tone. Expecting only more pain, the mare stood stubbornly, and
Sera tapped her again, this time hard. The mare jumped forward,
but met the light pressure of the line and slowed.
“Good girl,” said Sera. “Walk.” The little white horse moved
forward in the circle, her ear pricked toward Sera.
“See how she listens?” Sera said to the boy, never taking
her eyes from the horse. “Keep the tone quiet for the walk.” It
was this that she needed to combat the desperation beginning
to choke her—this still, intent concentration in a simple task,
and the comfort of using her one small gift. She had forgotten
how she loved the work. The smell of horse sweat and sawdust
on a warm autumn day brought it all back to her in a rush of
feeling that stung inside her chest.
The mare walked herself cool. Her coat was beginning to
dry, and her breathing had evened out. The boy stood close to
her in the circle watching, really listening to the lesson.
“Now she has rounded up well.” Sera called a halt to the
lesson, praising the horse and scratching her behind the ears.
“If you would like, I shall come tomorrow and we can work
again,” she said as she gave the line to the boy. “Bring an apple
for a reward.” The lad nodded and tugged at his cap. “Thank
’ee miss. Just ask for Ned, and they’ll direct you to me.”
She turned as young Ned led the mare to the wash stall and
saw Nicholas Rostov leaning against the arena wall, his arms
crossed over his chest. The king looked elegant and commanding
even in his dusty boots and open jacket. She wished he’d stop
regarding her with such intense concentration, for he made her
feel like a creature beneath a magnifying glass.
She attempted to brush the dirt and horse dander off the
front of her frock, then gave up when it became apparent that
most of the grime had settled into the light linen. He had
obviously noticed her dishevelment, she thought crossly as she
made her way across the sawdust. She could tell by the way his
brows were raised in that slight air of disapproval.
Someone coughed, a furtive sound in the upper seats of the
arena between colonnades. Sera looked up and noticed several
men dressed in boots, rough linen shirts, and worn breeches.
They made a quiet audience, lounging in the seats, watching
her and Nicholas Rostov with bright, curious eyes.
As she drew closer, Nicholas gave her a grave look. “The
mare you exercised so competently belongs to my sister
Katherine,” he said. “She would like to get to know you. She’s
even now making plans to put your chamber next to hers inside
the palace. Would you like that?”
The resentment returned, leaving her feeling heated and
bitter. “I am a slave,” Sera said with a shrug. “I have no choice
in the matter.”
Nicholas Rostov sighed and looked down at her. “That’s
not true,” he said. “You may do anything you wish within the
confines of the palace. The position of a lady-in-waiting to the
princess is a high honor, however. You need to learn the rules
of court etiquette and the arts of fine needlework and dancing.
You could even learn to play an instrument if you wished.”
Sera felt herself bristling. “You needn’t patronize me. I know
what a lady-in-waiting does,” she snapped.
His lips tightened. “What would you prefer, then? To
apprentice to one of the cooks? I assure you, it would be hot
and heavy work for one of your delicacy, but if you wish it, you
may work all day in the kitchens and sleep by the fireplace at
night. Unless you favor the laundry more.” By now, Sera
recognized that tone of silky sarcasm.
If he was angry, he might be honest about it, she thought
while the irritation washed over her. “I wish to work here,” she
said, just to goad him further.
He frowned at her with thunder in his eyes. “As a stable
hand?”
Suddenly, in a flash of understanding, she realized that the
gambit she was using to fight him was something very necessary
to her future. Wind Rider was here in the stable. If these men
who now sat in the upper seats of the covered arena were at all
like the stable hands in Arkadia, they would know all the news
in Laurentia before anyone else in the palace, for the coach
drivers and the soldiers came to the stables first. She could
ascertain more about the thief and she could escape from
Montanyard more easily if she worked here.
“Truly, Nicholas Rostov. If you watched me lunge the horse,
you saw that I did it well. You say I am free to choose my
occupation. Let me work here.”
He frowned, staring down at her. He was no longer furious,
she saw, for the look he gave her was troubled, almost concerned.
“This is a rough place. The men might take liberties.”
“If you only give me a chance, I shall prove myself to them
all. In truth, I am uncomfortable at the very thought of entering
your fine palace and of meeting the nobles of your court. They
will scorn me, Nicholas Rostov, and you know they will. Think
how you yourself regard a person from the Hills, and a slave, at
that! I shall be happy here, and I’ll work very hard.”
Nicholas Rostov was looking at her with the same
expression he used often—as though she were an irritating
puzzle he had to solve.
