by Rhavensfyre
If Rohanna hadn’t just watched her father’s casket being lowered into the ground a few hours earlier, there wouldn’t be any difference between this atrocity and any of Belinda’s other parties. All the right people were here and Belinda was soaking it up, the center of attention as always. The handkerchief in her hand was purely for show, as neither her tears nor her makeup stained it. Rohanna thought that was quite a feat, since Belinda routinely brought it up to her face to wipe away a grieving widow’s tears.
When they finally ushered the last guest out the front door with a polite “thank you for coming” Rohanna sighed in relief. Now she could finally seek out the silence and solace of her own room. She stood up, slowly and painfully, and started to shuffle towards the staircase that led to her room. A cool voice intruded upon her exhausted state, just as she lay her hand on the smooth wood of the banister.
Rohanna turned and faced her stepmother wearily. The grieving widow was gone. That persona had disappeared along with her last guest only to be replaced with the cold, haughty woman Rohanna knew so very well. Belinda stared at her, then turned and disappeared back into her father’s study. The staccato rhythm of her heels sounded angry, taking their owner’s self-importance out on the shiny wooden floors. Belinda obviously expected Rohanna to follow.
What more can she do to me?
Rohanna felt a small seed of fear forming deep within her stomach; she didn’t want to follow Belinda. She didn’t want to know what Belinda had to say. She wanted to run away from this woman who now held her future in her hands. A woman who hates me as much as I hate her, she thought.
“Rohanna, I know you are still grieving for your father,” Belinda started to say as soon as Rohanna entered the room. “But, it is time we talk about your future.”
Walking into her father’s study to find her stepmother seated comfortably behind his desk let alone occupying his favorite chair, was too much for Rohanna. Her temper flared, threatening to loosen her tongue. She was barely able to contain herself but managed to remain silent, despite her desire to physically rip the woman out of her father’s chair and away from his desk.
Schooling her voice to a calm tone that she didn’t feel inside, Rohanna reluctantly responded to her stepmother, “My future?”
Smiling viciously, her stepmother spoke in a crisp voice more suited to a boardroom than her late husband’s den. “Yes. As you know, with your father’s passing, I am in charge of running this estate. I see no reason for you to mope around here wasting your time on frivolity, when you should be finishing your education and learning to become a proper young lady.”
Confused, Rohanna tried to gather her thoughts. Her father had always told her that the farm would go to her when he passed away. What was going on?
“My father left the farm to me, Belinda, not you. And if not me, at least it should be returned to my Grandmother!” she argued, but was interrupted by harsh laughter.
“You are mistaken, child. I am the executor of your father’s estate. As a minor in my care, I have every right to do as I please with you.” Belinda’s voice cut harshly through the silence, carrying a malice so palpable that it almost struck Rohanna like a physical blow.
“I have arranged for you to start at The Academy this session. It’s unusual to get in on such short notice, but the headmaster has graciously allowed you to start right away, considering the circumstances.”
The Academy? The Academy was over 200 miles away, far from her home and family. Once there, Rohanna was sure she wouldn’t see her home except for summer break and holidays.
Protesting, Rohanna sputtered, “You can’t, I won’t go, I refuse.”
Belinda stood up and leaned over the desk. “I can, and I will. I suggest you start packing. You will be leaving on Monday. Oh, and just in case you have any bright ideas, I will guarantee you that if you give me any trouble whatsoever, you will never see this farm again. I own you and this farm until you are twenty-five. I suggest you take my advice if you ever want to inherit your father’s farm.”
“So, I did inherit the farm?” Rohanna asked, confused at her stepmother’s admission.
Belinda waived her hand dismissively, then responded casually, as if it was nothing more than an unimportant afterthought. “Yes, yes you did. But like I said, not until you are twenty-five. Until then, I have the reins, so to speak. I am telling you this now as an act of faith. You can check with the attorneys in the morning, if you like.”
So, Rohanna thought, Belinda finally has what she has always wanted. She’s in control of everything, including me, and I can’t do anything until I turn twenty-five. Rohanna wanted to howl in frustration. Why did her father do that to her?
Her grandmother hadn’t been at the funeral, and despite begging for leniency, Belinda refused to let her go visit. “The woman is dealing with her own grief, Rohanna…let her be.”
Rohanna rubbed the scar on her cheek. It had needed stitches, and the skin was still red and angry where they pulled out the sutures. The doctor insisted it would fade in time and be barely noticeable, but right now it was an ugly reminder of her guilt. She had no doubt that her grandmother didn’t want to see her, but how else could she apologize for what she’d done?
She didn’t remember saddling up Perseus…or riding out when a bad storm was coming in. That seemed so unlike her. She might be a little headstrong, but risking Perseus? She closed her eyes and tried to remember that day, but like always…a vague discomfort grew inside the darkness behind her eyelids and she was forced to give up.
Tears of shame slipped down her cheeks. She was told that amnesia after a head injury was normal…but that didn’t excuse her actions. Actions that sent her father out into the storm after her with balding tires and no concern for his own safety. Now, she had to live with that guilt.
