The Prince's Bride

Chapter Seventeen

The stables at Mayapple were thoughtfully designed and outfitted with every modernization. No expense had been spared. Gabriel had barely noticed, following his brother-in-law blindly around the paddock, grateful to be away from the house. But then he entered the barn, and he stopped short. A row of horses, their coats healthy and eyes alert, studied him from large stalls. On the opposite wall, tack and feed were organized like instruments in a surgeon’s theater. The floor of the aisle had been raked and the straw lining each stall appeared fresh. Gabriel drifted to the horse in the first stall, a rose-gray gelding, and fingered his well-brushed mane.

“Look at you,” he mumbled to the horse, running a hand over the light speckling on his coat.

“Elise has little interest in horses in general, but she’s intrigued by exotic coloring. I’ve just bought a leopard stallion from America. The pregnant mare is champagne.”

Gabriel walked by every animal, slowly perusing the stalls. When he’d seen and touched and whispered to each horse, Killian led him to the pregnant mare. She ambled about a larger pen near the washing yard, belly heavy but eyes calm.

“My first attempt at breeding,” Killian told him. “Both sire and dam belong to us here at Mayapple. Gratifying to be sure, but distressing if there’s some complication. I’m sailing with no compass and the veterinarian in Marlborough is overwhelmed. He serves all of Middlesex and half of Wiltshire. There’s no one in Pewsey. I’ve been reading up on foaling for months, and general opinion indicates no need for medical assistance. Even so, the larger she grows, the more nervous I become.”

“May I?” asked Gabriel, eyeing the beautiful ivory horse. She seemed unbothered by Gabriel’s scrutiny and did not spook when he climbed into the pen. She clomped over to sniff his pockets and nibble at his hat. It was a good sign; well-treated mares were curious and unafraid.

Touching her, whispering to her, felt like a brief respite from the overwhelming farewell to Ryan and the subsequent reunion with his sister. He ran his hands over her slick coat, tracing the muscled contours and listening to her contented whinnies and snorts. Gabriel moved around her, feeling her belly, examining a scratch on her hip. For a quarter hour, he asked questions and examined the stall where Killian intended for her to give birth. Next he followed Killian to the paddock outside to observe the sire. His brother-in-law gave him access to every corner of the stables and answered every question with no defensiveness. It occurred to Gabriel that he wouldn’t mind calling on clients in their home stables if they were as open and agreeable as Killian Crewes. His guardian, Samuel, had had a strong preference for working alone, deep in the forest, with no input from owners; he’d believed house calls to private stables led to owners treating him like staff. There were also quarrels with other trainers and no distraction for the animals. Killian, in contrast, regarded Gabriel a little like an oracle. The deference was unnecessary but preferable to being treated like a stable boy.

In the end, Gabriel told his brother-in-law the mare appeared healthy and should foal in about a month. Killian swiped off his hat and hung his head in relief.

“I never fancied myself a horseman,” Killian said. “I’m an amateur architect and builder. But one horse turned into two; two turned into three—and now here we are. They weren’t necessarily on the agenda, but I refuse to neglect them.”

The two men stood beside the paddock, elbows resting on the fence slat, watching grooms lead Killian’s small herd out to graze.

“She’s called Oyster—the mare,” Killian said. “The girls named her. I’m aware that you rarely see horses outside of your camp and I should like to pay you for your time.”

“You owe me nothing,” Gabriel said. “You have delivered my sister. I am in debt to you.”

“Your sister delivered herself. And me, for that matter.”

“Even so.”

“My gratitude then,” Killian said. “I’m fortunate to have your opinion—your esteem in the horse world is legendary. In fact, it was Elise’s search for you that started me on the path to building a stable. Every breeder seemed to know of the elusive healer called Gabriel Rein.”

“I regret keeping myself so removed from Elise.”

“Yes, well, I’ll leave that for the two of you to discuss whenever she manages to pin you down about it. I am loathe to discuss my own complicated family, so you’ll not find me hounding another poor sod.”

Gabriel grunted, grateful for the reprieve. He hadn’t lied, he realized, when he admitted regret for hiding from Elise. He’d kept away for too long. He’d thrown himself onto the stoop with no real plan. He meant only to stand between Ryan and the dogs. But he was glad his impulsiveness allowed him to see his sister. He wanted to meet his nieces and brother-in-law. Appointing words to this felt precipitous—like proclaiming the arrival of spring on the last day of February—but the regret was gone.

