by Jane Feather
Theo glanced around the stableyard. Two grooms were busy soaping saddles in the shade of an oak tree. “You have no right to make such a decision for me,” she said in a fierce undertone.
“If you won’t make it for yourself, Theo, then I do have the right,” he said as softly. “In two days you’ll be my wife, and it doesn’t suit my pride to wed a hoydenish romp.”
“Your pride!” she exclaimed in a whisper. “If it didn’t trouble my grandfather, and it doesn’t bother my mother, what the hell right have you to complain? I don’t give a fig for your pride.” Even as she said it, she knew it was a silly challenge, and it was one that Sylvester ignored.
He simply caught her round the waist and lifted her into the saddle. “Let your left knee rest on the—”
“I know how to do it,” she broke in crossly.
“That’s something, I suppose.” He smiled, perfectly happy to conciliate now that he had her where he wanted her. He still held her on the saddle, however, but Theo had no intention of making a spectacle of herself by jumping down again. She had the uncomfortable conviction that Stoneridge would simply put her back in the saddle, and such a jack-in-the-box display in front of the grooms was not to be considered.
“Let go of me, Stoneridge!” She snatched up the reins, glowering at him.
He held her for a second longer, then nodded and released her, turning to mount the restlessly pawing black.
“Easy, now.” He stroked the animal’s neck as he gathered up the reins and prepared to spring into the saddle. “Easy, fellow. What’s the matter with you?”
“I expect he’s objecting to his rider,” Theo said, wishing she could have come up with a wittier retort.
Sylvester merely chuckled, and his eyes narrowed as he looked up at her. “Shall you object, gypsy? Somehow I doubt it.”
Theo’s jaw dropped as a host of unbidden emotions rushed through her at this wickedly suggestive comment. Her eyes darkened in the telltale manner he’d become accustomed to, and Sylvester laughed aloud, swinging himself into the saddle.
He was barely seated before the black raised his head and snorted, his eyes rolling wildly. Before Sylvester had time to grasp the reins securely and get his other foot into the stirrup, Zeus took off at a headlong gallop, crashing over the cobbles, his head up, nostrils flaring.
Sylvester pulled back on the reins, struggling to find his other stirrup as he fought to keep his seat. The horse jumped the railed fence separating the stable from the pasture, his rider clinging on for dear life, and bolted toward the cornfield on the far side.
Theo was so taken aback that she didn’t immediately move; then she kicked at Dulcie’s flanks and the mare set off in pursuit. Even galloping flat out, there was no way Dulcie could catch the bolting gelding. The black’s speed was terrifying as he sailed over the hedge separating the fields. Theo could see that Sylvester had both feet in the stirrups now and was lying low on the animal’s neck, gripping the mane as well as the reins, trying to keep his seat.
If he fell from that height at that speed, he’d be lucky not to break his neck, she thought in horror. What could have happened to cause the well-schooled black to bolt? It was all she could do to keep the horse in sight as he careened toward a copse, every now and again rearing up on his hind legs, snorting and bucking violently. Somehow Sylvester stayed on his back.
“Dear God,” she cried silently, knowing the danger that now threatened when the horse crashed into the copse. A low branch, catching his rider across the head or the throat at that speed would fling him from the horse with a broken neck or a fractured skull.
But Sylvester was aware of the danger. He knew Zeus was not simply bolting; he was also trying to unseat him as he bucked and reared. The horse was an intelligent animal and was as aware as his rider of the dangers, of the copse. He charged sideways, intending to smash his rider’s leg against a tree trunk. Sylvester saw it coming and yanked his leg upward as the horse veered to the right. It made his seat even more precarious, and he saw the low branches ahead almost too late to fling himself along the animal’s neck.
His feet were out of the stirrups now, and he couldn’t get them back in. It was all he could do to hang on to the mane. There was only one thing he could do. As Zeus catapulted down the narrow ride, Sylvester reached up, grabbing a branch overhead, hauling himself out of the saddle as the horse charged ahead.
