Chapter Fifteen
Nothing could have kept Annista from following in her husband’s wake when he left Evan’s chamber. She did not even attempt to deny the urge.
He was angry, fair transfigured by rage. She needed to know what had reduced him to such a state.
“Alan—wait,” she called when they reached the gallery. “Wha’s happened?”
It was the third time he’d been asked that question. Now he turned with his back to the balustrade and replied.
“He’s gone and savaged his horse, has the bastard. And I’ll ha’ the equal o’ it out o’ him, but not while he’s puking all over himself.”
“Tempest?” Annista asked, her heart sinking so violently it soured her stomach. A thought followed swiftly—so he’d act on behalf of the stallion, would he? But not on Robena’s behalf.
Be that as it may, she barely recognized the man who stood before her. Dark gray eyes ablaze, face gone white and tense enough to display the lie of the bones beneath the skin.
“Is the beast all right?”
“God knows.”
She narrowed her gaze at him. “Ye knew he was abusing the animal—”
“He took a crop to him, aye, fro’ time to time. Naught like this. He has gone too far.”
She pushed past him and headed for the stairs.
“Where are ye goin’?” he demanded.
“To look at Tempest.”
He followed her now, so fast did she fly down the stairs, her hand sliding along the black oak banister. Not back toward the kitchens but out the front door, leaving the footman startled, and around the side of the house at a run.
She could run fleetly when lit, and she was lit now. By horror. By the desire to protect—impossible after the fact. By anger.
Alan came after her. She could hear his steps on the crushed stone of the path and then the cobbles of the courtyard. The stables loomed, doors wide open.
She could hear voices when she went in. The stable boys murmuring. She flew to Tempest’s stall where at last she hesitated.
The stallion was down, not on his side but on his chest in the straw. A big animal he was, and he fair filled the space, but once her paralysis broke she went pushing in past the groom nearest the door.
“Careful,” Alan called from behind her. “He’s still—”
Upset, aye. Not one of them gathered there but was upset.
She went down to her knees in the straw beside the stallion’s head with a cry of dismay.
Old Billy exclaimed, “My lady! Ye will ha’ a care. He could bite.”
Annista barely heard him. The horror inside her had transformed to something else, an appalled dismay so powerful she could not speak. She laid the palm of her hand on the horse’s neck and leaned close to him.
Tempest rolled an eye at her.
She had, aye, gazed into the stallion’s eye before, when first Alan warned her about him, had beheld the wildness there, the incipient defiance, the anger.
The defiance had now died. The anger remained.
Suddenly words filled her and went running out from her. None for the men around her, whom she near forgot existed. All for the soul of the beast.
Those, when she found them, she poured into the horse’s ear. “I ken, I ken. He has done the unspeakable, and ye hate him for it. I hate him too. Could ye no’ ha’ taken him down? I ken fine ye wanted to. Perhaps ye tried. Mayhap ’twas what turned him so hard against ye.”
Tempest’s ear flickered.
Alan, who’d paused outside the stall door, said, “Mistress, come awa’ out o’ there.”
She ignored him. Leaned still closer.
“He’ll kill ’er,” said one of the stable boys.
“Nay, he will no’.” Billy took a step forward from the wall.
Annista slid her arms around the stallion’s neck. She could feel the warmth of him and catch the scent of his sweat. She continued her crooning, not caring if the men could hear.
“We will mak’ it better. I will. I shall no’ let him harm ye so again.”
The stallion, wild, was a force with which one might reckon. But he’d been beaten into submission, and in his demeanor Annista sensed what had always been inside her sister. Robena, who would not kindle, who would not fight, who did not protest her fate.
Robena had needed protection which Annista, on some level, had always striven to provide. Until she could no longer do so.
A truth she would regret all her life.
Now the stallion, so fierce, had been taken down to a level where he could not fight back either—at least for the moment.
Annista would fight for him.
So she poured promises into the stallion’s ear, ones that the men ranged around her could not hear, before sitting back on her heels and looking at old Billy.
“What are ye doin’ for him? Why are ye standin’ there? Bring unguents and—”
“He’s down,” Billy said. “I’ve never seen this horse down nor drained o’—”
“He won’t get up till his hurts are soothed.”
“Mistress, I am doubting he’ll get up at all.”
“He shall. And how dare ye stand there doubting it? Move. Move!”
She got to her feet even as the stable master and the two lads stirred, coming to life and edging out of the box. She did not miss the look Billy gave Alan. A grimace and roll of the eyes.
“Bring unguents and liniment,” Alan instructed. “Ye ken what to do.”
When they were alone, Alan edged into the box. He moved cautiously, as if convinced the stallion would still rise and kick out with his great hooves. He reached for Annista.
“Please, come awa’. Let the grooms tend the horse.”
“If ye think I will abandon this animal—” as her sister had been abandoned. She waved her hands. “Look. Look what that monster has done to him.”
“I can see.”
“He is a monster. And I—I want to kill him.”
Alan stared at her. She stared back into his eyes. By God, had she said that aloud?
For a moment the only sound was Tempest’s labored breathing.
Then Alan said, “I understand what ye feel.”
“But,” she tipped her chin up at him, unable to bridle her fury, “ye are no’ man enough to do the job?”
He did not mention the thrashing he’d given Evan up in his chamber, that she had witnessed. That, anyway, was not what she asked.
“Very well, then,” she rushed on, “I am woman enough to do it for ye.”
“Annista.” He hissed her name. “Do no’ say that. At least—no’ aloud.”
“Why not?” She flared. “There is no one to hear—save yoursel’ and the horse, who knows already. I ha’ made him a promise. Will ye go running to your father and tell on me? Will ye try to protect that—that—” She ran out of words.
“Nay. I will no’. Foolish lass, can ye no’ see I’m trying to protect ye? From him. From yourself.”
“I am no’ afraid o’ him.”
“Ye should be. Only look at wha’ he has done to a creature so fierce ’twas a matter o’ wondering which o’ them would kill the other.”
Annista leaned toward Alan much as she had to the horse and spoke into his face. “I am no’ afraid. Mayhap ye are.”
His jaw grew tight and something flickered in his eyes. Protest? Anger? Shame?
Before he could speak she said, “I will nurse this horse back to health. And if Evan comes near me—’tis he better watch his back.”
Alan hissed between his teeth but said nothing more. Old Billy came hurrying back with clean cloths in his hands and a tub of salve.
“I ha’ Cook heating water, Master Alan. We will need to clean these wounds first.”
“I will do it,” Annista told the old man.
Billy glanced at Alan who said, “Billy is an expert, Mistress Wife. Come awa’ and let him do his work.”
Mistress Wife.
“Tempest will no’ want anyone touching him, save me. I daresay my touch will be the gentlest.”
Billy began to bristle at that. “Mistress, I ha’ been tending horses—”
“—longer than I ha’ been alive. Aye, I ken. This is no’ an ordinary case.” She went down on her knees in the straw again.
To the astonishment of everyone there, Tempest turned his great head to her and placed his chin on her knee.
“And if Evan comes for his horse?” Alan asked, still uneasy.
“If he does,” she snapped, “he’d better be ready to take what he gets.”
Alan grimaced.
“Stand guard,” she told him, “if ye want to be useful.” And if ye ha’ the balls.
She did not add those last words. She did not think she needed to.