Bentley around the edge, sticking close to the rail as she should.
“Good. Now bring him to a walk and two point,” I say.
“Whoa,” Eliza says with a slight pull on the reins and the horse slows. They plod along as Eliza stretches out of the saddle, legs straightening, body bent forward.
“One trip around and then you can bring him to his stall. Excellent ride.”
Eliza grins because that’s indeed high praise from me.
I start across the arena, intent on grabbing my water bottle. Eliza was my last lesson of the day and I’m looking forward to a long, hot shower. I haven’t had a break yet except for a quick pee, and I’m starved.
My phone buzzes in the side pocket of my riding jods and I pull it out. It’s Ethan, asking me to come up to his office at the main house. Such a request would ordinarily annoy me at the end of long hours in the barn, but I’ve got an extra well of compassion for my oldest brother these days. He’s been through so much lately that I’ll be cutting him lots of slack for the foreseeable future.
“I’m heading up to the main house,” I call out to Sara, one of the grooms waiting to help Eliza remove Bentley’s tack.
“Got it all covered, Kat,” she replies with a wave of her hand.
Outside of the training arena, I tip my face back to the May Kentucky sun and relish the late-afternoon warmth. The light hitting towering oaks casts long shadows across the verdant pastures, highlighting the vibrant greens of spring. The air is filled with the sweet scent of blooming wildflowers, freshly cut grass and bales of hay to feed the horses. It’s the smell of my favorite time of the year and I relish this quiet moment of solace in the bustling life of Blackburn Farms.
I’ve been at the barn since six this morning, working on lesson plans and making sure the schedule of horses was ready. It’s been a ten-hour day, which I’ll repeat tomorrow, and I’ll go to bed with a smile on my face because I’m doing what I love. Being a horse trainer is in my blood—I’m a Blackburn, after all—and our lineage has been producing and training the best saddlebreds in the world for over a hundred and seventy-five years, give or take a decade. This is what I was born to do.
My gaze sweeps over the rolling hills of our acreage, bordered by white rail fencing and dotted with grazing horses. In the distance, I can see the broodmare barn where Ethan has been burning the candle at both ends. This is his time of year… helping to bring into the world all the babies our breeding program produces, but that responsibility is just one of a million he has as the CEO of Blackburn Farms.
To add to his load, within the last six weeks, he learned he has a ten-year-old daughter he didn’t know about—the product of a drunken one-night stand with Alaine Mardraggon—enemy to our family by virtue of her last name. Sylvie was born and raised in France and Ethan only found out about her after her mother Alaine died of cancer. Since then, it’s been a bitter struggle with the Mardraggons over Sylvie’s custody.
It culminated in an ending none of us saw coming when Lionel Mardraggon, Sylvie’s grandfather, tried to kill her so he could assume control of the winery in France that Alaine left to her daughter. The thought of what that monster nearly did causes fury to well in me so hotly, I know I have the capacity to murder in defense of those I love. If Lionel Mardraggon were standing in front of me right now, I’d rip him apart with my bare hands. He’s a monster through and through.