“No one could ever scorn you, Sera. From the first moment
I met you, you acted like a princess. If this is what you want, so
be it. I’ll command the grooms to treat you with respect.”
Sera executed what she hoped was an acceptable curtsey
despite the fact that her legs were trembling from relief. “Thank
you, Nicholas Rostov,” she said, keeping her eyes lowered while
her heart leaped in triumph. In two days she would know enough
about the stables and the countryside to execute her escape.
***
In the evening, Nicholas dictated the last dispatches to his
secretary Holmes. He had spent two days mapping out
Napoleon’s progress through Russia and arguing with his
ministers. One or two insisted that Britain had obviously proven
an unreliable ally—that Nicholas should consider the alternative.
The very outrageousness of the suggestion made Nicholas
realize how bad the situation was. For a king of Laurentia to
approach the French despot with hat in hand and plead for an
alliance was tantamount to abandoning his country to the enemy.
The hour was late, but he still had several dispatches to dictate
to his secretary.
What to do? The answer was obvious. He must cement the
alliance with Beaureve. Nicholas sent an emissary to Anatole
Galerien requesting a meeting, and he began to consider what
concessions he would have to make with trade and import taxes
in order to sweeten the agreement.
He wished that Galerien’s niece, Catherine Elizabeth
Galerien, was well enough to leave her convent and finally marry
him. Alt
hough Nicholas was far from being an eager
bridegroom, the marriage, agreed upon by his father and her
father, Beaureve’s late king, would cement the alliance, making
Laurentia stronger.
A knock on his study door interrupted his thoughts, and he
felt his irritation rise. He had left word that he was not to be
disturbed.
“Enter,” he called in none too pleasant a voice.
A guard who had the conscience to turn red-faced with
embarrassment entered, dragging what looked like a very wet,
very dirty ragamuffin across the study to stand defiantly before
him.
He shook his head, scowling down at a bedraggled blonde
braid and a pair of flashing blue eyes. Holmes made a choked
noise in his throat. He dismissed the man with an impatient
wave of his hand.
“We followed her out the gates of the city,” said the guard.
“Had it not been for your instructions, Sire, we would never
have caught up with her, but the men waiting on the eastern
road waylaid her. There was a bit of a scuffle, I’m afraid, and
the lady unfortunately fell into a puddle. I beg pardon for the
inconvenience, but you had commanded that we inform you
immediately.”
“No need to apologize, Lieutenant. You have all done well.
Please leave us.” He waited until the man had bowed his way
out and shut the door before exposing Sera to the Rostov frown.
She was in no mood to concede, he realized, when she squared
her shoulders and glowered right back at him.
“You posted guards on me!”
“And you obviously justified my mistrust. You should have
listened when I told you it would do no good to sneak away.
Pray do not attempt such nonsense again.”
Sera had the temerity to cross her arms over her bosom and
turn her back on him. Her wet linen gown was provocatively
plastered against her body, giving him a fine view of gently
flaring hips and a nicely rounded backside. In immediate
reaction, his loins tightened. His hands itched to lift that sodden
skirt inch by inch and mold themselves to her slender thighs,
warming the goose bumps he knew must have risen from the
chill of the water. Then he remembered that every soldier he
had posted to this task had caught a glimpse of those singular
charms, and his anger surged again. Before he could stop
himself, his arm snaked out and grabbed her shoulder, whirling
her about.
“You have embarrassed yourself and the crown. Your
behavior is more fitting for a two-year-old in a tantrum than a
young lady. I expect better of you in the future, or your activities
in the stable will end, and you’ll become what every other ward
of the king is in this country—a cosseted, protected young lady
of irreproachable reputation.”
Sera stared at him for a long moment, her brows furrowed
above eyes narrowed to blue slits. She looked like a furious
kitten getting ready to spit. For the first time in his life, Nicholas
regretted his philosophical stance against beating women.
Sera drew herself up to her full height and gave him a frosty
look. “You are in danger of becoming the greatest prig that ever
lived,” she said.
He let go of her arm and watched her lift her other hand to
rub the soreness out of it. Shame and resentment warred within
him.
“Perhaps,” he said coldly. “But I am the prig controlling
your life. Make your peace with that and we shall get on better.”
She opened her mouth, seemed to think a moment, and
closed it again. Foolish little brat not to realize he could see her
thoughts flash right across her face. He reached out one hand,
turned her toward the door, and gave her a little push.
“Tell my secretary to return immediately. Then go to your
rooms and bathe that muck off. Oh, and take a cloak from the
first guard you see in the hallway. You look like a dox—a woman
of loose reputation—in that wet gown.”
