Chapter 21
Chapter Twenty-One
Isabel woke to a gentle knocking on her door and her maid’s voice at the keyhole.
‘M’ lady, m’ lady...’
Sitting up, she bade Lily come in and the woman, clad in her nightdress with a shawl over her shoulders, crept into the room.
‘Sorry to disturb you, ma’am,’ Lily said, ‘but young Peter’s downstairs. Millie’s foaling and it isn’t going well. Thompson thought you would want to know.’
Isabel swung her legs out of the bed as she ran her hands over her face in an effort to wake herself up.
‘Of course I do. Quick, Lily, find me some warm clothes.’
Clad in an old dress of blue wool with a tartan shawl wrapped around her, her hair still tied in a loose braid down her back, Isabel hurried from the room, letting the door slam behind her.
‘What’s going on?’
She had reached the stairs and turned to see Sebastian standing in the doorway of his bedchamber, his green banyan pulled haphazardly over his nightshirt. His hair stuck up in spikes.
‘I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to wake you,’ Isabel said.
‘I wasn’t asleep,’ Sebastian growled, although his dishevelled hair and heavy eyes gave a lie to his words. ‘I’m a light sleeper,’ he added.
‘It’s Millie,’ Isabel said. ‘She’s having difficulty with the foal.’
‘Wait there. I’ll just find some clothes.’ Sebastian turned back into his room.
‘Really, my lord, there is no need,’ Isabel said, but the door had already shut behind him.
She joined the boy in the hallway. Peter shifted from foot to foot with impatience until Sebastian, looking like he had grabbed the nearest clothes he could find, joined them.
They hurried out of the house to the stables. The little piebald mare lay on the clean straw bedding of her stall, lathered in sweat and clearly in distress. Her terrified eyes rolled towards her mistress, and she uttered a faint nicker.
Thompson, his sleeves rolled up over his elbows, knelt on the straw at her rear.
He looked up as they entered the stall and shook his head, his mouth a grim line.
Isabel sank to the floor, holding the mare’s head in her lap and whispering in her ear while Sebastian ran a hand over her heaving flank.
One tiny hoof protruded from the birth canal.
‘This is not good,’ Sebastian said.
Thompson nodded. ‘I reckon he’s stuck.’
‘The foal will have to be repositioned,’ Sebastian said.
Thompson looked up at him. ‘I’ll have to get the boy to try, sir. I cut my hand this morning.’ He held up a bandaged right hand.
‘I’ve done this before,’ Sebastian said, stripping off his jacket and shirt, and when Thompson looked doubtful, he added. ‘I’ve been around horses all my life, Thompson. Isabel, can you get her to stand?’
Isabel tried not to let her eyes linger on the impressive expanse of chest above the heavy strapping.
Not for the first time did it warrant favourable comparison with her late husband whose pampered lifestyle showed in his physique.
This man had obviously lived a vigorous outdoor life.
The years of soldiering were written on that hard, muscular body.
The tan did not stop at his neckline but extended down his powerful chest and shoulders, contrasting with the white bandage that still bound his recent wound.
Her heartbeat quickened in a way she had not experienced. Damn the man! The unexpected reaction to the sight of Sebastian’s torso astonished her, as if a part of herself she had kept shut away tapped at the door to her consciousness.
‘Isabel? Lady Somerton?’
Realising he had asked her to get the mare to stand, she nodded and rose, urging the mare to come with her.
Millie did not want to cooperate. It took the strength of both men and a great deal of coaxing from Isabel to get the little pony to her feet.
The mare stood on shaking legs while Sebastian washed his right arm thoroughly before covering it with a foul-smelling grease Thompson had produced.
Isabel watched, the unspoken words forming on her lips to stop him, conscious, even if he was not, that he was in no physical shape for this sort of exertion.
She held her peace. Millie needed help and he was the only person who could provide it, so she held the pony’s head while Sebastian slid his arm inside the mare.
He grimaced and then smiled. ‘Come on little fellow,’ he said. ‘Out you come. Thompson, tie that bootlace to the hoof and pull down—gently.’
Thompson complied.
‘Isabel, let her go,’ Sebastian ordered.
Isabel released her hold on the halter and the mare went down on her knees, rolling over on her side. The pony groaned and shuddered.
