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Life, the Truth, and Being Free

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Steve Maraboli

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“Asad waited in one of the end stalls, watching alertly as Kathleen approached. His head lifted, his ears perking forward in recognition. He was a compact gelding with powerful hindquarters, an elegant conformation that afforded both speed and endurance. His coloring was a shade of chestnut so light it appeared golden, his mane and tail flaxen. "There's my boy," Kathleen exclaimed gently, reaching out to him with her palm upward. Asad sniffed at her hand and gave her a welcoming nicker. Lowering his finely modeled head, he moved to the front of the stall. She stroked his nose and forehead, and he reacted with pure gladness, blowing softly and nudging closer. "I shouldn't have waited so long to see you," she said, overcome with remorse. Clumsily she leaned to kiss the space between the horse's eyes. She felt him nibble delicately at the shoulder of her dress, trying to groom her. A crooked grin twisted her lips. Pushing his head away, she scratched his satiny neck in the way she knew he liked. "I shouldn't have left you alone, my poor boy." Her fingers tangled in the white-blond mane. She felt the weight of his head come to rest on her shoulder. The trusting gesture caused her throat to cinch around a quick breath.”

HorseArabianKathleen RavenelAsad
Book:Cold-Hearted Rake
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“I'm here at the earl's behest to talk to a set of clodhoppers about their turnip planting. As soon as that's concluded, I can promise you that I'll return to London with all possible haste." Clodhoppers? Kathleen drew in a sharp breath, thinking of the tenant families and the way they worked and persevered and endured the hardships of farming... all to put food on the table of men such as this, who looked down his nose at them. "The families who live here," she managed to say, "are worthy of your respect. Generations of tenant farmers built this estate- and precious little reward they've received in return. Go into their cottages, and see the conditions in which they live, and contrast it with your own circumstances. And then perhaps you might ask yourself if you're worthy of their respect." "Good God," West muttered, "my brother was right. You do have the temperance of a baited badger." They exchanged glances of mutual loathing and walked away from each other.”

West RavenelKathleen Ravenel
Book:Cold-Hearted Rake
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“Everyone on this estate is struggling to survive- and we're all depending on your brother, who's trying to solve problems that he had no hand in creating. But instead of doing something to help, you've chosen to drink yourself silly and totter around like a selfish lumping idiot-" Her throat worked around an angry sob, and she swallowed it down before continuing quietly. "Go back to London. You're of no use to anyone here. Blame me if you like. Tell Lord Trenear that I was too much of a bitch to tolerate. He'll have no difficulty accepting that." Turning, she walked away from him, throwing a few last words over her shoulder. "Perhaps someday you'll find someone who can save you from excesses. Personally, I don't believe you're worth the effort.”

Kathleen Ravenel
Book:Cold-Hearted Rake
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“I told the twins, as tactfully as possible, that Hamlet was never barrowed in infancy, as he should have been. I had no idea the procedure was necessary, or I would have made certain it was done." "Barrowed?" Kathleen asked, perplexed. West made a scissoring gesture with two fingers. "Oh." "Remaining, er... intact," West continued, "has made Hamlet unfit for future consumption, so there's no reason to fear he'll end up on the dinner table. But he'll become increasingly aggressive as he goes through pubescence. It seems he'll become malodorous as well. He's now suited for only one purpose." "Do you mean-" Kathleen began. "Might this wait until after breakfast?" Devon asked from behind a newspaper. West sent Kathleen an apologetic grin. ""I'll explain later." "If you're going to tell me about the inconvenience of having an uncastrated male in the house," Kathleen said, "I'm already aware of it." West choked a little on his toast. There was no sound from Devon's direction.”

Kathleen RavenelPigUncircumcised
Book:Cold-Hearted Rake
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“My name is Kathleen." An Irish name. "Why do you have no accent?" "I was sent to England as a child, to live with family friends in Leominster." "Why?" A frown knit between her winged brows. "My parents were very much occupied with their horses. They spent several months of each year in Egypt to purchase Arabian bloodstock for their farm. I was... an inconvenience. Their friends Lord and Lady Berwick, who were also horse people, offered to take me in and raise me with their two daughters.”

Kathleen RavenelParental Neglect
Book:Cold-Hearted Rake
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“There seemed no way to accurately describe Kathleen. He could say that her hair was red and that her eyes were golden-brown and tip-tilted like a cat's. He could describe her fair skin and the rosy undertone that rose to the surface like a winter sunrise. The way she moved, her supple athletic grace constrained by laces and stays and layers. But none of that explained the fascination she held for him... the sense that somehow she had the power to unlock some altogether new feeling inside him, if only she cared to try.”

Physical AttractionFeminine BeautyKathleen Ravenel
Book:Cold-Hearted Rake
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“Kathleen is not heartless, you see," Helen murmured. "She feels very deep sorrow. It's only that she can't show it." Devon wasn't certain whether to thank or curse Helen for the revelations. He didn't want to feel any compassion for Kathleen. But the rejection by her parents at such a tender age would have been devastating. He understood all about the desire to avoid painful memories and emotions... the compelling need to keep certain doors closed.”

SorrowUnderstanding OthersKathleen RavenelDevon RavenelParental Neglect
Book:Cold-Hearted Rake
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“There's much to do," she said. "The funeral will be in Ireland." She gave Helen a stricken glance. "I haven't been there since I was a child." "You don't have to make decisions right now," Helen said. "Perhaps you should go upstairs and lie down." "I can't, there are things I must-" Kathleen stopped as Devon entered the room. His intent gaze swept over her, coming to rest on her bleached white face. "What is it, love?" he asked gently. "My father's gone." She tried very hard to sound prosaic. "It's not a surprise, of course. We knew that he was in ill health." "Yes." Devon came forward and took her rigid form against his, wrapping her in his arms. "I'm perfectly calm," she said against his shoulder. "Yes." Devon kissed her temple. His face was taut with concern, the blue eyes hazed with tenderness. "I'm not going to cry." Her tone was matter-of-fact. "He certainly wouldn't have wanted my tears." Devon smoothed her hair, his hand covering half her small head. "Give them to me, then," he said softly. Kathleen hid her face in his shirtfront, her slight form seeming to wilt. In a few seconds, a low, broken keening sound began to emerge without stopping. Her husband laid his cheek on her head and cradled her closer against the solid reassurance of his body.”

Kathleen RavenelKathleen And DevonDevon RavenelLoving HusbandParental Neglect
Book:Marrying Winterborne
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