Chapter 22 #2
The walk to the stables should have been enough to steady him. The air had cooled, the last of the daylight softening over the grounds, and for a time he focused only on the rhythm of his steps. It was simple; saddle the horse, ride out, and return when his thoughts had been forced into silence.
He was close enough to see the open stable doors when he heard voices. He slowed without meaning to.
The sound carried easily in the stillness. He recognized her voice at once, even before the words became clear, and something in him stilled completely as he reached the edge of the building without stepping inside.
"…no, not that one," Eleanor was saying, her tone light, touched with quiet amusement. "He looks as though he would run to the next town over if given half a chance."
The stablehand laughed, the sound easy.
"You’re not wrong, my lady. That one’s got more temper than sense."
There was a pause, then the sound of movement, the shift of hooves against the ground.
"I shall take this one," Eleanor continued, her voice softer now, more thoughtful. "He is calmer."
"Aye," the man said. "He'll go where you ask him, so long as you’re clear about it."
"Then I should like him," she said, and there was a smile in her voice that did not need to be seen to be understood.
Julian remained where he was, just beyond the doorway, his presence unannounced and his attention fixed entirely on the sound of her voice.
There was nothing in it that should have unsettled him, nothing improper, nothing beyond a simple conversation, and yet he could not help but notice that she sounded different.
There was no restraint in her tone, no careful distance, no quiet control in the way she chose her words. She spoke easily, without hesitation, without the awareness that every word might carry weight. It struck him before he could prevent it.
"…you must spend a great deal of time here," she was saying.
"All my days, yes," the stablehand replied. "I wouldn't know what to do with myself elsewhere."
"I understand that," Eleanor said. "There is something to be said for a place where one is not required to be anything in particular."
Not required to be anything.
The words settled more sharply than they should have. There was a brief pause, then the sound of a hand brushing against a horse’s flank.
"He likes you," the man said.
"I am glad of it," Eleanor replied. "It would be inconvenient to be rejected by both horse and rider in the same household."
The stablehand laughed again, more openly this time.
Julian did not. The remark was harmless, easily dismissed, and yet it lingered.
He remained where he was, listening without intending to, aware of the fact and unwilling to step forward all the same.
There was something in the ease of it that held him there, something he could not quite turn away from even as he knew he should.
She did not sound like someone holding herself at a distance. She did not sound like someone measuring her words.
"I should like to ride tomorrow," she said. "If that would not be troublesome."
"Not at all, my lady," the man replied. "I'll have him ready for you."
"Thank you."
There was a small shift in the air, the sense of movement, of something drawing to a close.
Julian stepped back before she could appear in the doorway, the motion instinctive, ensuring that his presence remained unnoticed.
He did not wait to see her, did not allow himself that, though he could hear the faint sound of her steps as she moved away from the stables, her voice no longer carrying as she left the space behind.
Silence returned. Only then did he step inside. The stablehand straightened at once.
"Saddle him," he instructed.
"Right away, my lord."
The man moved to obey without question, leaving Julian alone with the quiet, the lingering echo of a conversation that should have meant nothing.
He moved further into the stables, his attention fixed ahead, though his thoughts refused to settle into the simplicity he had intended.
There had been nothing in what he had heard that warranted the reaction it had stirred, nothing that could be called improper or even noteworthy, and yet the ease of her voice remained with him, sharp in its contrast to what had passed between them.
She had done exactly what he had required, so why was he so upset about it? Julian exhaled slowly, his hand resting briefly against the stall door before he forced himself to still.
She had not withdrawn from everything, only from him.
The thought settled without invitation, unwelcome in its clarity, and though he did not give it voice, did not allow it to shape his expression or his actions, it remained all the same as the horse was brought forward and the routine he had intended resumed.
He mounted without hesitation and rode as he had planned, but the peace he had sought did not come as easily as it should have, and the sound of her laughter, light and unguarded, remained with him far longer than he allowed himself to admit.
Nor, he recognized, did the lingering feeling that he was making a grave mistake.