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Excerpt
“Quinn!” Mum calls, “There’s a horse
outside!”
“Oh no,” I mumble. If Ned has come to pick
up Frankie, then I’m going to be late because it’s too late for me to walk in
now. Late is not an option, especially with Patrick sitting there smug in his knowledge
of Latin and the probability that he’s going to get the Letter of
Recommendation, Singular. “Can you take me in?” I call as I race down the
stairs.
“I don’t think it’s for Frankie.” Mum’s
peering out of the little window next to the door.
“What?”
“I said, it’s not the same guy as it was
who picked up Frankie, and he’s stopped outside our house.” She didn’t say that
but whatever. I open the door to have a look.
It’s Harry. On a horse, a massive horse,
outside my front gate. It’s either a very expensive palfrey or a destrier.
Either way, I’m not getting on it. He smiles benevolently at me and holds out
his hand.
No. Just no.
“Who is that?” Mum whispers in my ear. I’m
not sure whether she’s awed or thinks it’s really weird for a knight to be
picking up her daughter on horseback. Oh god, and he’s wearing full leg armour
(minus the sabatons, pointy feet things) and a pig’s face bascinet, you know
the helmets that are pointy in the front? Yeah. That.
“That, mother, is Harry.” I snap.
“He’s picking you up on a horse.” She
states.
“Apparently so.”
“Do you even like horses?”
“No.” I state. “I do not like horses.” I
glance across and see Frankie by her front gate, car keys in hand.
“I am here to escort you, Lady.” Harry says
imperiously.
“Does he always speak like that?” Mum asks.
“Yeah. And I’m not getting on that horse.”
I say to her. She’s trying not to smile, because she knows how much I hate
being laughed at. And this is definitely going to be one of those things that
she’s going to laugh at me for. For the rest of my life. I take a couple of
steps forward and Frankie’s grin nearly splits her face.
“Hi Harry,” I say calmly. “I don’t need you
to… but thank you, it’s a very nice gesture.” I wave my arm in Frankie’s
direction. Yep, still sore from attempting to shoot yesterday. “I’m going in
with Frankie.”
“But I’m here to take you in,” He says,
genuinely confused that I would not want to get on his massive snorting horse
with him.
“I’m not really dressed for riding a
horse.” I say, diplomatically.
“Then change.” I bristle at his tone. I’m
not changing, and I’m certainly not
being told to do so by him. He’s genuinely confused. “What? Girls love this.”
Seriously!
“Girls, Harry, may love this, but I am not girls
and I do not.” I cross my arms and scowl at him. I’m burning inside, I’m a
roiling ball of liquid magma.
1. He’s turned up unexpectedly (poor show)
2. He’s expecting me to change my clothes (good one)
3. He’s expecting me to ride a horse (I do NOT think so)
4. This isn’t anything new for him, he does
it with girls and girls love it (just who does he think he
is?)
I don’t know why I’m more angry at him.
“Can you move your horse so I can get out
of my garden?” I grind out. The beast is blocking the gate to my house; it’s so
big it’s practically blocking the sun.
“Fine,” he shrugs and turns the horse. “See
you later.” he calls over his shoulder. The horse rears and I hate to say that
I’m impressed, but I am, and Harry gallops off carelessly down the road.
“Um, okay, well this is something we can
talk about later.” Mum says, standing next to me.
“We’re definitely not talking about this later.” I say to her. “What a dick,” I say
under my breath.
“He’s not like that Percy Jackson boy.” Mum
muses. I roll my eyes at her and head to the Mini Monster.
But she’s right, Harry is not at all like
Patrick.
Author Bio
– Jen lives in the Midlands with her husband and two children. With
a Masters Degree in Medieval History, Jen loves castles and King John a little
too much. Strangely un-British, she does not like tea, oranges or marzipan, but
adores French cheese, guava juice and Chinese food (not together).
When not writing, Jen can often be found pointing out historical
inaccuracies in period dramas, being a Lady that Lunches with close friends and
playing board games with her family. Note: her handbags are always heavy due to
multiple books (just in case she needs them).
Social
Media Links –
@jensmith950 Twitter
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