For the first time in her life, she thought about simply running away. Her dutiful feelings about the mortgage lacked the urgency of a bargain because she'd never signed those papers herself. It was Henry's bargain, not hers--but as his widow, the law considered her liable for his words. But she didn't intend to give up the farm, not now that she'd worked so hard to rebuild the stables, not after all the work Paddy had done, and Jack and Billy and Tommy. They had all worked hard to get Hawk's Folly back into the racing game. She couldn't give up, or give in.
After a while she decided she'd been staring at the dark windows long enough. She rose, turned down the lamp and curled up on her bed. Her mind still whirled too fast for sleep.
She didn't know how much later it was that she heard her door open. She felt the bed tilt as Guaire came to lie behind her. His promised third night, she thought dully.
He didn't move to kiss her, though, just wrapped an arm about her and laid there with her in the silence. He smelled of oats and hay and horse, comforting smells.
"I don't mean to cheat you," she told him, "but this is not the best night."
His hand brushed the back of her neck. She felt him sliding the pins from her hair, his gift easing them from her coarse locks. "You need only lie here with me," he said. "I bargained for a night with you, Ginny. No more is required."
She turned over to look at him but could hardly see his features in the dimness. He reached past her, and she heard the clatter of her hairpins hitting the surface of the nightstand. Then he pulled her close so that her face pressed against his shirt. "Go to sleep," he said softly. "Imogen Amelia Villiers Hawkes, go to sleep."
And she slept.
PART 3
"Wake up," a voice said in Imogen's ear.
Imogen blinked, her eyes dazzled by the brilliant light of dawn streaming in the eastern windows. She lay facing them with her head pillowed on Guaire's arm. And then she recalled what he'd done to her. No one since her mother had done that. "You used my true name on me," she said, turning toward him. "I can't believe you did that."
"I wasn't sure it would work." His voice held no apology. "But I couldn't think of any way I could get you to sleep. Well, not quickly, at least."
She scowled at him. "It's unfair."
He raised one brow. "I do what I must, Ginny."
She closed her eyes, reckoning his motivation, but couldn't find any reason for him to use that power over her--not beyond helping her. She wouldn't have been able to sleep. And things did seem clearer now. Everything seemed much clearer. "How did you know my name?"
He chuckled. "I knew your mother's family name. 'tis certainly not Smith, as it says in your book. But your middle name, Amelia, was in there, and your married name I knew already."
A simple bit of detective work and he'd had her under his control. She'd seen him reading her Bible that second time he'd come to her, so he must have known her name since that night, but refrained from using it until now. "You're very clever."
"That I am. But since 'tis dawn, I must go." He didn't move.
He'd more or less finished his work on the fence by the stream, and she'd given him three nights, which meant all bargains between them were paid. But he didn't seem inclined to run away at the moment.
Imogen opened her eyes and considered him. His dark hair was mussed, and his clothes wrinkled. He needed a shave, although she suspected a beard might not look bad on him, even if not in fashion. "I need you to stay."
"Did you not once tell me the maids would notice if you stayed abed too long?"
"That's not what I meant, Guaire." She sat up. "You told the mares not to cross over the broken spot in the fence, didn't you?"
"Yes."
"Do you know much about racing?"
The corners of his eyes crinkled with his smile. "I spent the last ten years in racing stables, darling."
"You were only in Boston for three years."
He lifted a hank of her hair and twirled it about one finger. "Finn sold me to a racing stable in Dublin. The owner raced me there three years, and then sold me to a cousin in Cork. Four years after that, that fellow sold me to a cousin in Boston. Crossing the ocean was the worst part of all. I'll not be doing that again."
A horse down in the hold of a steamer would be close to the ever-moving water, and she suspected that the stalls and floors on shipboard were made of steel and iron, not wood--a cruel thing to do to one of the Fair Folk. "They knew, didn't they? What you were?"
"Oh, yes." His smile faded. "Kept the secret in the family, they did."
Until she'd purchased him. "Why auction you off, then?"
