A Blood Red Horse

by K. M. Grant

  I was sent away to a convent boarding school at age ten, and I hated it. My dog objected to my departure so much that he would sit on my suitcase and nip anybody who came near it. During the holidays, although strictly not allowed, he slept on my bed—which was fine except on Christmas Eve, when I had to banish him downstairs because he always tried to bite Santa Claus.

  We always had ponies, some wicked, some less wicked, but we loved them all. My first was a piebald called Mischief—because if he decided to escape, there was no bolt, no knot, no lock that he could not undo. When he galloped, you were really flying, but he steadfastly refused to jump anything, even a twig, which was very embarrassing when we went out hunting.

  When I was fourteen, my mother saw a notice in the paper advertising a five-year-old mare called Miss Muffet for sale. We went to look at her. She was wild, having lived on a hillside all her life, and so dirty that we didn’t know what color she was. Although we took apples, she would neither look at us nor listen, only sniffed the wind and trembled. I don’t know what it was—something in the prick of her ears and the way she seemed so lonely, perhaps—but we could not help but bring her home. When we washed her, this beautiful red color emerged and, although I didn’t know it at the time, that was the beginning of my book Blood Red Horse. When she finally allowed us to be her friends, Muffet turned out to be the most loyal, steadfast, and brave horse I have ever known. She became an Endurance champion and, on my twenty-first birthday, was honored as Endurance Champion of the Year. When she died, aged nearly thirty, we lost something irreplaceable. In Blood Red Horse, Sacramenta and Hosanna are both a tribute to her. Just as Hosanna inspires Will and Kamil, so Muffet inspired me.

  Now I am married and live in the city of Glasgow with my husband and children. Our garden is not big enough for a horse! When our third child was a baby, I went to the university and studied history, especially medieval history. It was so full of wonderful stories, with people both wicked and heroic, and horses played such an enormous part in their lives that it was almost impossible not to write about them. So, although I work as a journalist, in 2002 I couldn’t resist one day just trying out the first line of a book, then a second, and then, before I knew it, I was off. The results are the de Granville novels, which, I hope, show you—as clearly as Muffet showed me—that “the air of heaven is that which blows between a horse’s ears.”

  Two kings.

  One throne.

  Brothers on the brink of war.

  The king is missing. The country is in turmoil. And some men would do anything for power. What will two brothers risk for the woman they both love and the king they both have sworn to serve? The de Granvilles are going to gamble it all on one boy and a blood red horse to save a fair maiden and the throne of England …

  Read on to see a sneak peek at the continuation of this epic in

  Green Jasper

  Book Two of the de Granville Trilogy.

  1

  Hartslove, Valentine’s Day, 1193

  “If you don’t sit still, Miss Ellie, wedding day or no wedding day, I’ll be tempted to box your ears.”

  High up in the keep of Hartslove Castle, a fat old nurse was braiding Eleanor de Barre’s smooth hanks of auburn hair and threading them through with gold. It was early afternoon, but the candles were lit because it was snowing lightly and darkness had already begun to fall. Lurking by the door, two younger girls, identically dressed in long red tunics, were staring at the bride.

  Ellie colored slightly. “It’s only hair,” she said defiantly, and made a face into the tin disk that hung on the wall. Old Nurse opened her mouth, but something in Ellie’s face made her shut it again.

  One of the younger girls moved forward to help, but the other looked mutinous and kicked the door with the edge of her foot. Bang, bang, bang. The girl knew it irritated Ellie, but she didn’t care. Marissa cared about very little except her twin sister, Marie, and not always about her. It was just over a fortnight since they had been brought to Hartslove Castle in a cart and dumped, so it seemed to Marissa, because after their father was killed on crusade, Gavin de Granville was the only person who would agree to take them in. It was his duty, so she had heard him say. Fourteen-year-old girls could not be left to fend for themselves. Duty!

  She kicked the door harder. Bang, bang, BANG. If she were to be considered a duty, she was going to make the duty a hard one. Now Gavin was to marry this Ellie, who clearly resented having two children foisted on her and scarcely bothered to conceal the fact.

