The Devil's Betrothed novel Chapter 738

Chapter 738: Horse Riding

The next morning, Lucian woke earlier than everyone else. To be precise, he had barely slept at all, waiting for the night to pass so he could see Erin.

Since no one else was awake yet, he headed to the stables, where his horse was being cared for. Although the stable hands were looking after it, Lucian felt compelled to tend to the animal himself.

The previous day, he had ridden for hours through the forest, trying to sort out his thoughts—figuring out what he wanted and how to achieve it. In the process, his horse had shared in his exhaustion.

"Has he eaten?" Lucian asked one of the stable caretakers as he gently patted the horse.

"Yes, my lord. He seems a little tired, but he’s fine," the caretaker replied.

As Lucian stroked the horse’s mane, something caught his attention—a rider in the distance. He recognized the figure instantly, even from afar.

The caretaker followed Lucian’s gaze. "Lady Erin arrived early this morning and went out riding. But it’s been long and she should stop now."

"Get me a horse," Lucian ordered, without taking his eyes off Erin. His own horse was too tired, and he didn’t want to burden it further.

The caretaker brought him one of the finest horses. Lucian spent a moment familiarizing himself with the animal, running his hand along its neck until it relaxed. Then, without hesitation, he mounted and rode off, his eyes locked on Erin, who was riding in wide circles across the vast expanse of Nathael’s estate.

She rode fast, her anger and frustration apparent in the way she urged her horse forward. Lucian spurred his horse to catch up. It didn’t take long.

Erin, sensing someone approaching, glanced back—and frowned when she saw Lucian. Her horse surged forward, as if she intended to escape him.

Though her face was partially covered, leaving only her eyes visible, Lucian could tell she was not pleased to see him. He understood her anger. She had feelings for him, and in her mind, he had rejected her. Worse, she believed there was someone else—another woman he wished to marry—while he had been callous enough to refuse her.

Lucian caught up to her and called out, "If you keep riding like this, both you and the horse will collapse. It’s too cold. You need to stop and go back."

Instead of answering, Erin changed the path, guiding her horse into the forest.

Lucian’s expression darkened with concern. If she went too deep, she could easily get lost. He pressed his heels into his horse’s sides, quickening the pace until he rode ahead of her and blocked her path.

Erin’s horse reared abruptly at the sudden obstacle, its front legs kicking high into the air. Erin yanked on the reins, but the movement threw her off balance, and she tumbled to the ground.

Lucian quickly dismounted and rushed to her side. "Are you alright?" he asked, reaching out to help, but she angrily swatted his hands away and shifted back on the ground, glaring at him.

He respected her space and didn’t try to touch her again, though the frustration in her beautiful eyes was unmistakable.

Erin looked away as if she didn’t want to say a word to him.

"You call me mute, but when I am talking, it seems like you have decided to be one," Lucian spoke, only to earn another glare from her.

"Let me check your foot," Lucian urged. "If you don’t return soon, everyone will come looking for you. They’ll have to search the forest to find us—and I believe you don’t want that."

Erin remained silent, and Lucian took her lack of protest as permission. He carefully removed her boot and sock from her left foot, revealing a slightly red ankle.

"It’s not too bad," he murmured, though Erin stubbornly looked away. In her mind, it was all his fault—her anger, the fall, and the situation she now found herself in.

Why had he followed her when all she wanted was to ride alone in peace?

Lucian slipped off his glove from the right hand, pulling it free with a tug of his fingers, as his other hand continued to hold her foot.

Erin caught the small action from the corner of her eye and, for a fleeting moment, found it oddly captivating—the effortless way he removed his gloves.

She immediately scolded herself for the thought. I’m angry with him. I’m not going to forgive him.