"The last fellow died sudden, and his son didn't want the stables. Probably didn't know. Sold all the horses off without even coming out to look at them. Myself included."
He could have ended up in far worse places than her land, and she could definitely use his help now. Perhaps Guaire was right, and his presence was due to the hand of Fate. "Do you know what a trainer does?"
He tugged on her hair to draw her closer. "Of course I do."
"Can I hire you then? As my trainer? Paddy keeps excellent records, and can tell you exactly what needs doing."
"And he'll tell me exactly where I can go," Guaire said in a wry tone. "I don't think he'd like the idea."
She bit her lip. Paddy wouldn't like it, but she was the farm's owner and manager. "He's not going to be able to get the horses ready for the meet. I need a trainer, at least until the Special is over."
"What are you thinking?" Guaire asked, eyes narrowed.
"Paddy's said it a dozen times. There's nothing wrong with Faithful. His bloodlines are excellent. He's sound. He just doesn't put his heart into the race. I need you to convince him to win."
Guaire's face took on a calculating expression. Lit by the early sunlight, his brown eyes seemed to gleam. "Hammersly would be put out if Faithful won, wouldn't he?"
"Even if Faithful places, that might give me enough to bring the mortgage up to date." It would be close, but she should be able to scrape together the difference somehow.
"If I were to agree, Ginny," he said carefully, "and I can only promise I'll try--I cannot guarantee his behavior--then I would want a promise from you in return."
He'd worded it so that it wasn't a bargain, so that her nature wouldn't force her to think of it that way. Nor his, for that matter. She kept that in mind and chose her words with care. "What sort of promise?"
His eyes went serious. "I'd want your word that no matter how the horse does, you'll not be marrying that man. Not just to keep the land, Ginny. You would have to say vows. That would bind you, and I wouldn't be able to bear it."
She laid one hand against his cheek. "I have no intention of doing so. I would die first, so you should ask for something else."
He smiled up at her. "How long then do you think it will take the maids to notice?"
"Half an hour?"
He rolled his eyes. "That's all?"
"Was I the one asking?"
"Better than nothing." He got up and went to lock her door.
***
Imogen introduced Guaire to the stable hands, explaining him as Paddy's nephew, visiting from the old country. They seemed to accept that, so she left them in his hands with a quick prayer that they would all get along.
Blue Streak's body still lay in the stable yard, covered with a tarp. She cast a resigned glance that way, but headed for town. The knackers would come this morning to remove the body; she didn't want to be there to watch.
It always surprised Imogen how quickly gossip traveled. At the racing association's office, they knew the whole story already. The members of the association she spoke with were understanding; none of them wanted to lose one of their horses that way. For the first time in years, Imogen felt she had the sympathy of the townsfolk behind her.
The Stakes required that she have three eligible horses listed, so she scratched Blue Streak and in his place wrote down the name of one of her two-year-old fillies, Comet. Comet
would absolutely not be racing that day. The filly was mild-tempered, but backed up at the starting barrier five times out of ten--destined to be a broodmare, no more.
When Imogen arrived at the house on North Broadway, Mother Hawkes was packing a bag. "So our Mr. O'Donnell got his leg broken, I hear," her mother-in-law said without her normal greetings. "How is he faring?"
"Paddy's doing well enough," Imogen said, "but he won't be able to get out of bed for some time. That's going to be hard on him."
Mother Hawkes waved one hand. "He'll survive. I have that old wheeled chair from when I broke my leg a century ago. We can get it out to the farm. After a couple of weeks, I mean. Let him stew for now."
Imogen watched Mother Hawkes gathering some stationery out of her desk. "Are you going somewhere?"
The elderly woman glanced back at her. "I'm coming to stay out there with you, girl. If that bastard Hammersly is willing to shoot one of your horses to get the land, he won't stop at shooting another. I need to see if I can do anything about warding the stable yard and the house."
Imogen regarded her mother-in-law blankly, not certain what surprised her more. She'd never heard Mother Hawkes utter a vulgar word before, and she'd certainly never thought of her as the sort who would set 'wards'--which must be what Guaire had inquired about at Sunday lunch. "Thank you," she said politely, probably the safest reply.