He dropped to the ground, badly shaken but miraculously unhurt. Dulcie came galloping down the ride toward him, Theo white with shock and dread.
“Are you all right?” She drew back on the reins and the mare hung her head, blowing vigorously after the strenuous ride.
“Just about,” he said. “I couldn’t knot the reins, so I hope to God he doesn’t trip over them and break a leg.”
“What could have happened to him?” Theo dismounted. “I’ve never seen a horse do that before.”
“Certainly not Zeus,” Sylvester agreed. “Is Dulcie up to both our weights?”
“We can’t both ride with a sidesaddle,” she pointed out, not without a hint of satisfaction, despite the grim circumstances.
“We’ll ride bareback,” he said brusquely, moving to unstrap the girths. “Zeus will have run himself out soon, and I have to catch him before he does himself some damage.”
He lifted the saddle from the mare’s back and offered Theo his cupped palms as a mounting block before swinging up behind her, reaching for the reins.
The mare walked wearily through the copse and out into the sunlight of a stretch of gorse-strewn common land. Zeus stood on a small hill, pawing the ground and snorting. His neck and flanks were in a lather, and green foam bubbled around the bit. The reins dangled to the ground, and he had one hoof inside them.
“If he takes off again, he’ll catch his foot,” Theo said, even in her anxiety aware of the powerful body at her back, the earthy scent of his skin, the strength in the arms encircling her.
Stoneridge, however, seemed unaware of her proximity. He dismounted rapidly when they were about ten yards from Zeus. “Stay here, I’ve a better chance of not spooking him if I approach on foot.”
Theo stayed where she was, watching, her heart in her mouth. Zeus lifted his head as the man drew near. He snorted, pawing the earth, his eyes still rolling wildly.
Sylvester spoke softly to him, extending his hand, stepping purposefully toward him. The familiar voice seemed to pierce the animal’s terror and weariness, and although he tossed his head and blew through his flared nostrils, he didn’t take off.
Sylvester lunged for the reins, grabbing them, and Theo heaved a sigh of relief, trotting over to them.
“Now, let’s have a look at you,” Sylvester said, looping the reins around his wrist, stroking the sweat-lathered neck. The animal whimpered and showed the whites of his eyes.
Theo dismounted and tethered Dulcie to a gorse bush. “There’s blood on his flank,” she said as Sylvester bent to run his hands down the horse’s fetlocks and under his belly, beneath the girth. “It looks as if it’s coming from the saddle.”
Sylvester unstrapped the girths and lifted the saddle away. Zeus snorted and stamped, tossing his head as the leather left his back.
“Dear God!” Sylvester breathed, and Theo gasped in horror. The animal’s back was pouring blood.
Sylvester tossed the saddle to the ground, turning it over. He bent over it and then swore savagely. “Bastards! Vile bastards!”
Theo dropped to her knees beside him, running her hand over the bloody saddle. A line of sharp tacks had been hammered into the leather, so that the minute Sylvester’s weight had dropped onto the saddle, they’d buried themselves agonizingly into the animal’s hide.
“Who could have done such a thing?” Theo stared, horror-struck.
“Some vicious piece of scum in the stables,” he declared. “And, by God, when I find him, I’ll thrash him to within an inch of his life.”
“Of course it’s not someone from our stables,” Theo said,
her eyes flashing at this insult to Belmont people. “No one would do such a thing.”
“Someone did,” he stated flatly, twisting out the tacks. “Some rat with a grudge.”
“No!” Theo jumped up. “It’s impossible that one of my people would do such a thing.”
“Your people!” he said. “Exactly so. People who resent a Gilbraith—”
“No!” she cried again. “It’s impossible for one of the Belmont people to have done such a thing. I’ve known them all since I was a child.”
“My dear girl, you don’t know the first thing about human nature,” he declared. “Your faith is touching, but this was done by someone in the stables; where else could it have been done?”
“I don’t know,” Theo said. “But I do know that no one there is that vicious. They wouldn’t hurt a horse in that fashion, even if they did have some kind of a grudge against you. And, anyway, they don’t.”
