The Prince's Bride

Chapter Nine

If she must see the horses, Gabriel thought, she would stand in the rain. If she must leave the glow of the lantern, she would squint into the shadows. What choice did he have? He’d refused her enough. And anyway, she was halfway to the fence, following the sounds of horses. Given the choice, he’d rather negotiate a muddy stable yard than tell her lies inside the house.

Half a dozen mares clustered at the far corner of the paddock, taking shelter beneath the leaning canopy of an oak. She went to them and they whinnied and blew, sniffing to discern the new and unfamiliar human standing in the darkness, peering over the fence.

Clicking softly, Gabriel held out a hand. The mares ambled to him, nodding into his palm with velvet noses, nuzzling his pockets, searching for feed.

“How many?” she asked. Her voice was flat. He’d made her angry.

“Fifteen of my own,” he said. He didn’t mind telling her. He might be a forgotten man who lived in a cave, but he did have responsibilities and motivations. He did have a contribution beyond the forest. “Plus three horses that belong to—”

He stopped. Telling her he had purpose was one thing, but details were reckless. He could talk about the horses as a way to not talk about his identity, but he would only reveal so much.

“Everything you see and hear in my camp is confidential, Lady Marianne,” he added. It couldn’t not be said.

“Confidential,” she repeated. “I understand.”

She was quick to promise—and also quick to do whatever she liked. It bore remembering. He’d picked up the letters and tucked them into his belt. They burned a hole in his side.

“I’ve no wish to interrupt your livelihood, Mr. Rein,” she said, staring at the horses. “Truly. I’m single-minded in what I want, and it has nothing to do with horses.”

“Then why ask about them?”

She turned to him. “Because I want to know. I am curious. Are you not curious about the lives of other people, Mr. Rein? Not me, obviously, but anyone else?”

“The lives of others are risky, foreign notions to me. It feels like you’re asking if I’m curious about tying a millstone to my neck and stepping into the river.”

“In what way?”

“Well, rivers can be cool and refreshing—and there is always the possibility that I would survive.”

“I don’t understand.”

He sighed. “My isolation is also my safeguard, and isolation does not lend itself to curiosity about outsiders. However, to answer your question, I’ve fifteen horses of my own and three horses that belong to clients—two are here for training and one is healing from a fall.”

“Oh, you’ve clients,” she realized. “But how do you manage them—these clients? Are they blindfolded and led to your hidden camp?”

“I’ve an emissary—one of the sons of Samuel Rein—who meets with clients on my behalf. He also transports the horses to the camp.”

“A partner. How enterprising.”

“He is a university student. He manages the clients as a favor to me and out of obligation to his late father. This was his family business, but he and his brother chose scholarship, not horses. In the training, I work alone. There are two old grooms who’ve been with the Reins since before I came to live here. They help with the stables.”

“But what is the nature of the training?” she asked. “Are these racehorses?”

“No, not racing—racing wants a different type of facility. But I train for most other purposes. Anything from making a difficult horse more docile to teaching a particular skill. I also breed, raise, and break horses for sale to private owners.”

“What do you mean by teaching a particular skill?” she asked.

Gabriel exhaled and looked around. The rain, he realized, had mostly stopped. But the leaves hung heavy after the storm, and water fell in uneven drops. A silvery fog had rolled into the stable yard, thickening the space between them. He saw her only in outline. The mist served as a barrier, making her questions easier to answer.

“I’ve Scottish lairds, for example,” he said, “who hunt on horseback in the Highlands. This requires more from the animal than fox hunting on level ground. Scottish clans write to me when their mares foal so their young stallions can have a place on my training schedule.”

“Scottish lairds,” she repeated. He could feel her studying him.

He kept his gaze on the horses. Had this impressed her? When had this become a goal? He meant to bore her, distract her, implore her to leave him alone. It made no difference if she was impressed.

“My services are not...” he exhaled. And now he was simply boasting, “Cheap.”

“You are in high demand?”

“I’ve a list of clients awaiting a place on my roster.”

“How fascinating,” she enthused. “But do you enjoy the work?”

“Yes. I’ve a particular interest in injury recovery. And I do find it gratifying—yes.”

“Healing lame horses?”

He nodded. The fog was dissolving and a shiny, post-rain moon poured silver light on the paddock. He could see her more clearly; large eyes rapt on his face. He looked away.

