Chapter 27 Freya
FREYA
The rhythmical beat of the horse’s hooves on the ground and the high blow of his breath as he canters through the woods wraps itself around me like a warm blanket of nostalgia.
It takes me back to when I’d take Kelsey out, come rain or shine, when being together was the only time I could truly be myself.
He didn’t judge me on what I said or did—he just accepted me for who I was, which as a teenager was a rarity.
He was the one I told all my secrets to, and he was the one who silently comforted me as I cried tears of anger and frustration when it felt that things were getting too much.
“You can’t just ride him,” my father had complained. “You have to do the stuff you don’t want to do as well. I’m not paying someone else to muck him out.”
He’d often issue idle threats, telling me that he’d take drastic action if I didn’t look after Kelsey properly, and that summer twenty years ago wasn’t any different.
I had no reason to believe he wasn’t bluffing, because he wouldn’t dream of taking the only thing I’d ever truly loved away from me.
So how come I found myself sobbing uncontrollably as a horse box was driven away by Kelsey’s excited new owners two months later?
A tear falls onto my cheek as I smart at the memory, and the whistling wind whips it away as I press my heels into the horse’s side, encouraging him to go even faster.
I banish all thoughts of my father’s cruelty as my pulse matches the galloping stride.
Ducking my head under low-hanging branches, my thoughts turn to last night and the secret Tess and I now share.
Though whose weighs the heaviest, I’ve not yet decided.
I can’t remember going to bed. I don’t even know how I got back to my room, the fragments of those lost few hours coming to me in fits and starts when I woke up this morning with a banging headache, nausea, and rueful regrets, wondering what I’d said, and what I’d done.
What I used to call the Fear had returned with a vengeance as my brain battled to remember.
London. Coco. Hospital. The words—so innocuous on their own but yet so damning when put together in a sentence—had been on a loop inside my head until I convinced myself I wouldn’t have been so stupid.
And even if I had, Tess had been well ahead of me in the drink stakes, so her memory was likely to be just as cloudy as mine.
But what if I had been stupid? And what if she did remember?
She hadn’t said a word this morning, the pair of us eating our continental breakfast in the orangery as if nothing of any note had happened. Preferring instead to look to the day ahead, rather than lament the night before.
“What time are you going for your ride?” she’d asked.
“Oh, I’m not sure I’m in the mood,” I said, pretending my hangover was something we both knew it wasn’t.
“You must go!” she said, far too enthusiastically for that time in the morning. “You used to love riding.”
I flinched inwardly, knowing I must have told her that last night, even though I couldn’t remember. Still, as revelations go, it could have been worse.
And as much as I had to drag myself to the stables, I wouldn’t have wanted to miss this for the world.
Being out here in nature, the expanse of its beauty and tranquility knowing no bounds, I almost feel sorry for my younger self, who didn’t really appreciate this sense of pure exhilaration.
The power of the horse beneath me, the control that’s needed, the trust we both have to rely on.
I can already feel the deep connection between us, the unspoken communication that has to exist for us both to feel safe.
I immerse myself in the moment, willfully shutting out everything other than the profound peace that envelopes my entire being.
And we fly, as if through the branches of the trees, taking off up to the clouds.
But then there’s a loud bang, and the flying suddenly stops.
The horse lets out a high-pitched snort as it rears up, and as much as I try to hold on, scrambling for the reins, I’m neither experienced nor strong enough to defer the animal’s fear.
Higher and higher I go, slipping backward, reaching out for anything to hold on to.
But I start free-falling, landing on my back with a sickening thud that knocks the wind out of me.
I lie there, perfectly still, as everything goes on mute, looking up at the swaying treetops that just a second before felt like they were holding me aloft.
My eyes are the only moving part, as my brain scans my body from the feet up, checking for feeling.
I force deep breaths in and out to kick-start my diaphragm and tentatively wiggle my toes, just to make sure that I still can.
“Fuck,” I groan, easing my head slowly off the ground. An idle rock, which looks so innocuous, sits just a few centimeters away, making me eternally grateful that I’m wearing a riding hat.
I roll onto my side and moan, every breath filling the space between my back muscles with an uncomfortable pocket of air.
But I can move, and aside from the searing pain that’s shooting through my hip, I know how lucky I am to have escaped without more injuries, though I imagine I’ll be black-and-blue by tomorrow morning.
Shivering as I go to stand up, I pull my padded jacket around me, wondering how I’m going to find my way out of the dense woodland.
I place a testing foot on the ground, grimacing as my hip bears down.
With the horse long gone, and a never-ending avenue of trees stretching out ahead of me, it will take me hours to get back.
My only hope is that Tess will realize that something’s wrong and send help.