Chapters (51)
- Cover
- Also by Rhys Bowen
- Title Page
- Copyright
- Dedication
- Chapter 1
- Chapter 2
- Chapter 3
- Chapter 4
- Chapter 5
- Chapter 6
- Chapter 7
- Chapter 8
- Chapter 9
- Chapter 10
- Chapter 11
- Chapter 12
- Chapter 13
- Chapter 14
- Chapter 15
- Chapter 16
- Chapter 17
- Chapter 18
- Chapter 19
- Chapter 20
- Chapter 21
- Chapter 22
- Chapter 23
- Chapter 24
- Chapter 25
- Chapter 26
- Chapter 27
- Chapter 28
- Chapter 29
- Chapter 30
- Chapter 31
- Chapter 32
- Chapter 33
- Chapter 34
- Chapter 35
- Chapter 36
- Chapter 37
- Chapter 38
- Chapter 39
- Chapter 40
- Chapter 41
- Chapter 42
- Christmas Recipes
- Round Games Around The Table
- Party Games
- Christmas Traditions and Definitions
I looked out the window to see the orchard vanishing into mist and Lovey Tor not even visible. At least it wouldn’t have frozen overnight if the mist had come in. I dressed and went down to find coffee, tea, pasties, sausage rolls and mince pies laid out on the sideboard for the early risers. One by one the other hunters came in and helped themselves to something to eat and drink. From outside the window came the clatter of hooves, a sound that always sends a shiver of excitement through me. I have always adored hunting, even though I do feel sorry for the fox. I suspect that hunting must be in my blood—and the fox is usually smart enough to get away.
Bunty came in, with a black velvet jacket in her hands. “I’ve an extra black crash cap too if you want to match,” she said. “I hope you’ll be all right. Freddie’s horses are both a little crazy, you know. He was often seen flying through the village because one of them had bolted with him.”
“Thanks a lot,” I said. “That sounds most encouraging.”
“He was never a particularly good rider,” Bunty said. “I expect you’ll be fine. You should go out and get first dibs on the one you like.”
“Is one less skittish than the other?”
“No idea,” she said. “I’ve never ridden them.”
Thus encouraged, I went out to see a groom holding two leading reins, on the ends of which were a tall bony gray and a chestnut that was stamping and snorting like a warhorse, its breath hanging in the cold air like a dragon’s fire. I noted the double bridle and the size of that tossing head and decided on the gray.
“Her be Snowflake, miss,” the groom said as he attempted to give me a leg up into the saddle. “Her got a right mean streak and a will of her own, if you don’t mind my saying so. She can be a right cow at times. Always tries to give me a nip when I’m brushing her. I told the master he should get rid of her, but for some reason he were fond of her.” He shook his head. “Never did have good judgment, poor bloke.”
After a lot of dancing around on Snowflake’s part I finally managed to get into the saddle and Snowflake spent the next five minutes trying to buck me off. I noticed Badger watching, his eyes wide with terror.
“I think I might bow out,” he said to Monty.
“Rubbish, old bean. We’ve got a mount that’s docile as a kitten for you. Bunty and I learned to ride on old Star. He’s a bit of a plodder but sure and safe. You’ll be just fine.”