Penelope & Prince Charming Read Free Page A

complete before Midsummer’s Day, or all would be lost. He turned to his fifteen new best friends and asked, “Tell me, is there a house called Ashborn Manor nearby?”
    He got fifteen garbled answers, but most agreed that he should ride out of town to the north a mile or so.
    He rose, remarkably steady on his feet, and made them all a courtly bow. The villagers scrambled to rise and bow back, with varying degrees of success.
    Damien returned the bows and strolled out of the tavern. The villagers shouted their good-byes.
    “Wait, my friends,” Rufus slurred from inside the tavern. “Before I go, I teach you Nvengarian dance.”
    The tavern roared with laughter, then the clapping began.
    The black horse shook its head and snorted as Damien approached.
    “A little longer, my friend,” Damien murmured, stroking him. “And you can go home.” They both could.
    Damien untied the stallion from the carriage, mounted, and rode off to the north.
    “What on earth are they doing?” Meagan asked.
    Meagan and Penelope paused on the road that wound down the hill and into the village. A strange carriage with horses sporting purple plumes stood in the street in front of the tavern below. A line of men were issuing from the door of the tavern, their hands on each others’ waists. Occasionally, they’d wave their arms or kick their feet, making an odd chanting sound.
    A few of the women who’d been peeking into the tavern were swept into the line. Other villagers, including the vicar, came out of their houses to watch.
    “Should we go down?” Meagan asked worriedly.
    “I am not certain.”
    They were distracted from the dancing villagers by the sound of hoofbeats on a curve of the road hidden by a stand of trees. A man on a black horse came suddenly around the curve, riding straight toward them.
    The horse was one of the finest Penelope had ever seen. Her father’s love of horses had taught her to appreciate good horseflesh. She saw that this one had every conformation point in balance, a sheen to its black coat, and a rippling midnight tail.
    The man on its back was also the finest she’d ever seen. He was taller than any she knew, including Meagan’s father. The stranger had wide shoulders and a broad chest, yet he rode well for a large man, moving in perfect time with his horse.
    Tight trousers, Meagan had said. This man wore duncolored breeches that molded to his limbs. Black boots hugged muscular calves, and his hair, black as his horse’s, gleamed in the sunlight. His face was square, his skin bronzed. A black frock coat emphasized the powerful build of his shoulders and the tapered tautness of his abdomen, the tails sweeping back to reveal narrow hips.
    “Oh, my,” Meagan said. “Oh my, oh my, oh my.”
    Penelope’s heart beat in strange, thick strokes, as though something had taken hold of her body and squeezed it tight. Time seemed to slow, sound and vision melting like hot glass.
    The horse was upon them. Penelope knew she should move, but she was frozen in place. Meagan, timid of horses, lifted her skirts and scurried to the side of the road.
    At the last minute, the man stopped the horse, pulling it to a skidding halt two steps from Penelope. A puff of dust rose from its hooves, and the horse tossed its head, bathing Penelope in a warm whuff of breath.
    The man turned the beast, a movement that put his firm thigh and leather boot right in front of Penelope. Shefound her gaze riveted to the line of muscle of his bent knee, the supple folds of the boot around his ankle.
    She forced her eyes upward. The man had a face of raw handsomeness, tanned as though he’d spent much time out of doors. It was a square face, cheekbones high and masculine, with a fine shadow of unshaven beard along his jaw. He wore gloves, expensive gloves, if she were any judge, over large and powerful hands.
    She suddenly wondered what those hands would feel like on her body.
    She went rigid with shock, wondering why she’d suddenly