Save a Horse, Ride a Viscount

by Valerie Bowman

  Ewan hadn’t been there the day his friend needed him. He hadn’t been by his side on the battlefields of Europe, but the moment Ewan had heard that Phillip was injured, Ewan had gone to Dover and met his ship. He’d brought an extra coach fitted comfortably for an invalid, but when he’d seen Phillip disembark, Ewan realized that it wasn’t his friend’s body that was broken. Of course Phillip was thinner and paler, but it was his mind that was broken. The man could walk, his bruises had healed, but he didn’t say a word that day and he hadn’t spoken since.

  Ewan spent several more minutes with his friend recounting boring little tidbits about the estate and some things he’d read in the paper before standing to take his leave. This is how their conversations went every day. Entirely one-sided. But Ewan dutifully arrived and made the effort no matter what. He would not let his friend down.

  Ewan passed by the window. He stopped in front of the glass panes and looked down into the paddock where Forrester and one of the stablehands were working with Alabaster. He wished he could show Phillip, but after many long talks with Mr. Forrester, they’d agreed that Phillip needed to be a bit stronger, before they would tell him that Alabaster was waiting for him.

  Moments later, Ewan left Phillip’s room feeling less hopeful about his friend’s condition than he had in weeks. Phillip still wouldn’t speak. He still wouldn’t leave his rooms. How in the world would he ever convince him to come out to the stables and ride?

  Ewan had spent a small fortune on Alabaster. Had he even done the right thing? Would Alabaster truly be able to help Phillip regain what he had lost? Or was Phillip’s injury more physical than mental? Only time would tell. There was still one thing about Phillip that he knew and that was that the man harbored a secret in his very identity. No one could know he was here.

  Chapter Eight

  Thea pulled the cap down tightly over her brow before alighting from the small pony she’d ridden through the dark to Lord Clayton’s estate. Thank heavens there was a full moon tonight or she would have been entirely in darkness.

  Maggie was the only person who knew where Thea had gone. They’d quarreled at great length both over Thea’s intention to sneak into Clayton’s stables and over Thea’s insistence upon riding to Lord Clayton’s estate alone. At night. In the dark. Dressed as a lad, no less.

  But in the end Thea had stubbornly insisted upon her plan. “It makes no sense to take a coach. Why would a lad arrive in a coach? I must be alone and take a pony.”

  Of course, Maggie had asked Thea a variety of perfectly reasonable additional questions such as: What if you’re caught? What if you’re shot? And the maid had ended her lecture with the warning, “If you are caught or shot, it will be no more than you deserve.”

  “You let me worry about that,” had been Thea’s defiant reply, but now that she was on Clayton’s property, a good bit of apprehension had somehow managed to sneak its way into her mind, making her doubt herself. She shook her head and adjusted the dark cap she was wearing. She’d come this far. She would see it through.

  Maggie had spent the better part of the last sennight busily sewing the clothing for Thea’s clandestine journey.

  After the clothing was finished, Thea had waited another few days for the moon to be full enough to ride by. The entire plot was dangerous and risky, but nothing was going to keep her from seeing her horse.

  She slipped off the pony and tied him to a nearby tree. She’d spent a great deal of time researching Lord Clayton’s estate. To her delight, she’d found a map of the area in her father’s library. The bits that weren’t outlined there, she’d filled in by paying a visit to another neighbor, old Lady Mayfeather. Lady Mayfeather was married to a mean old goat, but the lady knew everyone and everything about Devon and she was willing to talk about it. She’d loved Thea since she was a girl and the very best part was that Lord Mayfeather and Thea’s father had had a falling out some years back and they rarely spoke, which meant Lady Mayfeather would hardly have a chance to tell Thea’s father that she had come around asking a lot of questions about the layout of Lord Clayton’s estate.

  Using the map and the information she’d gleaned from Lady Mayfeather, Thea had carefully calculated the distance from the main road to the back of Lord Clayton’s estate. She had ridden the pony onto the grounds but had stayed off the main path by riding through the grass and trees that bordered the northern side of the land.

