Before I could react, we were off like a shot. I clutched the reins with white-knuckled desperation as the horse leaped full six feet in the air, then bolted down the street, weaving through carts and market stalls, scattering villagers like leaves in a windstorm. And Ewan, blast him, was holding on by my waist with one hand, twirling his Balmoral with the other, and crowing like a lunatic.
“Darcy!” Bingley’s voice echoed behind me, full of panic, but I couldn’t respond. I was too busy holding on for dear life.
We careened in a haphazard loop around the village square, where Colonel Forster and Lieutenant Denny were still standing on foot, probably thinking they’d find shelter beside the bulk of Bingley’s mount. Instead, they got me—on a runaway horse—barreling straight toward them like I was leading a cavalry charge.
Ewan leaned in closer, cackling like the deranged menace he was. “Now that’s more like it, lad! Ye’ve finally got some fire in ye!” And he… egad, he kept spurring the horse right in the flanks, making the poor brute buck and bolt all the harder.
“I’ll kill you!” I shouted, though no one could hear me over the thunder of hooves and the shrieks of bystanders scrambling to get out of the way.
“Nae, lad, I’m already dead. Haud yer hats!” And he walloped my horse’s rump again.
Just when I thought the situation couldn’t get any worse, my horse bucked down a narrow side street—straight into a low-hanging laundry line.
I ducked just in time, just barely avoiding garroting myself as sheets and petticoats whipped across my face. The horse kept going, now tangled in linens, and all I could do was cling on, half-blinded by someone’s very floral… garment.
Forster and Denny had to dive out of the way as I thundered past, narrowly avoiding flattening them both. Wickham, of course, just stood there, arms folded, watching the entire scene unfold with barely-contained amusement.
By some miracle, I managed to yank the reins hard enough to bring the horse to a trembling, humped-up, and quivering stop—right in the middle of the square, where half the village had gathered to witness my public disgrace. My heart was pounding, my face flushed with humiliation, and I was still covered in someone’s laundry.
Colonel Forster was brushing dirt off his coat, and he did not look amused. “Mr. Darcy,” he said, his voice tight with anger, “is everything… under control?”
I glanced at my poor horse, still tangled in bedsheets, and then up at the crowd of stunned onlookers. “Yes, Colonel,” I muttered, barely managing to keep my dignity intact. “Perfectly.”
“Oh, aye,” Ewan slurred from behind me, still perched on the horse like some drunken pirate. “He’s just gettin’ warmed up, lad! Never seen a man enjoy a ride?”
I could feel the eyes of the entire village on me—Colonel Forster, Lieutenant Denny, Wickham, and half the townspeople—all watching as I peeled someone’s garments off my head and struggled to get control of my horse and my sanity.
“I… I am… perfectly well,” I forced out, though my grip on the reins told a different story. “Just… a bit of a mishap with the horse.”
Forster’s eyes narrowed. “A mishap?”
Behind me, Ewan grabbed my shoulder and rocked me as he shouted in my ear— “Coward, are ye, lad? Blamin’ the horse now, is it? Run the blighter down like ye mean it!”
I could only imagine what everyone else thought they were seeing, with my body twitching and rocking uncontrollably for no apparent reason.
“It seemed more than a mishap to me,” Wickham said, his voice full of faux concern. “Are you sure you are well, Mr. Darcy? Perhaps we ought to summon a doctor?”
Before I could answer, Ewan gave my horse another playful slap, causing it to rear up slightly. Ewan, the bloody devil, should have slid off backward, but he hooked an arm about my neck, choking me as he dangled there. I clung to the horse’s mane and barely managed to stay in the saddle, much to the absolute horror of everyone watching.
Forster, now clearly on edge, turned to Bingley. “Mr. Bingley, do you often have… incidents like this with Mr. Darcy?”
Bingley looked flustered, glancing between me and the colonel. “Er… no. No, not at all. Darcy’s usually… quite composed. This is… um… unusual.”
“Unusual,” Forster repeated, not looking convinced. He glanced back at me, clearly wondering if I was on the verge of losing my mind—or worse, endangering public safety.
Meanwhile, Ewan sat back, took another swig from his bottle, and winked at me. “Ye’re welcome, lad. Keep that bloody lobsterback on his toes!”
I could already hear the whispers starting around the square.There goes Darcy—he’s not quite right, is he? Did you see the way he almost ran down the colonel?
Wickham’s smirk deepened as he clearly enjoyed every moment of my public humiliation. If I wasn’t already plotting Ewan’s second demise—again—I’d be planning Wickham’s.
“Well, Darcy,” Wickham said, his voice smooth as ever, “I do hope you’ll be in better spirits soon. It would be a shame if your… ‘mishaps’ continued.”
I was going to kill him.
Or Ewan.
Or both.
