Frontier Gift of Love (American Wilderness Series Romance Book 5) (35 page)

“Mrs. MacKay,
you’re
not planning to ride in the race are you?” Browne asked, his voice rising in surprise.

“Indeed I am, Sir,” she answered, her green eyes flashing.

Browne raised his bushy gray brows. “If they let you, which I doubt, that will be a first,” he said laughing and taking a small sip.

“Who are they?” Bear asked. “Are they in here?”

“Aye, ‘tis that short man over there, already dressed like he’s goin’ to the ball,” Browne said. “He’s been put in charge of the race. And the men around him are on his racing committee.”

Bear pushed away from the table. “What’s his name?”

“Elijah Thornbird,” Browne replied.

“Now Bear,” Sam said, “if he says no, try not to hurt him.”

“Aye, I’ll na hurt the man,” Bear said. “Unless he’s unreasonable.”

Artis stood and quickly caught up to Bear whose long strides already carried him halfway across the room. The crowd seemed to part as Bear strode forward, his sheer size and weapon-covered body intimidating them all.

Sam couldn’t resist, he followed the two.

“Mr. Thornbird?” Bear said to the man’s back.

Thornbird turned and his eyes stared into Bear’s massive chest. His gaze drifted upwards, taking in Bear’s powerful build. Then he asked, “And whom might you be, Sir.”

Bear towered over the man by a full ten inches, which forced his brother to lower his gaze to look Thornbird in the eye. Bear’s shadow of a beard gave him an even more threatening appearance than normal. “Sir, I am Bear MacKay and this is my wife, Artis, and my brother, Captain Sam Wyllie. I would have a word with ye.”

“It is my great pleasure to meet the three of you,” Thornbird replied.

“I understand ye are in charge of the race?” Bear asked.

“Indeed I am, Sir.” Thornbird said and dusted off his waistcoat as though he’d gotten dusty just standing next to Bear.

Sam could tell the man took excessive pride in his appearance.

“What are the requirements for racers?” Bear asked.

“Your meaning eludes me,” Thornbird said, raising his dark brows. “You simply pay the entry fee.”

“I will endeavor to make myself clear,” Bear said. “My wife and I plan to enter our horse in the race tomorrow.”

“Excellent. I wish you the best of luck. Now if you will excuse me, I should get back to my friends. We are ironing out a few last minute details
for the race.”

“My wife will be ridin’ our horse,” Bear said.

After his gasp of surprise, intense astonishment filled Thornbird’s face. For a moment, he merely stared, mouth open and tongue-tied. Then he said, “But that’s impossible!”

“Why?” Artis asked.

“Because it’s never been done,” he replied as though that settled the matter. “You’re a woman!”

“Nevertheless, we intend for her to ride the horse,” Sam said, adding his voice of authority to the discussion. “’Never been done’ does not mean never will be done.”

Artis peered up at his face and smiled, apparently thankful for Sam’s support.

“Aye,” Bear said. “I assure ye my wife is a fine equestrian and knows her horse well. Her stallion is well-trained and comes from a Virginia plantation. He has excellent breedin’ and a fine pedigree.”

“Aye, he’s a descent of Bulle Rock,” Artis said proudly. “And I trained him.”

The man’s face registered recognition of the well-known name of the first thoroughbred horse imported, by a Virginia plantation owner, into the American Colonies. Thornbird was momentarily speechless in his surprise and then stammered. “But…but. We cannot allow it!”

Thornbird’s racing committee now stood by listening to the argument.

“The idea is preposterous!” one of them declared.

“Simply laughable,” another one said. “She couldn’t possibly win.”

Artis’ eyes conveyed the fury within her and Bear’s face was now a glowering mask of barely controlled rage.

“Yer all a bunch of bloody blowhards—all mouth and no brains,” Bear snarled.

Sam needed to deflate the situation and soon or Bear might do something they would all regret. “Do you have written rules for your race,” he asked Thornbird.

“We do,” the man said.

“And does it specifically state in the rules that a woman may not ride in the race?” Sam questioned.

“Well…no…the issue never arose. Nevertheless, it’s forbidden. The idea is absurd. Nothing short of scandalous,” Thornbird said. “The sport is only for gentlemen.”

“What would be scandalous is denyin’ a superb rider and horse entry into the match,” Bear shouted.

