Hatshepsut's Collar (The Artifact Hunters #2) (29 page)

A tingle of excitement ran through Cara’s veins; ahead laid her first royal hunt and her first attempt at espionage.
I could get used to this life.

bronze statue come to life walked through the assembled crowd as pale autumn sunlight danced over the metal horse. Flashes of gold raced over its rump with each stride coming from the imperial eagle inlaid in silver on each haunch. The tsar sat upon a mechanical horse, a silver wool cloak with a fur trim over his shoulders. No risk would be taken with his safety; the metal equine would perform with perfect manners and the monarch was in no danger of life or limb during the upcoming fast and furious hunt.

Unless a stray bullet from one of the participants found him.

A team of beautiful silky coated Borzoi waited for the hunt to begin. The Russian wolfhounds earned their reputation for speed and intelligence, able to course their prey over long distances and bring down a full-grown wolf. The Borzoi were bred for the exclusive use of the tsar; the puppies could not be purchased, only gifted to a favoured individual. The dogs looked aristocratic lounging against one another. They seldom barked and their silent waiting struck Cara as echoing the ennui of some nobles. Today’s hunt would serve as a trial for the dogs’ stud master. Only the fastest and strongest would be selected to breed the next litters.

I wonder if Nate could acquire one.
Cara thought, her eyes seeking Nate as she and Natalie rode through the press of horses toward their husbands.

The women were twinned, mirror images of each other, right down to Natalie riding an offside sidesaddle as the reflection of Cara. Mounted on liver chestnut geldings, the dappled and gleaming coats were the perfect foil to their riders’ habits of deep green with black embroidery. The women wore green felt tri corn hats with curling black feathers. Unlike the other ladies who rode simply to be seen in their outfits, Cara and Natalie rode to hunt and they were armed appropriately. Both women carried shortened rifles slung over their backs and each horse had a small mechanized crossbow, secured by the flap of the sidesaddle.

“I have quite forgotten what we are hunting,” Nikolai muttered from Nate’s side as the women approached. “But I fervently wish to be caught.”

Nate reined his grey stallion to Cara’s right side and took her hand, kissing her gloved palm. “Sidesaddle?” Humour sparked in the depths of his eyes. “Not your preferred way to ride.”

She took her hand back and gave the nervous gelding a scratch, ignoring the double entendre. “Just you wait and see. You men always think women are at a disadvantage sidesaddle. Natalie and I intend to show you how wrong you have been.”

The large stallion he sat upon gave a snort as though voicing his disbelief. “Are you sure you will keep pace sidesaddle? I would hate for you to miss the sport.”

Natalie laughed, a light tinkling noise like someone caressing a piano’s keys. “Women fail to keep up with the hunt not because of a sidesaddle, but because of the mount.”

“Exactly,’” Cara agreed. “So disappointing when your mount can’t go the distance.” She flashed an impish grin at Nate. “Will you be able to keep pace with me?”

Nikolai cast a look sideways. “Well, my friend, I think the gauntlet has been thrown down.”

Nate regarded his wife from under dark brows. “I thought I set the pace,
cara mia
, so you did not tire too early in the ride.”

Ahead, Alexander used his spur to flick a lever in the side of his mechanical horse and it cantered forward, the pack leaping around him. Cara rocked her seat, sending the gelding forward. Natalie followed and the two women cantered down the lane, falling in behind the lead horses and the milling Borzoi. The two men urged their mounts on, placing the women between them as they headed for the open fields.

A ripple of excitement built through the gathered riders, hoping a wolf would be sighted while on the run. At a signal from the tsar, the group surged forward to a gallop devouring the ground under pounding hooves.

A hare, flushed from the long grass, dashed across the path of the hounds. A single cry went up before the dogs gave chase, the hunt master hard on their heels. Often the dogs wove under the horses, daring the steeds to crash down on them, narrowly avoiding being squashed into the hard earth.

Etiquette demanded the first shot belonged to the tsar. Cara chaffed, watching the hare bounce over the grass; sure she could hit the animal. Reining to a halt, a groom handed Alexander his rifle and he raised the gun to his shoulder. The mechanical horse became a statue under him. The tsar fired and missed. With a wave of his hand he gave his permission for others to try.

Cara heeled her horse and tore after the hare. She placed herself in front of the other hunters, blocking their line of sight and praying no one tried to shoot over her. Taking both reins in her left hand, she drew the short rifle from her back. Reaching a small rise, she pulled the gelding to a halt and dropped the reins. Two hands holding the rifle, she took aim and fired at the retreating hare. A tuft of fur rose into the air as the shape dove into the lush grass, disappearing from her view, but not that of the hounds. They pounced on the downed animal and she turned her head from the sight of the carcass being fought over between snapping jaws.

Nate drew level with her as she slipped the rifle back into its pouch on her back.

“Show off.” He flashed a brief smile before turning serious. “And in the future, please don’t ride between the prey and the hunters. I prefer you without bullet holes.”

She stuck out her tongue, the excitement surged through her body making her more reckless than usual.