Perhaps being sent away is a Godsend, she thought. Belinda had no qualms about reminding her that Perseus and her father had paid the price for her foolishness. At least among strangers she could lick her wounds in private.
The car pulled up to the front of the school. She looked up at the stone walls and tall, thin windows and grimaced. The place looked like an ancient church…or a prison. Either way, it looked sturdy enough to contain her guilt. She took a deep breath and opened the car door. For the first time in her life she was going to be surrounded by strangers, and for all her past wishes to be around people her own age, she would take back the isolation of her farm to have her father back.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
Rohanna woke up before the sun rose and glared at the now familiar dorm room ceiling. She hated being at the boarding school. She hated being so far away from her farm and she hated being away from her horses. The only good thing about being here is that it is far away from Belinda, Ro thought.
She had already made several enemies at the school, mostly other rich girls who were used to lording it over the campus. They didn’t want to give up their social standing to a new girl, and Ro simply hadn’t been up to the necessary meanness needed to earn their respect. It wasn’t her fault. She simply didn’t see herself that way. People who saw themselves as better than everyone else due to chance and circumstance of what family they were born into or how much money they had reminded her too much of Belinda. There were only two types of people in their world, the ones that fit in and the outcasts. She preferred the isolation of the latter.
Rohanna was now in her junior year. She had easily qualified for the school equestrian team despite her lack of a personal mount. Belinda had refused to allow Ro to have one of their own horses to show on, and after losing Perseus, she didn’t have the energy to argue past the woman’s insistence that she didn’t deserve one. Still, she wasn’t completely immune to the taunts and whispers from those who had somehow heard of her misfortune. Having to use the school horses would have embarrassed a lesser person, but for Rohanna it was simply a reminder of what she had lost, so was the thin white scar across her right cheek. It still itched at times, and when it was c
old outside, it burned like fire.
Rohanna realized she was rubbing at her cheek again and pulled her hand away. She could have given up and stopped riding altogether, but the farm was always the first thing on her mind when she woke up and the last thing she thought of when she went to bed.
I will get the farm back from Belinda, Ro vowed, turning on her side just to stare at something new while she thought about her life. It wasn’t just getting the farm back either…it was keeping it alive and well while Belinda did her best to ruin everything her father had tried to do. That meant she had to ride, and not just ride, but ride well enough for people to take notice. The MacLeod name had a reputation, and no matter how much it hurt, she would do whatever it took to keep that reputation fresh in everyone’s minds.
Luckily for her, there were always students who abandoned their interest in showing upon graduation. Their rich parents would shrug off the cost and make a donation of the poor horse rather than deal with a four legged creature that needed care and grooming. It was a much better fate than going back home to be ignored or abused, and it left a few well-bred souls available to those less fortunate students who dared the gauntlet of sneers and uppity attitudes. Most of her competition had their own mounts and relished teasing her mercilessly when she first arrived—then they started competing against her and the mocking turned into something else. Rohanna didn’t know if consistently taking the blue ribbons away from her tormentors made things better or worse—but she didn’t ride for them. She rode for her father and her grandmother, but in the process, she discovered something else about herself. She loved the thrill of competing and winning. It made her heart race and her soul fly, much like it had whenever she watched the thoroughbreds thundering past her at the track.
The window panes lightened from unrelieved black to a dull grey. It was enough to see by, and that was all she was waiting for. Rohanna threw off her blanket and stood up, eager to be the first one in the barn. People thought she was strange, being up this early in the morning on an off day, but she enjoyed the quiet solitude early morning offered her. The horses were fresh and eager for attention with very few people around to intrude on her private time. It was Saturday. There weren’t any classes today and most of her homework was already done for the weekend. After stamping her feet into her tall black leather boots, Ro gathered up her helmet and riding crop. She tucked her crop into the top of her right boot then inspected herself in the mirror. The tall boots were paired with tight tan breeches and her usual untucked red flannel shirt. Her schooling helmet hid her normally wild hair, now properly braided and hidden beneath the protective plastic and felt hat. Ro grimaced, still dissatisfied with her appearance. She looked too much like a cookie cutter version of every other rider in the school, even with her favorite flannel. She slid a pair of heavily tinted sunglasses on, their reflective surface flashing silver against her pale skin. The sunglasses allowed her to observe everything around her while maintaining her distance, unapproachable and untouchable. Rohanna grinned at her reflection in the mirror. She was ready to go now. The barn should be quiet for a few hours unless another rider decided to motivate and get in some last minute training for tomorrow’s show.
Her saddle, a birthday gift from her father, lay atop several layers of horse blankets beneath an oak saddle stand. She didn’t dare leave the saddle in the barn where it would inevitably be used or lost. It was the last present her dad had given her and she couldn’t bear the thought of losing it. She ran her fingertips over the saddle, focusing on the slightly oily feel of the fine leather and relishing the quality of the workmanship. Sadness welled up in Rohanna’s chest, scraping open a wound that hadn’t quite healed. A single tear slid down her cheek, it dripped onto the black leather, staining the otherwise pristine surface with salt.
