![]() ![]() ![]() It cuts through you as cruelly as the sound of an innocent child’s cry of pain. When he spoke again, he released a low rush of words: “Have you ever heard a horse scream, Jillian? It’s one of the most bloodcurdling sounds I’ve ever heard. “I did.” There was a pause, filled only with the rasp of bristles against horseflesh. Grimm returned his attention to the horse. “So who rescued him?” Jillian was determined not to rise to the bait. “You never stop with your questions, do you? And what are you doing here, anyway? Couldn’t you just be a good lass and wait at Caithness? No, I forgot, Jillian hates being left behind,” he said mockingly. “Was he injured?” The horse was magnificent, hands taller than most and a glossy, unmarked slate gray. “He doesn’t appear to have suffered for it.” Jillian traversed the courtyard, eyeing the stallion. Grimm allowed a brief glance over his shoulder, then started brushing the horse’s sleek flank. “Why don’t you ever pen Occam?” she asked brightly. She instantly assumed a mask of indifference and volleyed into questions to head off a potential verbal sully. ![]()
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