  Sliding off the pony, she left the horse tied up within a copse of trees. She quickly made her way to the tree line and looked out across Lord Clayton’s meadows. She expelled her breath. The stables were precisely where she expected them to be. Thank heavens. By her estimation, she would only have to run less than a mile along the tree line to the stables. She set off at a fast clip, hoping the black clothes she’d asked Maggie to sew for her would keep her from being seen under the moonlight.

  It took Thea less than a quarter of an hour to make it to the stables. Once there, she pressed her back against the wood of the enormous building, breathing so heavily she could barely hear any other noises. She waited for her breathing to slow and listened for any sound in the crisp night air. Her ears were met with complete silence. The horses and their caretakers were fast asleep.

  She crept along the side of the wall until she came to the first door. It was locked of course. She’d expected that. Glancing around, she found a milk carton made of wood. She picked it up and placed it beneath the window that was next to the door.

  She stepped atop the wooden box and pushed at the window as quietly as possible. To her immense relief, the window moved up. It wasn’t locked. She smiled to herself. That was fortunate. Using her height and pushing her legs against the side of the wall, she pulled herself up to the window and was able to perch precariously on the ledge. She stayed there for a few moments allowing her eyes to adjust to the darkness inside the stables. When she was finally convinced that it was safe, she jumped to the ground where she landed deftly on the packed earth on bent legs. Straightening her legs slowly, she glanced around. Hopefully, the noise of her entry hadn’t startled any of the horses or awakened any of the stablehands sleeping upstairs.

  She waited for what felt like a quarter hour before she decided it was safe to move about. The moon shone through the windows on the far side of the stables, illuminating her path enough for her to make out some of the contents of the grand building. Viscount Clayton’s stables were impressive indeed. They’d clearly been designed by someone who knew a great deal about horses. The tack wall, the blacksmith’s mount, the wide doors, the ropes and pitchforks and water barrels. The soaring wooden ceiling with a second floor where the stablehands slept, according to Lady Mayfeather.

  The stables at Blackstone Hall were quite fine, but these, these were stunning. Fresh, fragrant bales of hay lined the walls and hung from the rafters. The stalls were the largest she’d ever seen. Each horse was housed individually in one of the stalls filled with fresh hay and the place was so clean you could probably host a dinner party inside. An enormous tack wall covered an entire side of the huge building. It smelled like leather and hay and clean horses.

  Whatever else might be said of Viscount Clayton, the man certainly treated his horses well. There were people who didn’t live this splendidly.

  Thea took a few tentative steps toward the center of the building. Her heart pounded at the thought of being so near her dear Alabaster. He was here somewhere. Where was he? She made her way from stall to stall to find him.

  The first stall she came to housed a sorrel mare. A gorgeous girl with markings on her nose and long, soft ears that twitched in the cool night air. The second stall held a thoroughbred. He was dark brown and clearly made for racing. The third housed one of the most gorgeous gray stallions Thea had ever seen. The next three stalls were filled with three more grays, each one as beautiful as the first. They were matching and must have cost Lord Clayton at least as much as he’d paid for Alabaster. The man certainly had money. There was no question a
bout it.

  Thea made her way past the grays. So far, all of the horses housed here were very fine indeed and all were standing, asleep, their gorgeous manes trailing along their muscled necks.

  Thea was beginning to worry that Alabaster was housed elsewhere when she came to the largest stall at the far end of the row. She could see the shadow of the large black horse. He was standing up. The moon outlined his graceful form.

  It was him. It was Alabaster. She’d know him anywhere, even in the darkness. She quickened her pace. As she approached the stall, the horse snorted. Did he smell her? Did he know she was near? She swallowed hard. Tears stinging her eyes. At long last. Here was her horse. Her boy. He may have been only a foal when she’d last seen him, but she’d know him anywhere and he appeared to remember her.

  She approached the stall door with a mixture of excitement and caution. She didn’t want to frighten him or excite him enough to make a louder noise. She stopped in front of the door. Heart thundering in her chest, she extended her hand, a smile on her face as the horse stepped forward to nuzzle her palm.