  Bang, BANG, BANG! Not that Marissa was jealous of Ellie. Who on earth could really want to marry a knight with one arm, even if he had lost his arm heroically on crusade? Ellie was welcome to Gavin. Yes, she was welcome to him, particularly since that got her out of the way of Gavin’s younger brother, Will.

  At the thought of Will, Marissa temporarily suspended the banging and, quite without thinking, smoothed her own hair. Old Nurse threw her a glance—which was a mistake, because Marissa immediately dropped her hands and began banging again. Will had been nice to them, when, that is, he could be dragged away from that red horse, with whom he seemed unhealthily obsessed. Horses were just animals—animals Marissa hated. She kicked the door harder than ever.

  Will had only stayed a day before going off to take possession of lands in the west given to him by King Richard, along with the title Earl of Ravensgarth. After he had gone, Marissa had written, in the careful hand her mother had taught her before she died, “MARISSA, COUNTESS OF RAVENSGARTH” on a vellum piece, leaving it purposefully out for Ellie to see. She knew Ellie had burned it, pushing every piece into the flames with a poker. This gave Marissa particular pleasure. Ellie was marrying Gavin. She couldn’t have Will, too. BANG, BANG, BANG, and a smile of triumph.

  Irritated beyond endurance, Ellie turned round, causing Old Nurse to huff like a hippopotamus as her neat handiwork was whipped out of her hands. “Why don’t you both go and find some mistletoe or something to thread through the dogs’ collars?” Ellie tried to make it a suggestion rather than an order. “You’ll find piles of greenery in the great hall. The dogs should look nice today as well as us.”

  Marissa gave her an insolent stare, which Ellie, forgetting herself entirely, returned in kind. “Come, Marie,” Marissa said, glaring at Old Nurse. “They don’t want us here.” Then giving the door a final kick, she stamped unevenly down the stone steps.

  Marissa had been lame for about three years, and when the sleeve of her dress fell back, it revealed that she also had two red and unsightly marks on her left forearm. Just before the twins’ father, Sir Hugh de Neville, left on crusade, he had come to visit the steward’s house in which his children were lodging. He was riding a new Spanish stallion purchased for the journey, and while Marie smiled and nodded but kept her distance, for she was nervous of all animals except kittens, Marissa had been thrilled, desperate to show her father how brave she was. At that time horses held no fear for her. She had laughed with delight when Sir Hugh tossed her into the saddle, in front of him, and rode around the water meadows. If he went a little fast, Marissa was not going to complain. She basked in his adulation, while Marie was ignored.

  But the evening before Sir Hugh was to depart, Marissa had gone back into the stables to give the stallion an apple. The horse was restive, but she fearlessly climbed onto the manger and held out her hand. He backed away and stamped his foot. Marissa leaned a little farther, then lost her balance and, clutching wildly at the animal’s tethering rope, fell into the straw. Terrified and angry, the stallion reared and plunged down to attack. By the time his teeth had buried themselves in Marissa’s arm and his weight had crushed her leg, the child was almost unconscious, and when the stable boys finally severed the rope and beat the stallion off, Marissa was given up for dead.

  She was not dead, however. Flung roughly onto a bed by her father, she came to just long enough to hear his diatribe about her stupidity and how the horse, the most expensive animal he had ever bought, had inj
ured his knee. He had not the money, he said, to pay for a surgeon for his daughter as well as medicines for his Spanish stallion, and he was clear about which creature was the more important. He could not replace his horse, but Marissa was a girl—a twin girl at that—so her loss would be no loss. As Marie cowered behind a chair, too frightened of her father to plead on her sister’s behalf, the steward was told to leave Marissa to die. Without a further word Hugh stormed off, cursing the day his daughters had been born. It was the last time they ever saw him.

  Since then, great, hovering hooves and bared teeth featured almost nightly in Marissa’s dreams, and every day she cursed first her father; then the steward, who had spent much of his own gold on a surgeon; then the steward’s wife, who had nursed her so carefully. She cursed Marie, whose gentle hands had eased her fever with cold cloths and tears. She cursed the local apothecary, who had taught her to swim so that her leg might not wither through lack of exercise, and most of all Marissa cursed herself.