On his knees beside the horse, Sebastian looked up at Isabel and grinned.
‘Here he comes. Well done, Millie.’
Isabel stroked the mare’s neck as the second hoof protruded and, with one gigantic contraction, the nose and head of the foal appeared.
Sebastian sat back on his heels as Peter, following his father’s instructions, gently eased the little creature out, the boy’s face shining with wonder. Millie gave a great shuddering sigh and relaxed under Isabel’s hand.
They sat in awe as the mare and the little foal rested from their travails.
Isabel stole a glance at the new Lord Somerton, seeing the smile on his face as the mare’s head swung around to look at her baby.
It would have been beneath Anthony’s dignity to have attended the stable, let alone participated in a foaling.
He loved horses, but Anthony liked to keep himself away from anything remotely dirty or unpleasant.
That had been Anthony’s loss. Nothing could have been more wonderful than seeing a new life come into the world.
With a grunt, Millie rose to her feet. The foal also struggled up, standing on shaking stick-thin legs.
The foal nickered and it was Sebastian, not the head groom, who instructed Peter in guiding the baby’s questing mouth towards its mother.
It took a couple of attempts but it latched on and began suckling greedily, its little tail beating in pleasure.
Isabel’s heart melted both at the sight of the little creature and the smile on Sebastian’s face. Hardened soldier or not, the experience of the foal’s birth clearly affected him and tears started in her own eyes. She dashed them away before he could notice and think her foolish.
Thompson looked up at the window. ‘It’ll be dawn soon.’ He turned back to Sebastian. ‘Thank you, my lord. You missed your vocation as a stable hand.’
Sebastian smiled as he rose to his feet. ‘Oh, I had plenty of practice. As a boy, I used to haunt the local squire’s stables. I’ll leave you to it and have a wash down outside.’
Isabel picked up his shirt and coat. ‘I’ll bring these,’ she said.
He looked down at his hands and grimaced.
‘Thanks.’
‘Ye’ll find soap by the trough,’ Thompson said and turned back to the horse.
The first grey streaks of dawn lightened the sky as Sebastian and Isabel stepped out into the courtyard. A water-filled trough stood to one side of the door, soap balanced on the rim, and a rough towel hung on a rusty nail.
Sebastian plunged his arms into the trough with a sharp exclamation at the water’s temperature.
He picked up the soap and began scrubbing vigorously.
Standing to one side, holding his shirt and coat, Isabel found her eyes fixed on his broad shoulders.
His muscles rippled beneath the brown skin and once again her heartbeat quickened. She took a deep steadying breath.
As the sky lightened, she could see that there were other scars marring the brown skin.
‘You seem remarkably careless of your life, Lord Somerton.’
He glanced at a long, white scar that ran down his bicep. ‘I’ve been a soldier a long time, Isabel.’
A flush of pleasure rose to her cheeks at this invitation to familiarity. Being alone with a half-naked man in the early hours of the morning did not call for formality, neither did it reflect well on her reputation. She glanced around the stable yard, but they were quite alone.
He straightened and began towelling off.
The grey light of the early dawn flattened the planes of his face, leeching the colour from his skin and eyes, but she could see the lift of humour curling the corners of his mouth as he caught her watching him, and the heat rose to her face as she thrust his shirt at him.
He pulled it over his head and took the coat from her, his eyes not leaving her face. As he buttoned the coat he tilted his head to one side.
‘I’ve been trying to work out what is different about you this morning. It’s your hair.’
He reached out and touched the loosely tied, heavy braid that hung over her shoulder. His finger brushed her cheek, leaving a burning trail across her cool skin.
‘What about my hair?’ Isabel stuttered.
‘I like the way you have bits of it around your face,’ he withdrew his hand and looked away. ‘Now I am being personal.’
Given his previous state of undress and the fact that they were alone together, a personal remark seemed the least of her concerns.
‘I’ll forgive you this once.’ She took a step back from him. ‘I must be getting back to the house.’
Before someone sees us together like this.
Sebastian looked at the sky. ‘It’s going to be another lovely day. I think I’ll go for a walk.’
Isabel lingered in the gateway to the stable, watching him stride away from her into the early morning mist. He moved with purpose and strength, and she felt sure, had she been a soldier, she would have willingly followed where he led.