  “There you are, my boy,” she whispered as tears fell down her cheeks. “Oh, how I’ve missed you.”

  He remembered her. She could tell. She smoothed her hand over his velvety nose and muzzle. She pulled an apple from her pocket. One she’d brought specifically for this purpose. When he was a foal, he’d loved the apples she’d sneaked to him.

  She stood there in silence, marveling at how big he was. How magnificent. “You were in Portugal, weren’t you?” she whispered finally. “I’m certain you did the King proud.” She rubbed the horse’s nose again.

  The horse snorted again and stamped his hoof. “Don’t worry, Alabaster,” she whispered. “I’ve made a bungle of this, but I’m going to bring you home. I promise.”

  Thea thought for a moment about how she’d got here, sneaking into her neighbor’s stables at night. She had bungled everything. It had been a mistake making an enemy of Lord Clayton. As a result, he’d refused to allow her to see her horse. And he had that power. Of course she wasn’t about to allow it to stop her, but she realized now that she’d made a cake of herself in front of the viscount. No doubt she’d seemed like a selfish child. No doubt she was.

  One of the other horses whinnied and Thea’s heart caught in her throat. She slipped into the shadows on the far side of Alabaster’s stall and pressed herself against the wood planks, heart hammering in her throat. A few tense moments passed before footsteps clomped on the stairs coming down from where the stablehands slept. Thea swallowed hard. She had to get out of here.

  Did she have time to run for the door before whoever was coming made it to the ground floor? From the sound of the steps, the staircase was somewhere in the middle of the stables.

  She had little time to think. She had to run for it.

  Trying to remain in the shadows, she launched herself toward the enormous barn doors. They were locked and there was little chance she could open one herself, given their size. She had to make it back through the window she’d entered.

  A large door in the middle of the nearest wall opened just as she shimmied through the window.

  “Hey, there. You, stop!” came a male voice as she pushed herself through the window and landed on the cold, wet grass outside. She wasn’t about to stop. Instead, she jumped up and ran toward the closest corner of the building.

  Whoever was behind her was attempting to pull himself through the window too. He was still yelling at her to stop. Based on his voice, it sounded like an older man. The stablemaster, perhaps. As she turned the corner to the other side of the stables, the moon illuminated her path back toward the treeline. She had no other choice but to run. Not stopping to think, she sprinted across the field. Her feet flew beneath her kicking up clumps of grass as she went.

  A commotion back at the stables met her ears as the man who’d seen her was obviously calling for assistance and other stablehands were waking up and joining him, but she didn’t dare look back. Instead, she kept her eyes focused on the tree line and ran as fast as her legs would carry her. She’d always been fast. Thank heavens. Turned out chasing after her older brother all those years had been good for something.

  She sprinted directly into the tree line and made her way through the copse of trees. Not until she was safe within its depths and at the side of her pony, did she dare to look back. Lanterns were ablaze in the stables and there were already stablehands spreading out across the meadow to search for her, but to Thea’s profound relief, they were all headed in the direction of the house and the lane that led up to it. They were all moving south. She was in a copse of trees due north. Thank heavens. If she left the way she’d come and stayed in the tree line, they wouldn’t see her. She hoped.

  She quickly hoisted herself atop the pony and set off at a brisk pace that only increased as she left the grounds of Lord Clayton’s estate. She didn’t breathe easily until she was back at her house, and safely tucked inside her own bed.

  As she turned over on her mattress and adjusted the pillow beneath her head, she smiled to herself. She’d got to see Alabaster. Her beloved boy. And he’d remembered her. She’d told Maggie the truth. She had no intention of stealing the horse. Stealing was beneath her. But she couldn’t stand to know that Alabaster was there. So close. Without visiting him. Something about Viscount Clayton’s refusal to even allow her to see the animal had made her even more stubborn than usual.