“What can you tell me about this earl’s daughter?” Killian asked. “Lady Ryan?”

Gabriel rolled his shoulders. And now he felt the prickly discomfort of an obligation he couldn’t fulfill.

“I’m not asking about your own circumstance, mind you,” added Killian, “I’m an ally to you, just to be clear. But I’ll be prevented from entering the house if I don’t learn something about why the two of you have come.”

Gabriel stared at the horses, considering how to answer. He would rather not reveal the stone-cold panic that Ryan represented to him; but God knew he needed advice.

“Lady Ryan,” Gabriel said, “is being bullied into marrying the man who now holds my title. I’m presumed dead and he’s the cousin who inherited. This man—Maurice is his name—is an avaricious, petty opportunist; and she has no wish to marry him. He’s refused to take no for an answer and been rather forceful about it—violent, even. Lady Ryan and her sisters have little protection from him. Their father is alive but very ill. Their estate is large and ancient but depleted. In her desperation, she sought me out for help.”

Killian made a low whistle—a sound that acknowledged the significance but also the relief that it wasn’t his problem. For some reason, this response made Gabriel chuckle. Perhaps Gabriel didn’t need advice so much as someone to curse the impossibility of it. Perhaps he needed a friend.

And so Gabriel told him; he rattled off the long, implausible story of Lady Ryan Daventry. He explained his boyhood letters to her; Maurice’s designs on Winscombe and her younger sister; the dog attack; the ambush by Channing Meade and the screaming that led Gabriel to her—everything. (Everything except what had happened in the bedroom last night. Or the goodbye kiss.)

When Gabriel finished, Killian stretched back from the fence, holding himself at a slant. He shook his head. “I can’t believe that a twenty-year-old betrothal would transfer from a presumed dead prince to the new prince. But God only knows. You’d not believe the convoluted arranged marriages I saw in my work at St. James’s Palace. The ruling families of Europe are determined to protect the purity of royal blood above all things. It’s an absolute miracle I managed to marry your princess of a sister.”

“The tragedies in my life,” said Gabriel, “have led me to view royal blood and purity as a soul-destroying plague to be avoided at all costs. That’s dramatic, I know; but the story of my life and my sister’s life reads like a gothic tragedy. I’ll never exist in the realm of kings and queens, of palaces and courts, ever again. My father was executed because of it. Our family, torn apart. I’ve been hunted since boyhood because of my ‘royal blood.’ Now Lady Ryan is enduring more of the same. I stripped my life of all trace of divine right for a reason. I’ll not be controlled by my heredity.”

“Indeed,” said Killian, studying him. He pulled himself upright and stared at the horses. “Well said, actually.”

Gabriel grunted and kicked mud from his boot on the fence post.

“Considering this,” ventured Killian, “what’s to be done about Lady Ryan and your betrothal? It begs closer study, surely. I’m doubtful your cousin has a leg to stand on when it comes to modern laws, but it will take legal counsel to untangle. I’ve seen lesser aristocrats go ten rounds over who inherits a gamekeeper’s cottage. A newly minted French prince? He will put up a fight over marriage to an earl’s daughter and an estate in the Channel Islands. What do you intend?”

And here was the question of the decade. Saying the words, hearing his own name—his actual name and title—and explaining the threat forced Gabriel to acknowledge a new reality. This was his problem to solve. It would not be so easy as sending her to his brother-in-law and sister to sort out. Gabriel might be a recluse, but he was not without honor. He did not abandon women. He could seek out help, but ultimately, he should set this to rights. And perhaps he’d known this all along; perhaps that was why he’d followed Ryan every step from the outskirts of Pewsey to Mayapple. He hoped so. The evolution from ignoring her screams to standing in the stables of Mayapple had been lightning fast—but, he could now admit, it was not misplaced. This was his responsibility.

“She’ll stay here as our guest, of course,” said Killian, “and I urge you to remain at Mayapple until you’ve determined your next move. Our home is utter chaos—we cannot hide it, obviously—but take a room in these stables, if you prefer. The stablemaster and several grooms live in, but I’ll instruct them to defer to you in all things—or I’ll send them to the village for the length of your stay. The lodgings are modest, a room with a bed and stove for heat, a shared kitchen. But the stable will give you some relief from the mutiny of our daughters. And you can keep an eye on the mare. It would be unsporting not to mention this obvious benefit to me.”