  Marie could hear curses echoing in the stairway now, and had Marissa not been adamant that Ellie was to know nothing of the accident, Marie would have explained everything so that Ellie could understand. But Marissa had made her promise, and anyway, this was not the time. Marie could see that Ellie wanted to be rid of her, too, so she just said shyly, “I think you look beautiful. Please don’t mind Marissa.” Then she fled.

  Ellie turned back to her mirror and felt ashamed. It was not the twins’ fault that they were here. “Everything is changed,” she said to Old Nurse plaintively. “It wasn’t supposed to be like this.” And she burst into tears.

  Old Nurse shifted her great weight, clucking with dismay. She patted Ellie’s shoulder, then settled her fat knees a little wider apart and picked up the hank of hair once again. “There, dearie,” she said. “There. Not on your wedding day. There’s all the guests down in the hall, and Master Will will be here soon. He’ll want to see you happy. With Hosanna in his old stable for at least a night or two, it will seem quite like old times, or at least the best that can be done.”

  Ellie stopped crying. Old Nurse was right. It was the best that could be done. She wiped her eyes and looked out through the glassless window. She would concentrate on how pretty the snow was, with each flake landing serenely in its allotted place—just as she was filling her allotted place by marrying Gavin, for whom she had been earmarked from childhood when his father, Sir Thomas de Granville, had taken her in; just as Gavin in his turn was taking in Marissa and Marie.

  “What’s more,” Ellie told herself, “I’m really very lucky. Gavin needs me, and there is no reason at all why we should not be happy. No reason at all.” She repeated these sentiments several times as Old Nurse’s fingers, though rough and pudgy, bound up the glossy wedding plait surprisingly deftly and immediately transformed an impish girl into an elegant young woman.

  “I wish Sir Thomas could see you now,” Old Nurse murmured, dabbing her eyes on her apron. “I don’t know why he had to die on crusade when so many wicked people survived. Mistress Cranby’s husband got himself home, and I know for certain that he is a thief.” She made a loud, harrumphing noise and took a swig from a small, stoppered pot. “Now, my sweet, are you ready?”

  But Ellie felt far from ready. “Just a few more moments,” she begged, and as Old Nurse lowered herself, puffing, onto a chair she suddenly ran over and plumped herself onto the old lady’s lap. There was always comfort to be found in Old Nurse’s familiar, lumpy softness, and she needed it very much now.

  Sighing, Old Nurse enfolded Ellie in her great arms and began to rock and sing in a low, cavernous voice, which ebbed and flowed like a full tide. Ellie leaned her head against the welcoming shoulder and shut her eyes, forgetting for the moment about the wedding and remembering only her childhood, when Will and she had been inseparable playmates and marriage to Gavin was something for a future still far-off. She remembered the day Hosanna arrived at Hartslove and how exciting it had been. That time seemed to have passed before she had ever properly appreciated it, for all too soon, the Hartslove horses and men had left to fight the dreaded Saracens on crusade. Ellie shuddered slightly, and Old Nurse held her tighter. But Ellie knew that not all Saracens were wicked. After all, one of them had saved Hosanna’s life. Old Nurse felt Ellie relax a little.

  Hosanna. It was impossible to be sad when thinking about him. The horse had some quality that made you feel that the world was a good place. Ellie couldn’t say quite what this quality was. Nobody could. But everybody recognized it. When Hosanna was at Hartslove, tempers were a little better and smiles a little wider. Ellie smiled now, rather wistfully, at the round face of the woman who had tended all her childish illnesses and injuries. Dear Old Nurse, she thought, and planted a spontaneous kiss on the old lady’s soft cheek. Tasting tears, Ellie felt a lump rise in her own throat, and she slid to the floor. It was time for them both to be strong.

  “Come on,” she said as cheerfully as she could. “Time to put on my necklace,” and she reached over to pick up the small box that contained carefully threaded ovals of silver and deep green jasper, her wedding present from Gavin.

  “Red jasper for love, white for gentleness, but green for faith,” he had said. “I had a hard time deciding, but in the end I chose green, Ellie, because we must keep faith with each other, and also because green goes with your hair.”