“I’m well aware of how Belmont people regard a Gilbraith,” he said, his mouth a taut line. “And this is the work of some twisted cur. I will get to the bottom of it if I have to confront every member of the estate.”
“If you accuse someone of doing this ghastly thing, you’ll never be accepted by them,” Theo said, her eyes flaring with the passion of her conviction.
“I’m not interested in acceptance,” he told her. “I’m interested in respect and obedience. And I intend to have both. Someone is going to pay dearly for this. And if I can’t find the culprit, then they’ll all pay.”
He strode back to the horse, now standing quietly on the grass. “Come on, old fellow, let’s get you home.”
Theo bounded after him. “Just you listen to me, Stoneridge. These people are tenants, hardworking farmers, not feudal bondsmen, and they’ll respect you if you respect them. You don’t know them and you have no right … no right at all … to accuse any one of them of such a dastardly act. You have no justification and no right!”
“Get on your horse,” he said, paying no attention to this tirade. “We’ll lead Zeus and send someone back for both saddles.”
“Are you listening to me?”
“No,” he said, lifting her willy-nilly onto Dulcie and swinging up behind her, taking Zeus’s reins in his free hand. “I quite understand why you would wish to defend these people, it’s perfectly natural. But you’re ignoring reality. I’ve already had several confrontations with people who don’t wish to change their ways, and some spiteful brute clearly thought he would get his own back.”
Theo looked over her shoulder at him with withering contempt. “Obviously, my lord, you don’t have the first idea of how to establish good relations with your tenants. You’ll find, as a result, that you’ll never know any of the important things going on around the estate. If they don’t trust you, they won’t talk to you.”
“I have no particular desire to be talked to,” he stated, tight-lipped. “And trust does not depend on overfamiliarity with villagers and laborers.”
“That just goes to show how little you know,” she said scornfully. “My grandfather knew every one of his tenants and all their families—”
“I am not your grandfather,” he interrupted. “Trust comes from respect and the knowledge that the lord of the manor has their best interests at heart, even if they don’t always agree with his methods. It’s not necessary to joke and gossip with every milkmaid and stable hand in the district. And I tell you, now, Theo, you are going to have to curb your free and easy ways once we’re married. It’s not appropriate for the Countess of Stoneridge to behave as you do.”
“How would you know what’s appropriate?” she demanded with icy scorn. “If my grandfather didn’t consider it inappropriate, what makes you think you might know better? You’ve no experience of running an estate. My grandfather always said the Gilbraith estate was another Lilliput. You can’t learn to manage tenants if you don’t have them, my lord. I suggest you leave well alone what you don’t understand.”
She was only vaguely aware that her tongue had run away with her. Criticism of her grandfather on top of the insults to loyal Belmont people were not to be borne, and she’d jumped to the defense with blind passion.
But her angry, contemptuous words fell into a dreadful silence. The earl’s fingers tightened around the reins, his knuckles whitening, but he said not a word until they reached the stableyard, Zeus now wearied and docile, his injured back bleeding sluggishly.
Stoneridge sprang to the ground and bellowed for the head groom. The man ran across, quailing at the earl’s naked fury. His expression, when he saw the damage to Zeus, was so outraged that no one could believe he bore any responsibility for the wounds. The earl issued rapid-fire orders for the treatment of his horse and the retrieval of the saddles; then he swung back to Theo.
She had not yet dismounted and was still foolishly considering that she’d had the last word, when he came to the mare’s head, his hand on the bridle.
“Dismount,” he commanded in a low voice.
Theo looked down into his face and realized with a shock that she had never seen such a blazingly angry countenance. The scar on his forehead stood out, a white ridged line; a muscle twitched in his cheek, and there was a white shade around the chiseled mouth. He looked quite capable of murder. Her insulting words and the derisory tone now replayed with dismaying accuracy in her head.
“I will tell you just once more,” he said as softly. “Dismount now. Or this stableyard is going to witness a spectacle that will live in memory for years to come.”