“I—thank you,” said Gabriel. “It would never occur to me to remain, but it does seem ill-conceived to think I can be useful to Lady Ryan if I do not. However, I would be remiss if I did not mention that harboring me may be a threat to your young family. I’ve told Elise as much in my letters. I’ve had a price on my head since I left France. For as long as I can remember, mercenaries have hunted me. I cannot say it’s safe for anyone with me on the property.”

“I disagree, actually,” said Killian. “The climate in France is not volatile toward remaining royalty—not at the moment; likely never again. The Revolution is long over and France is more concerned with fighting all of Europe than reseating a monarch. Make no mistake, I’d not invite you here if I thought it was unsafe.”

Gabriel considered this. He didn’t know Killian, but he was clearly a formidable man—not one with whom to trifle. He was no taker of careless risks. If Killian felt the threat had diminished, perhaps Gabriel was in less danger than he feared. Perhaps he could leave solitude long enough to see Ryan safe.

“There was a time when Elise felt threatened,” Killian was saying, “but not since we’ve been married. These days, we go about our lives with no thought to it. You were right to take refuge in the forest for as long as you did. But trust me when I say that you’re no longer a target. Look at this cousin of yours—Maurice. He’s making no effort to conceal himself.”

Gabriel thought of this. He read broadsheets from London and Paris every week. Even so, he’d not allowed himself to believe the threat had diminished. It seemed unbelievable, after all he’d suffered. And yet, Killian Crewes, a man who worked inside St. James’s Palace for the king, believed there was no danger.

“I’ll need to set things to rights at my camp before I commit,” Gabriel finally said. “I’ve grooms in my employ who’ll need instructions for my absence. Allow me to think on it. But I am grateful to you. Truly.”

“Excellent,” said Killian. “I’ll tell my stablemaster. But let us face off with Elise together. She’ll want you in the house. If you decide to stay with us, and if you prefer the stable, my advice to you is to stand your ground.”

Gabriel nodded, thinking again of the potential of leaving Savernake Forest long enough to sort out Ryan’s problem. He’d not envisioned one night out of the forest, let alone a week or a fortnight.

“I like what you’ve said of ruling families and royal courts,” Killian said. “I worked in St. James’s for years and saw almost no value to their machinations. What a lot of vultures and vipers. And I feel terribly for this poor woman—Lady Ryan. But just to be clear, I would do anything for my wife. Her search for you has chewed a small hole through her heart, and—if possible—I would see it filled. There is no rush on this, but I cannot disguise the fact that her happiness is my top priority. In all things.”

“I am grateful for your devotion to her. I will do what I can.”

“As to Lady Ryan,” continued Killian, “just a thought, but would you consider marrying the girl?”

Gabriel made a choking sound and covered it with a cough. “Ah—no. She’ll not want to leave her sisters or her estate in Guernsey. And my life is in Savernake Forest. I’ve found some measure of peace that feels very precious, but it’s specific to my camp.”

Killian nodded thoughtfully. “Elise has told me what she suffered, fleeing France. She was fifteen at the time, but you were just a boy. I can only imagine what you’ve been through.”

“It’s not simply life in the forest. I’m unsuited to carry on as a gentleman in society. I’ve not been a prince since I was a child. If I’m being honest, it will be a struggle to survive your garden tea—how am I to go about as a prince? Not only am I unfit, making the effort feels destructive to my very soul. Lady Ryan is generous and versatile but she’s also the daughter of an earl. She lives on a grand estate. No, I cannot marry her. Nor do I believe she wishes to marry me—or anyone. She and her sisters are settled and happy in Guernsey. She enjoys agency over her household and appears wholly self-reliant. Their family is respected by locals and their sheep earn a living. Except for this odd legal conundrum, she does not require a husband.”

“Hmmm,” said Killian, rubbing his jaw. “But you’re fond of her?”

“Pardon?” asked Gabriel, the word came out on a choke.

“Lady Ryan—you enjoy her company? You’re not ambivalent to her?”

“She is...” Gabriel began, searching for the correct word. “...I am not ambivalent. To her.”

“Indeed,” Killian mused. “Well, my first bit of advice—assuming you’re open to my advice—is to keep your hands off. Of her. As you sort out all of this betrothal business.”

Gabriel felt his cheeks burn red but he said nothing.

“Forgive my bluntness,” said Killian, “I simply mean you’ve been very much thrown together, haven’t you? An unresolved betrothal, but also new allies working against a common enemy. You’ve rescued her from highwaymen and have examined her various animal attacks and abrasions, et cetera, et cetera. And good for you; the world needs more knights gallant in my view. However, if you’ve no intention of marrying the girl, keep your distance, lest an already complicated situation become a total quagmire.”