  Ellie tried not to remember that their laughter had been very uncomfortable, since neither could quite get used to thinking of the other as bride or groom, and holding the necklace up to catch the light, she also tried not to dwell on the fact that since his return from crusade, Gavin was only occasionally the energetic tease of old, a shadow of the vigorous, impetuous knight who had once delighted in making Ellie giggle and driving Will mad. The terrible wound he had suffered had changed him. It would have changed anybody, Ellie thought, but surely it does not mean that we cannot be content together?

  As Old Nurse fastened the necklace the girl tried her best to recapture the feeling that had overwhelmed her when she had first seen Gavin, broken in spirit and body, crossing the drawbridge as he returned from the war. At that moment she had known with absolute certainty that she alone could make his life whole again. The feeling had been so strong that all doubts and all worries over his injury had been pushed to one side. She had tried to explain the feeling to Will, but he had not wanted to listen. In fact, he had acted very strangely ever since.

  “I must have faith,” the girl whispered as she felt the ovals warm against her skin. “Gavin’s right. That’s the key to everything.” In the candlelight the green jasper glowed.

  A tremendous hubbub arose from the courtyard, and Ellie peered out. “Will’s here!” she exclaimed. “Look, Old Nurse. Oh, look! He has got Hal to braid golden threads into Hosanna’s mane and tail. We are a matching pair!”

  Old Nurse grunted. “Earl or no earl,” she grumbled, “he is late. Now, Miss Ellie, or ‘my lady’ as I shall have to get used to calling you, I am going downstairs to see what those good-for-nothing servants have done about the wedding dinner. Master Gavin likes his venison rare. If I leave it to the idiot meat cook, it will be roasted to a crisp. And then there’s the mulled wine and the honey. If you don’t need me anymore, I’ll be off.”

  Ellie spun around. “I’ll always need you, Old Nurse,” she burst out. Then recovering her composure, she smiled and slowly circled. “How do I look—I mean, really?”

  Old Nurse scanned her up and down. “You look perfect, dearie, just perfect,” she said, and Ellie flew back into her arms.

  “Wish me luck, Old Nurse,” she whispered as they held on tightly to each other. “Wish me luck and promise never, ever, to call me ‘my lady.’”

  “You’ll always be Miss Ellie to me.” The nurse’s voice was muffled. “Now, we’d both better get downstairs.”

  They embraced again, after which Old Nurse straightened Ellie’s dress, smoothed her hair for a final time, and chivied her out of the door.

&n
bsp; At the turn of the steps leading down from Ellie’s chamber, they parted. Ellie made as if to go straight into the great hall, but once the nurse was out of sight, she paused for a moment. She could hear the babble of voices, nearly all male, within.

  Suddenly she picked up her skirts and descended farther, until she emerged from a small door opening straight into the courtyard. The air was bitter, and the hoof marks that Will’s party had made on their arrival were already turning crusty. The snow was still falling quite gently, but a heavy sky threatened worse to come.

  Ellie strained her eyes toward the stables. At first, she could make out nothing; then, as torches flared one after the other all over the castle, she saw Hosanna, red as a flame himself, framed in the doorway of the long block of stalls. Will’s squire, Hal, had thrown a heavy, embroidered blanket over him and hooked the reins on a spike before taking Will’s second horse, Dargent, inside. Hosanna stamped his foot, impatient for his supper.

  “Hosanna!” Ellie called. Oblivious to what the snow might do to her gold wedding slippers, she slithered across to greet him properly. Hosanna whickered gently as she approached, and put his nose into her hand.

  Ellie laughed. “Hello to you, too!” she said, and touched the star between his eyes. “I haven’t got anything, dear Hosanna,” she went on. “Sacramenta, your greedy mother, had all my tidbits earlier today.” As she stroked his ears he bent his neck around her, and Ellie leaned against him, savoring the warmth. “Everything will be all right, won’t it?” she murmured into his thick mane. She stood for a moment, then patted him and began to walk slowly back to the hall. As she turned, Hosanna was looking at her, and in his deep, liquid eyes, the green stones of her necklace were reflected back at her.