#DailyLines #MOBY #WrittenINMyOWNHeartsBLOOD #Book8 #parchedaspieceoflastyearsjerky #anymphsurprisedwhilebathing

His present horse was Madras, a cob with a deep chest and a steady, stolid disposition. The horse waded purposefully into the stream, hock-deep, and sank his nose into the water with a blissful snort, shivering his coat against the cloud of flies that appeared instantly out of nowhere whenever they stopped.

William waved a couple of insects away from his own face, and took off his coat for a moment’s relief from the heat. He was tempted to wade in, too—up to his neck, if the creek were deep enough—but…well… He looked cautiously over his shoulder, but he was well out of sight, though he could hear the sounds of the baggage-train on the distant road. Why not? Just for a moment. It wasn’t as though the dispatch he was carrying was urgent; he’d seen it written, and it contained nothing more than an invitation for General von Knyphausen to join General Clinton for supper at an inn with a reputation for good pork. Everyone was wringing with sweat; dampness would be no tell-tale.

He hastily shucked shoes, shirt, stockings, breeches and smalls, and walked naked into the purling water, which barely reached his waist, but was wet and cool. He closed his eyes in blissful relief—and opened them abruptly a half-second later.

“William!”

Madras flung up his head with a startled snort, showering William with droplets, but he barely noticed, in the shock of seeing two young women standing on the opposite bank.

“What the devil are _you_ doing here?” He tried to squat a little lower in the water, without being conspicuous about it. Though a dim voice in the back of his mind wondered aloud why he bothered; Arabella-Jane had already seen anything he had. “And who’s that?” he demanded, jerking his chin at the other girl. Both of them were flushed as summer roses, but he thought—he hoped—it was the result of the heat.

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