“Without a rule specifically banning a woman rider, you cannot deny her entry into the race,” Sam said firmly.

During the last few minutes, curious spectators, including William, Kelly, and Stephen, gathered around them.

“Let her race!” one man called.

A rather bawdy looking woman called out in a sultry voice, “A talented woman can ride man or horse equally well!”

After the laughter died down, another one shouted, “Give her a chance!”

“The lovely lady will at least make the race delightful to watch,” another said.

Bear shot that man a look of warning, then turned back to Thornbird. “Will ye let my wife ride?” Bear demanded.

Thornbird appeared apprehensive but stood his ground and shook his balding head. “No. She could be injured or killed. After all, she’s just a woman!” He thrust his pointed chin out in defiance.

“Enough of yer ignorant mouth, ye idjit!” Artis swore. She hauled her right fist back and with a lightning fast motion slammed it into the man’s jaw.

Thornbird’s head whipped back and he staggered a bit, but he remained standing.

After Sam got over his own shock, he glanced around. The disbelief on everyone’s faces lasted for only a moment before every last one of them erupted in laughter, especially Bear and William.

When they all settled down again, dozens shouted at Thornbird demanding that he let her race.

With a long sigh and rubbing his chin, Thornbird begrudgingly relented. He looked at Bear, not Artis, and warned, “All right, but when she falls, her death will be on your hands, not mine.”

Bear moved closer to Thornbird, thrust his head forward, and through clenched teeth swore, “She’s na goin’ to fall.”

Thornbird quickly looked away and turned to Artis. “Be mounted and ready on the race grounds by ten in the morning,” he said. “What’s your horse’s name?”

“Glasgow,” she said squaring her shoulders. “He’s a handsome tall black with a small star between his eyes.”

“To Glasgow!” several men toasted as they turned back to their seats.

“I can’t believe this is happening,” Thornbird groaned.

“I thank ye,” Artis said, satisfaction showing in her eyes. “And I would advise ye to never refer to a woman as
‘just’
in the future.”

Chapter 36

Harrodsburg, Twelfth Day Celebration, 5 January 1800

T
hat next morning the entire population of the town, men, women and children, all prepared to leave soon for the scene of the great riding match. The race would take place on a picturesque spot of prairie about a quarter mile west of the fort.

Sam decided he would wait until after the race to see Dixon at the jail. He didn’t want to spoil the festive morning. There would be time enough to question Dixon later.

As they all set off for the large livery, the sounds of horses’ hooves and wagon wheels prodding through the snow and the dampness of the morning filled the air. Sam looked to the sky, hoping rain or snow would hold off until after the race was over. Both would make the race far more hazardous.

And it was already dangerous enough. Thankfully, Artis rode a standard saddle. Bear said she always did, because she thought sidesaddles were for women who were more interested in being lady-like rather than really riding. Sam had to agree. A good rider became a part of the horse, largely by feeling a steed’s movements in his or her legs.

Sam watched gaily dressed women and men strut all around the town. Mounted militia, dressed much like him in buckskin hunting shirts, leggings, and hats, carried pistols and long knives stuck in their belts. Other men galloped hither and yon trying to avoid the crowd or prepared
themselves for the exciting contest by visiting the town’s taverns.

For the race, Artis wore a fresh green and gold-trimmed riding habit that Catherine had given her. On her jacket’s lapel, she had pinned her Luckenbooth brooch, a gift from Bear when he asked her to marry him. The gems in the traditional Scottish symbol of love and loyalty, sparkled in the sun that finally decided to show itself. Sam suspected the gold gloves she wore covered the sore knuckles she must have from slugging Thornbird. Her long hair, clasped at the back of her neck with a sturdy silver clip, hung down her back. She appeared confident, but Sam wondered if she was also anxious because she kept chewing on her lower lip.

Stephen wore a dark blue jacket with pewter buttons and wisely chose a black shirt and black breeches. Only his cravat was white. The shirt and pants would likely be filthy by the time the race was over. His youngest brother appeared as confident as Artis, his face reflecting his steadfast determination to win.

“Kentuckians love horse racing,” William explained to Artis and Kelly as they made their way toward the livery. “Matches are raucous, rowdy, and centered on wagering on favorite riders.”

“What do they wager?” Kelly asked.

“Money, tobacco, property,” he answered. “Some even wager slaves.”