Gabriel cleared his throat. “I understand. There is no worry on this score. She is not at risk from me.”

“Well, ‘risk’ may be overstating anyone’s intentions—all I’m saying is, treat her like a chaste friend if you can. See if that doesn’t make things easier for both of you?”

The memories of last night rose like a fog in Gabriel’s mind.

“Thank you,” he ground out, looking away, “for everything.”

“Say nothing of it. Now, what of tea in the garden? Will my nephew eat everything before I’ve had so much as a crumb? Yes he will. Will his dogs be permitted on furniture and eat from the table? Also, yes. Can the London nanny my wife hired keep the children occupied before the tea goes cold? Doubtful.”

Six hours later, in the master bedchamber of Mayapple’s family wing, Killian Crewes lay in bed beside his wife. He let out a tired sigh and drew her into the crook of his shoulder, absorbing the warm glow of her happiness. He’d spoken the truth when he’d named her as his chief priority. A side benefit of Elise’s happiness was his own happiness; and a side benefit of their mutual happiness generally occurred right here in this bed.

“Is he anything like what you expected?” Killian asked, speaking into her hair. “After all this time?”

“My brother?” she clarified.

“Are there any other unaccounted ‘hes’ running about Mayapple at the moment?”

She chuckled. “Well, he looks like I thought he would; but he’s far quieter, isn’t he? Stiller? And he has such a humility about him. He looks like our father, but Papa was in no way humble. It’s disorienting. I suppose I didn’t know what to expect.”

“He’s not been jaded by the pretense of other men. He lives simply. I understand his unwillingness to invite vanity and covet and greed into his existence. That’s civilization for you; it’s comfortable, but there is a pecking order.”

“I love him, however he is,” she said, snuggling more tightly into Killian. “Even if I must share him with your horses. Really, Killian, could the arrangements be more self-serving? I’d rather bring the pregnant horse into the house than relegate my brother to the stables.”

“Trust me, Highness, I presented him with the only arrangement he would accept. In fact, I was a little shocked he said yes, even to the stables.”

“He knows that our family should be reunited,” she said. “Deep down, he knows.”

“Well, there’s that, but I also suspect him to be very fond of this earl’s daughter he followed to our doorstep.”

“Fond?” she asked, craning her head.

“Hmmm. To put it mildly. Think on it: We’d never clapped eyes on the man—despite scouring the countryside, despite years of correspondence, despite buying property on the edge of Savernake Forest for the sole purpose of drawing him out. And when do we finally encounter him in the flesh? On the heels of this young woman.”

Elise sat up in bed. “But could you be right? Was this the impression he gave you about Lady Ryan? That is, do you think he—? But is it possible he has some romantic feelings for her?”

“The thought did cross my mind,” Killian said idly. “I cannot say what went on between them in the forest, but I’d bet ten quid she did not complain about the bugs.”

“Honestly,” whispered Elise, folding herself back into his arm, “it occurred to me, too. That is—not about the bugs, but there is something between them. I saw it when we took tea. And she’s very protective of him, isn’t she? Oh Killian, if he formed some attachment to her, and she could see beyond his beard and his horses—if they would be open to the possibilities of a friendship...”

Killian made a snorting sound. “‘Open?’ ‘Possibilities?’ ‘Friendship?’ Try marriage, Highness. That’s where my brain has gone.”

Elise sat up again. “What?”

Killian linked his hands behind his head and stared up. “He cannot remain in the forest forever. Or, if he does, he should have a companion. I’m hardly a matchmaker, as you know, but you should’ve seen the way he reacted when I asked him about her.”

“How? How did he react?”

“He reacted like they got on very well—like they’d gotten on, and on, and he would consider himself the luckiest man in the world if they could get on again very soon.”

“No,” Elise breathed dreamily, gazing into the distance.

“I’ve said it before, and I’ll say it again. He’d evaded us for years; and the first sniff of Lady Ryan of Guernsey and he’s suddenly knocking on our door? He fancies her. Mark my words. And she is good for him; she’s unpretentious and unfussy and natural. She has a sort of evenness that suits him. And she’s obviously infatuated.”

“Is she?” asked Elise. “But how can you know? And how have I missed all of this?”

