Dangerous Joy Read Free

fine young woman. Forgive me for mentioning it, sir, but it must appear strange that such a young man be given charge of her, and she an heiress, too. Her friends must be concerned."
    So you rank yourself as a friend, do you? Or something more? The man was apparently a widower. One looking for a second wife? A rich wife?
    "Her friends have no cause for concern, Mr. Dunsmore," Miles said blandly. "As long as Miss Monahan doesn't try to wed a fortune hunter before March, we should rub along well enough."
    Dunsmore's narrow face became even more pinched. "I mean no slight, Mr. Cavanagh, but it all looks."
    Before he could complete his sentence, he was pulled from his horse by a gigantic rooster. In fact, a company of animals had burst out of a copse. A goose. A ram. A horse. A bull...
    Miles gathered his wits and realized they were men wearing masks and cloaks. Then a pig was on his back, cursing fluently in Gaelic and trying to drag him out of the saddle.
    Miles elbowed backward and kicked Argonaut into a rear that dislodged the man. He wheeled the horse to see four men on Dunsmore, pummelling him unmercifully. He charged over to scatter them.
    But two assailants grabbed him, each clinging to a leg, and Argonaut wasn't trained to this.
    The wild-eyed horse began to spin and buck. Miles slashed at one creature with his crop, but the other managed to drag him off and wrestle him to the ground.
    Two other men flung their weight on top of him, and he was quickly trussed. Argonaut was kicking at anything, and Miles saw a man strike him with a cudgel.
    "God blast your eyes!" he yelled, struggling again, but a gag was shoved into his mouth and bound there ruthlessly. Argonaut made off down the road, a distinct break in his stride.
    Writhing against the ropes binding his wrists and ankles, Miles vowed to flay every one of these rascals for hurting his horse!
    But for now, he was out of the action, and the four men ran back to join the three who were beating Dunsmore. For what cause, Miles wondered, pulling against his bonds to no effect. Personal or political? These days in Ireland, it could be either.
    Bruised and furious, he saw the goose thwack the cowering Dunsmore with a sturdy rod, blows designed to hurt but do no permanent damage. This affair was clearly a warning, but they must be mad to use an Englishman this way. By tomorrow, the area would be swarming with the military.
    Then Dunsmore was hoisted back into his saddle, his battered beaver shoved cockeyed on his head. He slumped forward and clung to his horse's neck as the nervous gray was set to run on down the road.
    Now Miles had leisure to wonder what his own fate would be. Most of the strange animals slipped off into the misty shadows, leaving the horse and goose behind.
    The goose still held that rod.
    "What the devil are we to do with him?" muttered the goose to the horse in Gaelic.
    "Leave him here. Someone'll come by."
    "It's starting to rain."
    "Christ, he won't melt!"
    "Connor's cottage is just over there."
    "Jesus and Mary, do you want me to carry him? He's a big man. Why not just let him go if you're feeling so soft?"
    "He's the sort who'll pick a fight. Look at the red hair on him. With time to cool down, he'll see reason."
    Don't bet on it, thought Miles vengefully.
    He was trying to note anything that might identify the men, but the light was fading fast. The horse was heavyset and perhaps a foot taller than the goose, but the goose was tall enough. Their nondescript clothes were largely hidden by their cloaks. The animal heads both hid their features and muffled their voices.
    The horse came over. "I'm going to loose your feet so you can walk to shelter. Give me any trouble, boyo, and I'll knock you out and drag you."
    Miles believed him. The horse helped him to his feet and steered him through a gate and over to a decrepit bothy just as the slight drizzle turned into steady rain. The cottage lacked glass or shutters on the windows and the door hung at a crazy