Chapter 3
Three
My eyes take a moment to adjust to the semi-darkened stables. I immediately smell hay and mud. A horse neighs and I see the backside of two massive black ones swishing their tails from side to side. The temperature is nice and toasty, a stark contrast to London’s winter weather.
“Huh, I thought you’d have more horses in here.”
“We do. There’s eight more around the corner in the main stable block, two out front in the boxes, and these two.”
The soldier removes his helmet and stretches his neck side to side. “That’s better.”
I get my first good look at him. He has close-cropped auburn hair and is tall. If I had to guess, I’d say he stands over six feet. It’s hard to tell from the boxy coat, but I’d imagine he’s also pretty strong.
“Is it heavy?”
“See for yourself.” He gently places the helmet in my hands in exchange for the spur. “I’ll take that.”
“Whoa, it’s like a small bowling ball.” I gaze at him with newfound respect. “You have to wear this all day?”
“Not all day, but most.” He lifts his coat and glances at the heel of his boots. “Ah bollocks, it is my spur. These things are an absolute nightmare. They’re awkward to walk in and constantly falling off. Thank you for finding it.” He glances at his sword, then me. “Would you mind holding this?”
“Oh . . . er, no.”
“Thanks. We don’t wear scabbards with our winter uniforms.”
“Thank you for guarding my phone. I’m curious, but why didn’t you put it in your boot instead of my handbag?”
He shrugs. “I didn’t think of it. My boot seemed more secure.”
I’m still holding his helmet in my left hand, so he places the sword in my right. It’s lighter than his helmet. I study the intricate carving on the hilt and elegant curve of the blade. I resist the urge to swing it around. “I bet this could cause some serious damage if you wanted to.”
“You have a keen pair of eyes. Most tourists think they’re toys.” The soldier has leaned against the wall and is shimmying his boot off his foot. “Little do they know, it’s sharp enough to easily slice through a watermelon.”
I let out an impressive whistle. “Has that theory been tested?”
“Of course. The non-commissioned officers in charge of our riding course made a point to literally show us that these swords were once deadly weapons.”
We share a chuckle. A pair of dimples emerges on his handsome face.
This soldier is a totally different person than the one who shouted at me fifteen minutes ago.
He’s relaxed and is starting to let his sarcastic personality shine through.
He flips the thigh-high boot upside down and secures the fastenings on the spur.
“Those look about as fun to walk in as a pair of pointe shoes.”
“And those would be . . .?”
“A ballerina’s toe shoes.” Unconsciously, I rise up onto my own toes and bourrée in place. “They’re the world’s stiffest pair of footwear until you break them in.”
“I knew that,” he says under his breath. “They cause bad blisters.”
I stop and grimace, remembering how the chafing of my pointe shoes used to rub the sensitive skin of my toes, heels, and bunions raw, no matter what I did. “The worst kind.”
He glances up at me, then back to the boot. “Then I guess they are like pointed shoes.”
“Pointe shoes,” I gently correct him.
“Pointe shoes,” he repeats. “Were you a ballerina growing up?” He slips the boot back on and takes the sword and helmet from my hands.
My stomach muscles clench. “Something like that.”
I’m saved from having to share more when I hear the heavy footfalls of someone approaching. The soldier stiffens and all his facial muscles tense.
“Trooper Baker, what are you doing in here?” a stout man with a neat mustache says in surprise. His helmet is tucked under his arm.
So the soldier’s name is Trooper Baker. I file that away for later.
“Corporal Lee.” He salutes, then stands at ease. “There was an incident in the courtyard.”
“Two in one day.” The Corporal sighs and shakes his head. “I’ll wager that’s why we have a civilian in here?”
He nods. “Yes, sir.”
I awkwardly lift my hand. “Hi, I’m Minerva.”
“Corporal Lee.” He nods to me, but doesn’t move to shake my hand. I play it off and slip my hand behind my head, running it down my ponytail.
“All right, Baker, give me the Spark Notes version.”
“The civil—Minerva—found a spare piece of my kit. While she was trying to return it to me, she was caught off guard by a pickpocket. The MOD officers went to find a Met officer so she can file a report. With the dense crowds today, we posed too much of a security risk to wait outside. So here we are.”
Corporal Lee raises an eyebrow. “Another spur?”
“Yes, sir.”
“I’m going to glue that bloody thing to your boot.”
