Chapter 5 #2
That sounds ridiculous, but modern horses and medieval warhorses were apparently entirely different species emotionally. These creatures looked large enough to conquer neighboring kingdoms independently.
Without the formal weight of the great hall around him, Geoffrey looked younger in the stables.
His dark mantle had been abandoned somewhere behind him, leaving only a fitted wool tunic and riding boots dusted with straw.
For the first time since arriving at Thames, I thought he resembled less a political hostage negotiator and more the knight he actually was.
He walked directly toward a grey stallion carrying an expression of profound disinterest in the human race except where apples were concerned.
“This is Bolingbroke,” Geoffrey said, feeding him casually from his palm. “He’s vain, occasionally vindictive, and entirely aware he’s the finest horse in three counties.”
“He certainly behaves like it,” I said cautiously from several safe yards away.
Geoffrey looked at me. “You’ve never actually been near a horse before.”
“I have absolutely been near horses,” I objected. “Boston has horses.”
“Astonishing.”
“There are carriage rides. In parks.”
His expression became painfully careful. “Decorative horses,” he clarified.
“They were perfectly functional horses.”
“For walking in circles.” He grinned.
I opened my mouth. Closed it again. “The point,” I informed him, “is that I’m not afraid of horses.”
This was technically true.
I was, however, somewhat afraid of this specific horse, who had turned one dark intelligent eye toward me with what felt suspiciously like judgment.
“Come here,” Geoffrey said. He was trying very hard not to laugh.
That made me immediately defensive as I walked toward the stall. Bolingbroke’s head was roughly the size of my torso.
“Hold your hand flat,” Geoffrey instructed.
He reached for my wrist before I could respond, adjusting the angle of my hand with calm practicality.
His fingers were warm against my skin, and I became abruptly and unhelpfully aware of that fact.
Which was probably why I failed to anticipate Bolingbroke abruptly exhaling directly into my face. I made a deeply undignified noise.
Geoffrey laughed. A genuine startled laugh that transformed his entire face before he caught himself and pressed his mouth closed again.
Too late, I’d seen it.
“He does that to everyone,” Geoffrey said, still clearly fighting amusement. “The first time.”
“How reassuring.”
Bolingbroke looked smug. I was fairly certain horses could not technically look smug. This one managed it anyway.
“Try again,” Geoffrey said. “Flat hand. He won’t bite.”
“You sound very confident.”
“He’s only bitten Aldwin twice.”
“Only?”
“Aldwin deserved it both times.”
I held out my hand again as Bolingbroke considered me with grave deliberation before lowering his nose into my palm. The softness surprised me the most.
Not just warmth or texture, but the startling reality of him. This animal. This impossible moment in history breathing quietly against my skin. Emotion tightened unexpectedly in my chest. I swallowed it immediately.
“He’s soft,” I said instead.
“They usually are.”
Geoffrey watched me with an expression I couldn’t entirely decipher. Something careful. Interested.
“You’ll need to learn to ride properly eventually,” he added. “Actual horses. Not decorative park horses.”
“Is that an offer?”
“It’s practicality. If you’re going to remain useful to this family, you need mobility.”
I glanced sideways at him. “You’re going to regret laughing at me.”
“I have no idea what you mean.” He turned toward the castle before I could answer.
I was almost certain he was smiling.
* * *
Over the following days our conversations began stretching beyond strategy and survival.
We spent mornings reviewing political developments and household accounts in the great hall. Evenings were less structured. Geoffrey would find me walking the castle walls after supper, and we’d talk until the torches burned low and the guards began pretending not to notice we were still there.
“Tell me about Boston,” he said one evening as we stood overlooking the Thames. “The city you came from.”
“It’s a port city,” I said. “Much larger than Thames Castle. Millions of people.”
Geoffrey looked openly skeptical.
“Millions?”
“Yes. There are buildings taller than anything I can reasonably explain to you. Transportation that moves without horses, devices you can use to talk to people in other countries. Flying carriages. Electricity.”
“Magic.”
“Science,” I corrected automatically. “Just science advanced far enough to appear impossible.”
“And women are educated there.”
I squinted at him. “Yes.”
“Wealthy women?” He tilted his head to watch me.
“All women.”
He went quiet at that.
“That seems impossible.”
“What seems impossible to me is a world where women can be imprisoned at male discretion,” I pointed out. “Perspective matters.”
“But you’ve adapted to it.”
“Because the alternative is probably execution,” I said dryly. “That isn’t acceptance. It’s survival.”
Something shifted briefly across his expression then. Not offense exactly. Thoughtfulness.
“You’re planning to return,” he said after a moment.
The question caught me unexpectedly off guard.
“The psalter brought me here,” I continued. “If it can carry someone through time once, surely it can do so again. Theoretically.” I rested my arms against the cold stone wall. “Assuming I understood how any of this works, which I absolutely do not.”
“And if you discover it?”
I looked out across the river instead of at him.
“I should want to go home immediately,” I admitted. “My entire life is there.”
“But?”
I hesitated.
It was difficult to explain. A week ago this place had been a nightmare.
Now I found myself noticing the torchlight on the stone walls, the sound of horses in the courtyard before dawn, the strange comfort of voices echoing through the hall below my chambers.
I was fascinated by everything from the tapestries, to the kitchen cooking implements.
The castle no longer felt entirely alien.
And Geoffrey himself had become dangerously easy to speak to.
“I think,” I said carefully, “it’s becoming harder to remember this time isn’t mine.”
Geoffrey studied me for a long moment. “That sounds dangerous,” he said quietly.
“Yes,” I admitted. “Probably.”
Neither of us said anything after that.
The river moved darkly below the walls while somewhere behind us the castle settled into sleep around the night watch and dying fires.
And for the first time since arriving in in the past, going home no longer felt like the only thing I wanted.