“Muscle injuries,” he said, “but I’ve also worked on broken spirits—anxiety after an accident or abuse. These are animals who’d been in the prime of their lives but have become impossible to manage, or withdrawn, or easily spooked by everyday things.”

“I’ve heard of this,” she said. “In fact, some horses brought to Guernsey are spooked by the Channel crossing. Some never recover from being confined to the pitching hull of a ship.”

“I’ve been a sort of last resort for animals who have failed with other trainers. Damaged horses are typically put out to pasture or destroyed if they cannot be healed. In the case of my clients, they may be sent to me.”

“But this is fascinating,” she said. She dropped an elbow on the fence railing and leaned a hand against her cheek. “But how do you heal them?”

“Samuel had an arsenal of unorthodox techniques. He took pride in them and taught me. He was an advocate of... listening to the wounded animal? Trying to understand what is going on inside his head, to understand his fear. After we understand, we gently coax the horse to conquer that fear.”

“You do love this work,” she whispered.

“Yes.” The truth. A greater truth was that Gabriel himself had been healed by horses. His guardian, Samuel Rein, had saved him, but he’d used the animals to do it. Gabriel would heal horses for no fee at all, but Samuel believed that gentlemen valued the work more if it came at a high price. And his sons needed the money for their expensive schools. The result had been a waiting list of esteemed clients clamoring for his care and healing. It was a service available nowhere else in England; honestly, nowhere in all of Europe. His clients came from around the world.

“My sister would say this about the sheep,” mused Lady Marianne. “She loves our animals; there is no better day in her view than tending the flock.”

Gabriel made no reply. He would not be drawn into a conversation about her sister or their sheep.

“But are you happiest with the horses?”

“I’ve not considered when I am happiest.”

“Come now, Mr. Rein, you cannot say that chopping wood makes you as contented as training horses?”

“I’m happiest when I am alone.”

“Solitude is not an activity, it’s a circumstance,” she said.

He didn’t answer.

“But are you never lonely?”

“I am safe.”

“Safe from what?”

Not from you, he thought.

The mares had grown restless, hooking their heads over the fence, sniffing and nibbling at the pocket of his shirt. He reached for a bucket of carrots beneath the tree.

“Here,” he said. “If you want to see happiness, offer a carrot to a horse.”

“Treats?” she chuckled. “In the middle of the night? But what lucky horses.”

“People assume that training amounts to restrictions and punishment and putting an animal through his paces. That is not the work I do. The horses I train have survived some traumatic event—a stable fire or a carriage accident or cruelty from a groom. I heal warhorses who’ve seen great carnage in battle. Wellness for these animals doesn’t come from scarcity, but from abundance. Patience. Security. My first order of business is to earn their trust. I make them feel as if they’re in a safe place; that I am a safe man. I show them that the work we’re doing will benefit us both.”

“But how do you show this?”

“A variety of ways. But an underlying principle is...” he extended his hand to a mare, “liberty with carrots.”

For a long moment, she watched him. Eventually she reached for the bucket and picked out a dusty carrot. His dogs had crept from the stable and sniffed stealthily about the bucket. When Lady Marianne saw them, she let out a little yelp and leaped onto the bottom slat of the fence.

“Careful,” he said, eyeing her.

“Your dogs.” Her voice was a breathless squeak. “Sorry, I didn’t see them.”

Gabriel glanced at Hugo and Tatin, cautiously sniffing Lady Marianne, their tails wagging. They were well-behaved, but the fascination of a new person in camp was too much not to investigate. Also, they’d discerned food was on offer. They weren’t much for carrots, but no food in camp escaped their interest.

“Hugo, Tatin, stand down,” he said to the dogs. He looked back to her. She clung to the fence, regarding his perfectly docile dogs as if they might tear her limb from limb.

“I’ll send them away,” he offered.

Before she could reply, Hugo shoved his nose into her skirts, sniffing deeply. Lady Marianne startled. The sudden movement intrigued the dog; he raised his paws to her hip.

“Hugo, down,” Gabriel said, but not before Lady Marianne cried out and scrambled higher. She hiked a leg over the top railing and balanced there, clinging to the wood with both hands. The mares in the paddock skittered backward, whinnying and snorting. Hugo didn’t understand the game and he barked.