“Yes, sir.” To Trooper Baker’s credit, he doesn’t flinch.
“Wait with Ms. Minerva until the MOD team returns. We’re due for a guard change in five minutes.”
“Yes, sir.”
Corporal Lee slides his helmet onto his head just as a few soldiers in camo and few in blue cloaks materialize in the stable area.
“Let’s stand over there. You can watch how the horses are prepped for the boxes,” Ian says.
“Sure,” I squeak.
I love horses, but the truth is, in person, they scare me. They’re intelligent, huge, and can read a human better than another human can.
Baker wrinkles his nose. “Are you scared?”
“A little,” I admit.
“I promise, most of the horses are well trained. They’re like big dogs. They love being showered with attention and receiving treats.” He places a reassuring hand on my shoulder. “But we can stand extra far back if it puts you more at ease.”
Trooper Baker leads me to an area near the far wall. We’re about ten feet from the horses and out of everyone’s way.
“Most?”
“There’s a couple in the regiment that are spirited and enjoy nipping at anyone who gets too close.
” He blinks slowly. “But as far as I’m aware, the ones out on duty today are softies.
” He points to the horse with four white socks and a small white star.
“Take Orpheus, for instance. He tends to nap while he’s standing out front. ”
My eyes widen. “They can do that?”
“Uh-huh. They’re experts at it. Orpheus is older, about fifteen. When you’ve been around as long as he has, you’ve seen it all. Nothing surprises him.”
“Who’s the other one?”
“That’s Titan.”
This horse is a different shape than Orpheus. He’s pure muscle. Titan is also black, with three white socks and a blaze running down the center of his forehead.
“He definitely looks like a Titan.”
“That boy is eighteen hands three. He’s the largest horse we have in the Blues and Royals.”
I make a note to look up what the Blues and Royals means later.
Soldiers in camo line the pair of horses up by the door. They clip the horse’s halter to a post and review all the tack, checking the saddle, girth strap, halter, reins, and all the other bits and bobs.
“Are they part of your regiment too?”
“Yup.” Baker nods. “We all rotate between working as stable hands and being out in front of the public.”
The questions continue to come. “Do you rotate between who sits on the horses and who stands as a foot guard too?”
“In a way.” We watch two of his friends in navy-blue coats ascend a set of mounting blocks and settle themselves on top of the horses.
“It’s all about who has the best presentation and turnout.
We’re inspected before we leave the barracks at Hyde Park by an officer.
They give us a score out of twenty. The troopers with the highest scores get to pick where they’re positioned for the watch. ”
“Oh wow. I’ll have to look for you on horseback the next time I’m passing through.”
“I’ll never be on horseback, unless a miracle happens.”
I wrinkle my nose. “Why?”
“Because I don’t fancy staying up all hours of the night to make my kit immaculate. I’ll settle for it being up to the standard required. I’d rather sleep, especially when our watches here are twenty-four hours long.”
The horses are taken to the slatted doors. Corporal Lee says a few words to them, then leads them out front. My time with Trooper Baker is running short. I’m disappointed in myself for not using the time more wisely. I know next to knowing about him!
“Trooper Baker, do you have a first name?”
“It’s Sam, but if you want to call me Baker, that’s fine too.” He grows quiet. “What about you? Do you have a surname?”
“Hana.” I dry swallow. “I go by Min, Minnie, or Minerva.”
“For now, I like Minerva.” Our gazes meet and we hold one another’s attention for several heartbeats. Maybe it’s a trick of the lighting, but his eyes have changed shades. Now they appear more like a rich, warm caramel.
“Sam,” I test on my lips. “Are you going to be here again tomorrow?”
“Until eleven. After that, my squadron returns to Knightsbridge.”
“I’ll have to come this way again tomorrow on my way to work—that is, if I still have a job.”
He frowns. “Why wouldn’t you?”
“Because I’m going to be late, late, late by the time I get in today.”
“Tell them what happened,” he urges. “I’m sure they’ll understand.”
“You don’t know my boss,” I mutter, breaking my gaze away. I stare at the ground. “He’s a retired Grenadier Guard. He doesn’t take excuses for anything.”
The doors open and a pair of horses returns.
“Trooper Baker, the MOD officers are asking for you,” Corporal Lee declares.
“We’re coming,” he calls out.
As I’m guided up to the police officers, I’m already making plans for tomorrow morning.