“That’s horrible!” Artis said. “Gambling people’s lives is barbaric.”

“I agree,” Sam said. “The practice should be outlawed. Along with slavery and forced indenture.”

“’Tis one thing to indenture willingly to repay a debt or receive freedom dues, and another to be forced,” Artis said. “But both deprive a person of years of their life.”

Her voice sounded distant and Sam regretted bringing up the subject.

“I’ve heard some men are wagering a fortune,” William said, bringing them all back to a lighter subject.

“Is anyone wagerin’ coin on me?” Artis asked. She almost sounded hopeful.

“I am,” Bear said proudly. “But I will na say how much.”

“I’m not saying either,” William said. “Perhaps I’ll wager on both Artis and Stephen. Just to avoid favoritism mind you.”

“Place a healthy bet for me on Artis,” Kelly told William. “No offense, Stephen, but I have to support another woman.”

That didn’t surprise Sam. Kelly and Artis were as close as sisters.

“You’d all be better off not betting anything,” Stephen said. “Gambling is a fool’s game and yields a fool’s reward.”

Despite Stephen’s protests, William and Bear stopped at a betting table. Sam and a grumbling Stephen waited nearby with Artis and Kelly.

“How about ye, Sam?” Bear asked while standing in line to place his wager. “Are ye na goin’ to place a wager?”

“No, I’m inclined to agree with Stephen. I’ll save what I would have wagered and use it to buy a celebratory meal for all of us after the race.”

“Ye think one of them is goin’ to win then?” Bear asked.

“I do,” he answered. “I’ve seen Stephen’s stallion run full out, and it was indeed impressive. And I know what kind of sire, George had and if he’s anything like the first George, Stephen will be hard to beat. That horse had heart.”

“He was smart too,” William said. “And courageous.”

Stephen dropped his lashes quickly to hide his hurt. His brother still grieved for his favorite horse. Perhaps if this George could win the race, it would ease some of Stephen’s sorrow.

Sam turned to Artis. “I haven’t seen Glasgow run yet, but I’m looking forward to seeing what he can do. Based on his conformation and what Bear tells me of your skill as a rider, I’d say you and Glasgow stand a good chance of winning too.”

Next to the livery, under a sprawling oak tree, they passed the town’s smithy. Like most blacksmiths, he was a powerful man with large hands and thick brawny arms. His brow already dripped with sweat despite the chilly temperature. Besides the staff at the busy taverns and inns, the smithy appeared to be the only one in town working this morning.

As they passed, the smithy looked Sam in the eye and nodded politely before he swung his sledge hammer and they heard the clang of a mighty blow.

“Good morning!” William called out brightly to the smithy.

The burly man waved back and went on with his work.

As they entered the enormous livery, Sam inhaled the barn’s familiar scent—the grassy smell of fresh horse droppings, old seasoned wood, salt on the horses’ coats, leather, hay, and oats—all combined to create an earthy smell Sam loved.

Excitement filled the livery as the six of them grabbed their saddles and tack. Each saddle hung on a rack in front of the stall door of their mounts. Within a few minutes, they finished and each held the reins of their horses.

Before Artis mounted, William insisted on checking her saddle leathers. “You never know what some small-minded person might do to keep a woman from racing,” he said. After a moment, he told them, “Sure enough, someone’s cut the girth strap half-way through.”

Sam and the others took a close look. The cut was smooth, as though someone used a knife to slash it. It was cut just enough to cause it to split under the stress of a race.

“Bloody hell!” Bear swore. “She could have taken a terrible tumble. Maybe even broke her neck or been trampled.” He looked like he wanted to trample someone himself.

Angry too, Sam would have helped him if they’d known who ought to be trampled.

“That’s what makes you a good sheriff,” Stephen said, double checking
his leathers. “You’re always a step ahead of criminals.”

The rest of them carefully examined their own leathers as well, and William double-checked Kelly’s saddle, but only Artis’ had been tampered with.

It took another few minutes to obtain a new girth strap from the apologetic livery owner. “I have no idea why someone would do such a terrible thing. Or when they did it!” he said, when William questioned the man. “They must be worried that Mrs. MacKay is going to win. And I hope you do! I wish you the best of luck,” he told her. “That’s some horse. I’m going to go place a wager on you right now!” With that he strode off toward the betting table.