  She’d nearly been caught, but it had been worth it. And despite the danger, she would go back and see her horse again. Perhaps just one last time … before the first snow fell.

  Chapter Nine

  “I’m sorry to bother you, my lord. But the horse thief returned tonight,” said Humbolt, his form a silhouette inside Ewan’s bedchamber door.

  Ewan pushed himself up against the pillows and rubbed his tired eyes. “What bloody time is it, Humbolt?” he demanded.

  “It’s nearly two in the morning, my lord,” Humbolt replied.

  Ewan cursed under his breath. This was the second night in a row he’d been awoken from a sound sleep to the news that a thief had been chased out of his stables.

  “Did he manage to steal anything tonight?” Ewan asked.

  “No. Mr. Hereford chased him off again.”

  Ewan arched a brow. “He’s not much of a horse thief, is he, Humbolt?”

  Humbolt shook his head. “He was near the Arabian’s stall again, my lord.”

  “Of course he was.” Ewan shook his head. He had a strong suspicion that the person in his stables the last two nights had been none other than Lady Theodora Ballard. Even though the person who’d been seen was dressed as a lad, Ewan wouldn’t put it past the chit to wear such clothing. It was either her or someone she’d sent to try to steal the horse. But something about the entire affair didn’t feel right to Ewan. It didn’t make sense that neither night had an attempt been made to actually steal the horse. The stall door hadn’t been opened and the barn door hadn’t even been opened. A thief, however skillful, couldn’t exactly push a horse through a window. Not to mention, if the Arabian were to be stolen, the first place Ewan would look would be Lady Theodora’s father’s stables. If she was the thief, she had to realize it would be madness to try to take the horse from him.

  But what other reason did she have for sneaking into his stables at night? Had she sent one of her father’s stablehands to spy on his horse for some reason? She couldn’t possibly be sneaking in merely to visit the animal, could she? How bloody stubborn was this young lady? Or how bloody mad?

  Ewan had received a very similar report the night before. Whoever had been in the stables had managed to escape before either Mr. Hereford or the stablehands could detain him. Ewan’s orders had been to be prepared if it happened again and to detain the culprit if so. Apparently, whoever it was, was a bit too surefooted for his sleepy stablehands.

  “I intend to call the constable this time, my lord,” Humbolt continued, “but I thought
you should be aware, first.”

  Ewan narrowed his eyes and rubbed them, wiping the sleep from his mind. “Did anyone notice anything new tonight, Humbolt?”

  “No, my lord. At least Mr. Hereford didn’t mention anything.”

  “You said they believe it’s a boy, Humbolt?” Ewan continued.

  “Yes, my lord. According to the stablehands, he can’t be more than twelve or thirteen years old.”

  Ewan rubbed his jaw and sighed loud and long. “Don’t call the constable yet, Mr. Humbolt.”

  “My lord?” Humbolt’s eyes widened in surprise. “Would you like me to have the stablemaster put someone up all night to watch the Arabian?”

  “No, thank you, Humbolt,” Ewan replied with another grim sigh. “I intend to catch this particular thief myself.”

  Chapter Ten

  Ewan sat in the stables atop a bale of hay. The bale was pushed against the wall directly to the right of the thief’s preferred window. The culprit had entered this way both times before, and Ewan hoped the chap would attempt it a third time. This was Ewan’s fifth night of waiting, however, and he was both tired and impatient. After the first two nights when he’d been seen, the thief had yet to return.

  Either he’d been scared off by being nearly caught twice, or he was merely waiting for the moon to be fuller. Ewan suspected that latter, which is why he had high hopes that tonight would be the night for the so-called thief’s return. The moon was nearly full.

  Ewan had nearly drifted off. His eyes had shut just as he heard a distinctive thump against the outside wall.

  He immediately sat up straight. His body tensed, ready to catch whoever this was and put an end to this nonsense once and for all.

  Ewan bided his time. By all accounts the thief was slender and young. If indeed it was a lad, Ewan expected he’d be able to easily overtake the child … and if it was Lady Theodora, well, he’d easily overtake her too.