She had begun her procession toward the door with upheld
head and an apparent air of nonchalance, but at this last, she
stiffened, picked up her skirts, and ran the last few feet, slamming
the door behind her. All Nicholas was left with was an empty
ache, misspent anger and regret, and a trail of small, muddy
footprints across the light blue Aubusson carpet.
***
The next day, Sera was saddling the white mare, when the
young girl she had seen upon her arrival at the palace made her
way slowly toward her. Immediately, because of her timid
approach and her plain, worried face, she recognized the
princess, Nicholas Rostov’s sister.
“I hope…” The princess’s strangled whisper faded away to
nothing. She cleared her throat and tried again.
“My brother told me you would be here. I was hoping—
that is I am afraid to ride out alone—a-and the riding master is
so strict with me. I was hoping…Would you please…” The rest
of it came in a rush. “Would you mind terribly if we rode
together?”
Sera felt a sharp twinge of sympathy. The princess was
painfully embarrassed. How could anyone say nay to her?
“I should like nothing better,” she said.
“Thank you,” said the princess, still flushed with
embarrassment. “I forgot to introduce myself. Katherine
Rostov,” she said. “I-I mean that is my name.” She curtsied to
Sera.
A princess, bowing to a groom! Sera quickly covered her
startled giggle by clearing her throat.
“That is my name, too,” she said in an attempt to help
Katherine relax.
The princess glanced up quickly. “I thought your name was
Sera.”
“Oh, that is a short name, a—what is it in your language? A
pet name from a larger one.”
“A nickname,” said Katherine looking interested. “How
many names do you have? I have four—Katherine Mary
Annalyse Rostov.”
“So do I.” Sera clamped her mouth shut. How could she
have been so unguarded with an Outlander? The situation called
for a quick change of subject. “Let me introduce you to my
horse. He’s become quite gentle now that he knows the grooms,
and he loves treats. If we stop by the apple barrel, you can feed
him.”
Katherine was happy with the suggestion and seemed to
forget all about their conversation. Sera sent Katherine off to
get her mare and pressed her forehead against Wind Rider’s
nose.
“I was an arrogant fool to think I was worthy of this task,”
she whispered. The horse snuffled affectionately at her hair. “I
know,” she said looking into his large, kind eyes. “Worthy or
not, I must get on with it. But I have been trying, Tzirah. I cannot
get out by the gates. Someone will always stop us. I must find a
place where we can jump our way out. Each day I have gone as
far as I can in the park and checked the walls of this place, but
they are too high for us.”
Wind Rider j
ust looked at her, a calm, accepting presence
in the dark stable. She sighed. “Very well, I’ll keep looking.
Every day, I promise.”
Katherine was already mounted when Sera led Wind Rider
into the stable yard. The princess’s face was ashen as the mare
tried to skitter out from under her. Holding the reins with a death
grip, Katherine gave Sera a look of desperation. Sera shook her
head and quickly mounted. She trotted her stallion to the
obstreperous mare’s side.
“Give me the reins, Katherine,” she said quietly and pried
them from the princess’s hands. “That’s right. Hold on tight to
the mane.” With a sharp jerk that brought the mare’s head up
hard, Sera pulled the little white into Wind Rider’s side.
“Walk,” she said in a stern voice and tugged once. The mare
fell into a walk, her head and neck relaxing into obedience.
“You just have to be firm with her,” Sera said, turning to
Katherine as she led the mare into the park’s grassy expanse.
The princess’s head was bent, and what Sera could see of her
face was a mottled, blotchy red.
“I wish you hadn’t seen that,” she whispered. “I wish I could
at least lead my own horse out of the stable without showing
you how badly I…”
Sera’s laid her hand on top Katherine’s. “I don’t care how
well you ride. Why should I?”
“Because it is expected that I do well, and instead, I am a
laughable failure at it.”
Sera shook her head. “I don’t know how it is possible for
any of your ladies to ride well in those ridiculous sidesaddles.
Where can you hold on with your legs? How can you learn
your balance? You’ll notice that men do not ride with both legs
on one side of the horse.”
Katherine stared at Sera open-mouthed. Then she looked
again, this time with a gleam of skepticism in her large, dark
eyes. “You are riding sidesaddle as well as I,” she said
accusingly.
Sera grinned. “Only to that copse of trees. Come along. I’ll
show you.”
Sera halted Wind Rider within the little wood and
dismounted. “I hate these hard saddles,” she said, working the
girth free and setting the saddle on a fallen log. “I cannot feel
the horse at all through it.”
Katherine climbed down from her mare’s back. “I don’t
Lennox, Mary - Heart of Fire.txt Page 7
