Let Me Be The One by Jo Goodman

an obstacle that was hidden in the grass, then disappeared again, this time into the wood.
    The braying, barking hunting hounds were released. They nearly overran one another as instinct and training urged them forward on the scent of the fox. They were halfway across the field before the hunting horns blared. Tan-ti-veee. Tan-ti-veee. Tan-ti-veee. Shouting, the riders released their straining mounts and they broke free en masse. Great clumps of damp earth and grass were thrown up as the hooves pounded out their own rhythm. Riding whips whistled through the air as the first wave of scarlet crested a knoll and claw-hammer tails rippled in the wind.
    Northam glanced over at Elizabeth. The fine features of her face were set without tension or fear. Her concentration was complete, yet she made it seem effortless. If she had known how she looked she would not have let him see. Here was a face naked save for joy, stripped of every defense and all caution. Release made her appear so vulnerable that it seemed to him a violation of her secret self to stare so openly.
    "Be careful!" she shouted.
    He saw the worn remains of an old stone fence the same time his horse did. Here, hidden among the tall shafts of lush green grass, was the obstacle the fox had jumped. Northam prepared himself as he would not have done if Elizabeth had not called to him. He would be forever in her debt for saving him from an ignominious fall. Before he could call out his thanks, her mount was sailing across the old fence and he had to give chase.
    Elizabeth's prediction of how the riders would cluster as they neared the wood was proving true. He held his powerful black mare back just enough for Elizabeth's Becket to maintain the lead, and then he followed them as they veered toward the dark opening in the oaks. Another rider had split from the hunting party and taken that direction also. Northam recognized the powerful chest and shoulders of Battenburn's cinnamon-colored mare as she charged in front of them.
    The sun seemed to wink out as they drove hard into the wood. Hounds and horses could be heard crashing through the thicket. Of necessity, the speed of the animals slowed. The baron's bright scarlet jacket gave Northam and Elizabeth a figure to follow, and the path unfolded in front of them as if a carpet were being laid.
    Cunning, Northam thought, not for the first time. Lady Elizabeth Penrose was clever and cunning. Far from being put off by this observation, Northam numbered it among her most intriguing assets.
    Northam became aware that there was another incremental change in the concentration of their light. Overhead the canopy of boughs was becoming less dense and shafts of sunlight speared every opening between the branches like transparent lances. Raindrops that had clung to the bright green surface of the leaves were shaken free and fell on them with surprising force. Thirty yards to their front, Battenburn had cleared the trees and was pounding into another open field bordered by a rock-strewn road. When Elizabeth and Northam also broke through the woods, Northam saw they were now ahead of the other riders. Charging in a pack, the hounds continued their enthusiastic pursuit of the harried red fox.
    Elizabeth maneuvered Becket toward the hounds on a diagonal. Confronted by the shallow stream that bisected the pasture, the dogs hesitated only a moment before splashing through and picking up the scent on the other side. Battenburn, Elizabeth, and Northam followed, while the pounding of the animals gaining on them from behind thundered in their ears.
    The bucolic landscape was made lively with the successive passage of fox, hounds, horses, and riders. Cows scattered across the gentle hillside. Calves lowed piteously in a frantic search for their mothers. A family of ducks contentedly cleaning themselves at the stream were startled into flight. In a distant field, sheep herded themselves into the beginnings of a wool blanket and starlings and wrens and