The saddle had been custom ordered and made—a handcrafted process that took several months and God only knew how many hours to complete. The saddle maker delivered it the morning of her fourteenth birthday, per her father’s instructions. She was forever grateful to the artist for taking the time to drive so far just to hand deliver a single saddle, even if he never told her how he knew where she was. Burly and short, almost as wide as he was tall, he had just smiled at her and tugged at his beat up old ball cap before turning his van about and leaving. He had family in the area, he insisted, and therefore the trip hadn’t put him out. Besides, he liked her father, and wanted her to know that many of the local businesses were there for her if and when she needed anything from them.
Rohanna picked up her saddle and headed for the door, enjoying the cadenced staccato of her boot heels as they snapped sharply against the hardwood floors. A muffled curse through one of the dorm room doors was followed by the sound of something soft smacking into the door. Probably a pillow, Ro thought, mildly amused at the girls choice of words, which included one or two she hadn’t heard before and filed away for future use. She picked up her pace just in case they decided to stumble out of bed and ruin her pleasant morning.
She entered the main barn through the back aisle. Like the rest of the school, it was a huge monstrosity of a building, stacked stone to the height of the stalls, topped by huge timber framing. Copulas sat along the roof at spaced intervals, letting in light and ventilation. It was a beautiful old barn, and it smelled like home, making it her favorite place to be. Familiar faces greeted her. Long noses poked out of their stalls for a passing rub or nickering gently for a treat as she walked past each stall. At the end of the aisle, she noticed a set of tack boxes that looked straight out of a catalog stacked outside the last two stalls. Shiny and clean usually meant one thing—a new horse had arrived.
Rohanna’s curiosity was piqued. She wanted to know who the barn’s newest resident was. Ignoring the woeful looks of the other horses as she strode past them, she made her way to the last stall and peeked in.
The new horse was gorgeous—an elegant and bold looking blood bay gelding standing almost seventeen hands. Rohanna marked his conformation, desperately looking for any flaws. She couldn’t find a single one, and didn’t know if she should be thrilled or disappointed. If he was as talented as he looked, Rohanna would actually have some competition this year. Scratch that, she thought as she petted the inquisitive muzzle, “If your rider is as talented as you look, I might have some competition,” she murmured.
“You must think highly of yourself, then?” The unexpected voice behind her made her jump, causing the horse to snort and dance away.
“I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have said that.” Embarrassed to her core, Rohanna felt heat on her cheeks. A young red-haired woman Rohanna had never seen before grinned gaily at her.
“Don’t worry. As far as I’m concerned, you never did.” She winked, laying her tack on a convenient bale of hay. The newcomer leaned against the stall door and affectionately stroked the bay’s aristocratic nose.
“Do you like him? His name is Galileo, mine’s Shyann,” she said, extending her hand out to Rohanna. Grasping her new friend’s hand firmly, Rohanna responded to the infectious grin in kind. Her mood lightened instantly until laughter seemed to bubble up out of her of its own accord.
“He’s gorgeous,” Ro admitted, reaching out to stroke the velvet nose enviously. Galileo’s nostrils widened as he snuffled Ro’s hand, taking in her scent before blowing softly against her palm.
“Whoa, now, don’t embarrass the man,” Shyann scolded. “He is a handsome boy, I’ll give him that. But don’t fawn over him too often or he’ll get a swelled head.”
Galileo lifted his head from Ro’s subtle scratching and looked at her so innocently, shaking his head at her as if to say, “No, I wouldn’t!” Both girls laughed at him. It was too much for the aristocratic horse. Galileo wandered off in a huff, tail swishing in irritation at both of them, and proceeded to examine the far corner of his stall carefully. He pretended not to take notice of them and almost succeeded until he turned a baleful eye to them from over his shoulder. That set the girls off again,
falling against the bale of hay as they laughed even harder.
“Wow, you would think he understood you, acting like that.” Ro giggled. “Oh, that was too funny,” she gasped, clutching her sides. It had been a long time since she had laughed so hard. Her jaw ached from lack of practice.
“Well, I’m never surprised by that one. He’s smart, and he knows it. Woe to the poor rider who tries to tell him what to do, and I mean it. If you don’t know what you’re doing, he’ll take full advantage of you. Now, if you treat him with the respect he deserves he’ll be your best friend forever.”
Ro chatted with the newcomer, who insisted on being called Shy, “now that they had met and were practically friends already,” as she said.
“Which is the biggest joke ever,” Shy continued non-stop, “since I am definitely NOT shy in the least!”
Ro had to agree with her on that one.
“Will you help me bring in the rest of my stuff?” Shy asked.
“Sure, but let me give you some friendly advice…don’t leave your gear lying about, it won’t stick around for long.”
Rohanna was more than happy to let Shyann monopolize the conversation as they walked back through the barn, adding in a few words here and there whenever Shy came up for air. Normally reserved, Ro usually had little tolerance for the perpetually happy people who populated the school. They usually weren’t very bright, and their continual babbling was generally about things Ro had very little interest in, like makeup, clothes, and boys. Shyann, on the other hand, was as excited about horses as Ro was, and the lilt in her voice held a familiar cadence that reminded Ro of home.