Theo swallowed and swung herself off Dulcie. Her feet had no sooner touched the cobbles than the cold silver knob of the earl’s riding crop jabbed into the small of her back, and she was thrust toward the exit of the yard. She had no choice but to obey the pressure if she was not to draw unwelcome attention to this forced march toward the house.
She tried to believe that she’d been justified in her attack, but she knew she’d chosen the most insolent and unforgivable words. Her cursed tongue had taken the high road again, she recognized dismally, and Sylvester Gilbraith was not a man to turn the other cheek to an insufferable insult.
They turned onto the gravel sweep before the house. A post chaise was drawn up before the front steps, and suddenly the cold jab of the riding crop left her back. Sylvester stopped on the driveway and took a deep breath.
Without volition Theo looked inquiringly over hex shoulder, sensing the current of tension in him, something that had nothing to do with his anger with her.
“HI have to see to you later,” he said almost absently. “It looks as if my mother and sister have arrived.”
Theo felt a surge of relief at the reprieve. With any luck so much would be happening in the next few hours that his anger would at least be blunted.
Sylvester walked swiftly toward the chaise, leaving Theo to follow. He’d been dreading this arrival. His mother was a difficult woman at best, an overbearing witch at worst; his sister, a middle-aged and embittered spinster, bullied unmercifully by Lady Gilbraith. What either of them would make of his bride-to-be, he couldn’t imagine. He sensed that Lady Belmont had a vein of steel in her that would make her more than a match for his mother, but the next few days were going to be uncomfortable if not downright hideous.
Lady Gilbraith was descending from the chaise as her son arrived. “Ah, Sylvester, there you are.” She took his proffered hand as she stepped onto the gravel. “I could wish you’d had the courtesy to come for us. The roads are lawless.”
“You have six outriders, ma’am,” he said, raising her hand to his lips. “Much more useful than one son.”
“Oh, Mama, don’t forget your sal volatile,” a high voice exclaimed as a bonneted head appeared in the door of the chaise. “And your reticule.”
“Mary, I bid you welcome.” He extended a hand to help a round lady in an alpaca cloak. “I trust the journey wasn’t toe arduous.”
“Oh, the inn where we stayed last night was dreadful,’ Mary said. “The s
heets were damp, and I’m sure Mama will have the ague.”
“I was under the impression that Mama always travels with her own sheets,” her brother said.
“That’s true, of course, but it was most dreadfully draughty. The windows didn’t fit properly, and I’m certain the mattress was damp.” She dabbed at a reddened nose with her handkerchief.
Since Sylvester knew that his sister was afflicted with a permanently red and dripping nose, he made no comment, turning instead to look for Theo, who was standing at a little distance, hands clasped in front of her, a tentative smile on her face.
A picture of conciliation, he thought, half-amused despite his very real anger.
“Theo, let me make you known to my mother,” he said, beckoning her forward, keeping his voice deliberately cool, his mouth unsmiling.
Not promising, Theo thought, coming forward. Maybe if she charmed his mother and sister, he’d be inclined to forget her earlier offense.
“Lady Gilbraith.” She bowed, and extended her hand, smiling. “I’m delighted to make your acquaintance.”
Lady Gilbraith ignored the hand, raised her lorgnette, and examined her. “Goodness me, what a brown creature you are,” she declared. “It’s most unfashionable. I’m surprised your mother should allow you to run around in the sun and ruin your complexion in that fashion.”
She was not going to like her mother-in-law! And that, Theo reflected, was the understatement of the year. But she would demonstrate to Sylvester that she could behave with impeccable courtesy, despite provocation.
“I have a dark complexion, ma’am,” she said. “I take after my father. My sisters are much fairer.”
She glanced up at Sylvester and saw a glimmer of relief in his eyes. “Theo, this is my sister, Mary.”
Mary sniffed and shook hands. “Theo? What a strange name. You must mean Thea, surely.”
“No,” Theo said. “I have always been called Theo. It was my father’s name for me.”
“How very strange.” Another sniff accompanied the comment. “Mama, we should go inside. The air feels very damp.”