"It's not just for you, girl. My son was a fool to take out a mortgage just to put in a fancy practice track. He got you into this mess. If he'd just sold the town house instead, we'd not be in this pickle."
Mother Hawkes had lived in this house since Imogen was nine or ten. She'd always thought of this as her mother-in-law's home. "But you live here," she said. "Henry built it for you."
Mother Hawkes chuckled. "It's a building, girl. I'm fond of it, but it's not the same as the farm. Henry just didn't want me living out there with him. We didn't rub along too well."
Imogen would never have dared to say that aloud. "Yes, I recall."
The old woman scowled and surveyed the room one more time. "I think that's everything. So tell me, what will you do now?"
While Mother Hawkes gathered her bags and had one of the maids cart them down to the buggy, Imogen explained her plan to use Guaire as their trainer until the Special. They drove out toward the farm, Mother Hawkes listening patiently. "The boy's here," she said once Imogen finished, "so we might as well put his talents to use."
"I'm not certain what I should tell the hands. About the new stallion, I mean. He'll be missing."
Mother Hawkes shook her head. "Most of them won't even look in that stall, not if he doesn't want them to."
"Paddy's noticed it," Imogen said.
"But he already knew," Mother Hawkes pointed out. "Harder to fool someone who knows better, girl. Tell him to take Jack into his confidence--Jack's trustworthy, and he won't bat an eyelash. Between the two of them, they can keep the rest of the hands from asking too many questions."
Imogen felt relieved to have some solution. "I worried you might disapprove."
"Because he's one of the Fair Folk?" Mother Hawkes shook her head. "Tush, girl, all the more reason to keep him around and keep him happy. It's when they're unhappy that things go awry."
Imogen bit her lips. "When my emotions get out of hand, things fall apart."
Her mother-in-law chuckled. "You have a gift of unbinding, girl. I've noticed it once or twice. It can be quite amusing."
Her mother had never called it a gift, or amusing. "My mother was always afraid someone would find out what I was. Or that I would harm someone."
"Yes, your mother was rather horrified when you turned out to possess some of your father's gifts." Mother Hawkes looked Imogen in the eye. "You are what you are, girl. Smothering your gift is unnatural. You really should learn to use it. I'm certain your guest could teach you."
Imogen had no idea what a 'gift' of unbinding would be good for, but she suspected Guaire would. "If he stays, perhaps."
***
After changing out of her town clothes, Imogen located Guaire out at the track working with Faithful--in horse form. Hidden from prying eyes by the cypresses that surrounded the track, Faithful came tearing around the curve barely ahead of Guaire's nipping white teeth.
Imogen watched as horse-Guaire ran the length of the track. She'd never seen him run as a horse, and the name 'Whirlwind' suddenly took on new meaning. He pulled ahead of Faithful with ease--showing off, she decided, for her sake. He was incredibly fast, his stride graceful and neat. His tail streamed out behind him.
He crossed the track's finish line and slowed. Then he trotted back to where she sat on the fence, Faithful following more slowly. Horse-Guaire tossed his mane and Imogen slipped off the fence to scratch under his forelock. "How could you give that up," she asked, "just to be human?"
He snorted and went after one of her jacket's buttons.
Imogen shoved him away. "Stop that. I hate sewing on buttons."
He turned one brown eye on her, but didn't try it again.
"Mother Hawkes is here. She wants to talk with you."
The brown eye rolled--an odd expression for a horse, but completely Guaire.
Faithful had reached them by then. He kept his distance from the other stallion, but tried to edge in as close to Imogen as possible. He wore only a harness, so Imogen grasped the cheek strap and surveyed the two-year-old carefully, wondering if she'd find bite marks on his haunches.
Guaire trotted away from them and returned a couple of minutes later in human form, slightly out of breath. His dark hair was mussed and his quickly donned clothes disordered. He carried a lead rope in one bare hand.