“Sorry, sorry, sorry,” whispered Lady Marianne, squeezing her eyes shut. She dropped the carrot into the paddock and the horses clomped to gobble it up. The crowd of mares confused the dog, and Hugo barked again. Lady Marianne gasped and hiked her knee against the boards. This movement knocked back her wet skirts, and her leg was exposed.

Gabriel had been signaling to the dogs, trying to banish them to the stable, but the paleness of Marianne’s bare leg caught the moonlight, and he turned to stare. The cream of her skin was streaked with mud, but beneath the dirt he saw—

“What’s happened to your leg?” he demanded.

She didn’t answer. She clung tightly to the fence, eyes squeezed. Gabriel stepped closer, leaning toward her leg. The skin of her calf was marred by an angry red wound. It wasn’t new, and it appeared to be healing nicely, but clearly it had been a deep and painful spate of punctures and lacerations. There were two bloody arcs of red set end to end, the incisions in the shape of the letter U. An open mouth. She’d been bitten by an animal.

“Hugo, Tatin, I said go,” Gabriel growled over his shoulder. The animals fell back.

He stared up at her. “What happened?”

“Hmm?” She’d opened her eyes and was now staring wildly after the retreating dogs.

“They’ve gone, you needn’t worry. I’m asking about your leg. Did you suffer an attack?”

“Oh.” She looked down, saw her bare leg, and yanked her skirts, dropping wet cotton over the wound. “Sorry I didn’t realize my leg was... not covered. I’m not usually so panicked around dogs. I... Well, I suppose you can guess why.”

“You were attacked. What happened?”

She looked at him, her expression desperate. She pinched her lips together and shook her head.

“Lady Marianne?” he repeated.

Another headshake.

“Was it a dog, then?”

“I—” she began. “Yes. Several weeks ago. It’s nearly healed. It’s why I give dogs a very wide berth. This new fear is almost as bad as the attack, actually. Previously, I was very fond of dogs. I love them still, it’s just...”

“On what occasion were you attacked by a dog?” he asked—but suddenly he knew.

Instead of answering, she raised her eyebrows. She sat up straight on the fence.

“Maurice,” he guessed. And now Gabriel felt as if he was in the grip of powerful teeth, like a beast was trying to dig out his very heart.

“It was Maurice’s dog—yes.”

“No.”

She chuckled bitterly. “Yes.”

Gabriel was accustomed to seeing abuse. The horses he treated had been beaten or neglected. He was never unaffected by the cruelty, although he forced himself to look ahead, to focus on the treatment and recovery. He only survived the reality of the suffering by embarking on the healing. But how could he facilitate this? Maurice, and Lady Marianne, and Winscombe were realities he couldn’t heal.

“I challenged something he said,” Lady Marianne was telling him. “I challenged everything he said, actually—and in this instance, his dogs felt threatened somehow. One of them lunged and... and he did not call her off.”

“Come down from there,” Gabriel said, her words ringing in his ears. “The mud is not good for a healing wound. It must be cleaned.”

He forced himself to think only of this moment, of what he could control immediately. She wasn’t asking him to leave the forest now. Not tonight. He needn’t reckon with Maurice this moment. He needn’t reckon with Maurice at all. Now, he need only lift her from the fence, get her out of the rain, tend to her wound.

“I am certainly filthy,” she agreed, bracing her hands on his shoulders. “But have you a tub? Or I suppose any basin would—”

“I have a waterfall.”

“I beg your pardon?”

“There’s a third room inside the cave. A hot spring that falls from a crevice overhead. It’s an underground waterfall. You can wash there.” He’d purposefully concealed the waterfall before, but it would be useful now.

“Oh,” she said.

Yes, he thought. Oh.

The reason he’d not shown the waterfall was because his brain did not need the vision of her wet, or bathing, or without her clothes. He’d been unsettled and aroused since the moment he’d carried her through the woods. To introduce warm water? Splashing? He knew his limits. She’d come to him for help. He meant to send her away. There was no place for—

“I’m struggling to picture what you mean,” she was telling him. “Awaterfall. It does sound rather enticing. After the day I’ve had. But the horses...” She was looking over her shoulder into the misty paddock.

“Forget the horses. You can wash now and we’ll try to sleep. There are only a few hours until sunrise.”

He would not sleep. He would not think of dog bites or waterfalls or the sunrise. He would exist in a state of agony and guilt and longing, and morning would come, and he’d deliver her to Pewsey. She would leave the forest but he would remain.