“Perhaps you’re reeling from the shock of seeing him—and seeing him so transformed. Also, please don’t forget that I formerly worked as King George’s royal fixer. Before marrying you, I was constantly routing illicit lovers and or facilitating preferred matches in St. James’s Palace. I can identify the spark of attraction at ten paces.”

“Unless it’s your own,” she teased.

“Never say it. My own spark was painfully obvious.”

“And yet you ignored it.”

“Ignored? More like fled from it. Or endeavored to flee. My attraction to you, Highness, wasn’t simply obvious, it was unthinkable. It was doomed.”

She giggled. “And see how that turned out. I willed it into fruition.”

“Thank God.” He hitched his knee so their legs tangled beneath the covers.

“Absent your strong will,” he went on, “or, perhaps working in conjunction with it, we can do our part to nudge them in the correct direction. When I worked as royal fixer, my job was to determine the most expedient solution to any given problem, with the fewest extenuating circumstances, the fewest players—or, I should say witnesses—and the most binding results. They didn’t hire me for long, measured coercions that spanned years; I delivered results in a fortnight. This problem wants the same efficiency in my view. We’ve a tortured, exiled prince living like a lonely wild man in the forest and a spinster fiancée being stalked by an entitled coward. Their attraction is not only obvious, thus far it’s proven to be very motivating. He’s out of the forest. He’s consented to stay on at Mayapple. We must strike while the iron is hot.”

“How useful you are, Killian,” Elise breathed, delving her fingers into the whirl of hair on his chest.

“And you thought my only function was sex.” He closed his eyes, pressing his head into his linked hands. He could bask in her touch for eternity.

“Not your only function. Although I do seem to find myself constantly pregnant.”

“You love being pregnant.”

“I love becoming pregnant,” she corrected, “and I love my girls, but I do not relish being pregnant. No woman does.”

“I’ll bet Lady Ryan will. She has that look about her.”

“How could you possibly know this about her.”

“I’m trying to be clever and failing. Let me just say, she desires a family.”

“Fine. Has your fixer’s brain determined how we might facilitate their attraction?”

“The shortest, simplest route is to keep them close in proximity and working toward a common goal. This is the real reason I offered him a room in the stables. If I hadn’t, he would’ve returned to his camp and called once or twice more, monitoring Lady Ryan’s problem from afar. He’s been hunted and haunted and—understandably—he’s very easily spooked. Think of how long you allowed the British royal family to, for all practical purposes, hideyou away? He’s still hiding; he’s not yet had a motivating event to embolden him. He’s getting very close, I’d say, but not yet.”

“She is the motivating event?”

“He seems very motivated to me.”

“And taking on our wretched cousin Maurice is their common goal?”

“Now you’re thinking like a fixer,” Killian said. “I have some additional ideas to encourage them; but I need to make some inquiries in London. I’ll send a messenger tomorrow. If you can summon your friend Sister Marie, she’ll be needed before this is all said and done—if nothing else, to find a priest to marry them.”

She looked up to him. “You’re that certain? We’re to the point of finding a priest?”

“Forgive me, I’ve yet to mention my secret weapon.”

She rolled against him. “Do tell.”

“Before I say it, I must secure a promise of gratitude from you. Because it’s a very potent and effective secret weapon. It’s practically guaranteed.”

She chuckled and pulled herself on top of him, sliding onto his chest and hips with a delicious little murmur. “And what, specifically, am I to be grateful for?”

“I’ve advised him to keep his hands off. Off of her.”

“You what?” She pushed up on his chest.

“Trust me on this, Highness. Time-honored method of pushing lovers together: telling them they must, must, must—above all else—keep apart. It’s what I told myself when I fell in love with you. And see where that got me?”

But Elise was shaking her head. “I don’t know, Killian. Gabriel seems very earnest and cautious. What if he restricts himself based on this terrible advice; advice that you don’t even mean?”

“He won’t restrict himself,” breathed Killian. He unlinked his hands and slid them to her knees, tugging her legs on either side of him. “I’ve seen the way he looks at her. He’ll not be able to resist. And if he abides by my suggestion—if he’s perfectly able to keep his hands off of her—then we’ll know I’ve misjudged their situation. And we’ll leave it. An experienced solicitor can send your cousin packing with no harm done. Lady Ryan and your brother will go their separate ways. But I haven’t misjudged; I’d put money on it. Be patient. Pretend you don’t notice. Let’s keep them close and working together.

“In the meantime,” he rumbled, rising up to capture her mouth in a kiss, “about that gratitude...”