"What does she want?" he asked as he fixed the lead rope to Faithful's harness.
Imogen stared at him. He'd only bothered to halfway button the shirt and his feet were bare on the soft dirt. In the hours he'd spent working down in the meadow, his skin had gotten some color in it. He looked happy, as if the morning's run was something he'd missed for too long.
He glanced up at her. "Ginny?"
"Do you miss being a horse?" she asked. "I mean, when you're not?"
He laughed. "I like to run, Ginny, but otherwise no. 'tis a boring life if you ask me, which is why I think our kind have such a reputation for mischief." He winked at her. "You would do it, too, if you'd spent a month lolling about in the same paddock."
Imogen pressed her lips together.
"Do you even know how to smile?" he asked with narrowed eyes. "I swear I've never seen you do so."
"No," she said. "I never learned."
"Not even once? Never tried it in front of your mirror to see if you looked silly?"
She did her best to ignore his raised brows. "Now at least I know why you won so many races. It's hard to believe you could do it with those shoes on."
He shuddered. "Had no choice, Ginny. I had to win."
"Was there a bargain?"
"Not actually," he said with a shrug, "but the implied one was enough."
"Implied bargain?"
"A stallion who doesn't win has no value, save as a gelding. A very strong motivation, if you ask me." He grinned at her.
"Ah, I understand." Imogen felt color rising in her cheeks, and decided she should change the subject. "Mother Hawkes wants to talk to you. About the bullet, I mean. She sent a note round to the knackers' to ask them to send it back if they...dug it out."
"Ah, we'd best go back and see what she wants to know, then." He began to lead Faithful back in the direction of the stables, but turned back, holding out a hand for her.
Imogen swallowed, wondering what everyone would think of her if they saw her hanging on his arm. And after a moment, he dropped his hand and walked on. She shook her head and bolted after him, grabbing up his hand when she reached his side. "I don't know what they'll say."
Guaire paused. "Do you care?"
"I live in this world, Guaire. I have to live by their standards."
"I'm only h
olding your hand, darling," he said. "It's not as if they saw me making love to you out in the west meadow. Although I'm willing, if you want to shock them, that is."
Imogen turned her eyes to the ground, not entirely certain he was teasing. She walked alongside him, trying to suppress her worries. When they entered the stable yard, Mother Hawkes stood in front of the building, her arms folded over her chest and a scowl on her face. She gazed in the direction of Hammersly's property, only sparing a glance for the two of them as they approached.
"I'll have one of the boys walk him," Imogen offered. She took Faithful's lead rope.
Guaire gave her a wry look and leaned closer to say, "Don't leave me alone with her too long; she might bewitch me. She likes me."
Imogen shook her head. "Behave. She's going to be staying up at the house in the room next to mine."
"A chaperone?" Guaire groaned and rolled his eyes. "I knew my luck wouldn't last."
Imogen led Faithful on to the stable door, feeling one corner of her mouth turn up.
***
Mother Hawkes insisted that Guaire join them for dinner. Imogen suspected the woman had ulterior motives, but she couldn't be certain. So the three of them ate in the formal dining room with its spindly-legged chairs and lacy tablecloth. Guaire perched gingerly on his seat and regarded the china hutch and its collection of pink crystal plates and stemware with a dubious eye.
"There was someone watching from the woods today, I could feel it," Mother Hawkes said once Mary had laid out the last dish and whisked herself back to the kitchen. "I don't know how long he's been watching you, but you can be sure of one thing. He saw you holding your trainer's hand. Even if it wasn't Hammersly himself, he knows by now, and he's not the type that takes being beaten out lightly."
Imogen felt that warm feeling in her cheeks. Sometime in the last few days, she'd definitely learned to blush. Mother Hawkes didn't seem as appalled as she'd feared, though, which was a relief. "Are you certain?"
"Yes. And I should also point out that one of your bedroom windows is at an angle that someone in those woods can see into it." Mother Hawkes poked at her potato and then pronounced, "We need to burn the trees down. That will keep Hammersly from setting another of his so-called poachers there."
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