“First kill to the Lady Lyons,” Nikolai shouted for the others.

The hunt continued when the Borzoi found a fresh scent. The chase was fast, scary, and utterly exhilarating. All thoughts went from Cara’s mind as the adrenaline pumped through her veins. She concentrated on staying balanced on the gelding’s back as they tore over the fields in pursuit of their prey. Sods of earth flew from under the horses’ hooves. They took a path off through a lightly wooded area, the riders negotiating logs and ditches in their way.

Other ladies fell behind, unable to withstand the frantic pace and onslaught of jumps. Gallant gentlemen kept the exhausted women company as they sought the longer route around, further thinning the horsemen keeping pace with the tsar, the hunt master, and the valuable Borzoi.

Cara folded at her waist with each obstacle. Giving the reins forward as the horse stretched his neck and snapped legs up against his belly. Natalie and her horse matched them jump for jump as though they were twins. She gave Cara a wide grin as they both took a fallen tree at the same instance, Nate and Nikolai close behind them.

The pack set a hard pace and the two women kept up as others retired. Cara could feel her mount’s powerful shoulders moving under her right calf, pressed firmly against the horse for purchase to keep her in the sidesaddle. Her right leg locked around the upright pommel and at times, her left thigh sought the extra balance of the leaping head.

Up ahead, the Borzoi ran a hare to ground, sharp teeth making short work of the large animal. The pack moved on, back to the open field to search for a fresh scent. A brief respite was called and refreshments distributed amongst the riders as the others caught up. Ladies cantered in slow motion on sedate park hacks. The long velvet skirts of the riders trailing just above the ground. Although a fetching sight and the latest fashion, they were, nonetheless, completely impractical for jumping hedges and fast riding.

An outraged cry from over the field attracted their attention. From the distance streaked a dirty ginger shape hugging the ground, a confection of feathers surrounding the head. A lone fox with a chicken held fast between its teeth hurtled toward the sheltering forest. Laughter rose from the assembled aristocrats and hurried bets were placed on who could hit the fox and who the chicken.

Rifles and cross bows were drawn and shots flew from the multitude of weapons as those gathered tried to hit the fleeing predator. Grass and leaves were tossed into the air as bullets and bolts harmlessly sunk into the ground. A ruddy faced farmer waving a pitchfork joined the race, yelling obscenities in Russian at the fleeing scavenger. The creature ducked and dove, never taking a straight line as it headed for the forest.

Nate drew the pistol from his side. Arm outstretched but immobile, he followed the zigzag route of the fox, nearly at the sought after sanctuary. On an exhale, he fired one shot. The forward momentum of the fox stopped abruptly, back legs collapsing underneath, sending the body into a roll. The jaws relaxed in death and with a squawk the chicken took flight, stout wings flapping furiously. Laughter burst from all around as the running farmer now pursued his fleeing poultry.

“Show off,” Cara murmured, a smile on her lips as he holstered his weapon.

“We can decide later whose shot puts them on top.” He held her gaze and the familiar thrum started through Cara’s body.

She parted her lips to speak when a Borzoi gave a high pitched howl and cast a glance to the handler, begging for the command to run. A grey wolf trotted from the forest, gazed at the riders, and continued on its path as though unconcerned by the presence of the hunting party.

“Release the hounds,” Alexander cried, giving the signal for the hunt to start in earnest.

The wolf slunk across their path and the Borzoi darted over the field into the low shrubbery edging the forest. Riders put heel to their horses in pursuit. Adrenaline spiked as they broke through the enclosing branches into the wolf’s domain. Horses gave nervous whinnies to be urged on by their riders through the thickening trees.

The pace slowed as the horses were impeded by the surrounding forest, the light dimming as they rode deeper. Thin bracts whipped across the faces of unsuspecting riders and grabbed at clothing. The hunt master kept an ear on the direction of his hounds, invisible to the others as they coursed through the undergrowth, never wavering from their scent of the wolf.

The grey wolf chose a clearing to stand and fight. The hounds jumped forward, each latching on to a limb. Three Borzoi hung from the massive wolf, its vicious jaws trying to dislodge the dogs from its body. A fourth hound joined its mates and they managed to drag the creature to the ground, the whole becoming a writhing mass of fur and teeth.

“Keep the women back,” a noble yelled. If the wolf freed itself, death would come swiftly for anyone in its path.

Cara looked on the brink of rebellion when Nate took her hand.

“Pretend, just for once, that you need protecting. Allow us foolish men a modicum of illusion,
cara mia
.”

She snorted, but hung back with Natalie. Remembering the mission, she scanned the assembled riders for the Chinese ambassador and his wife. Her gaze found the woman, struggling to control her frantic mount, the horse’s body shaking with each bark from the dogs. Its wall eye turned red with growing panic.

The men dismounted, reins passed to the grooms as they moved to finish the wolf. By tradition, the wolf would be dispatched by a knife across its throat. Bloodlust hung in the air as tangible as a red mist, enveloping man and beast alike. Nikolai drew a foot long knife with a curved blade and strode toward the thrashing animal.