Mistress of the Runes

by Andrews

  “A friend.”

  “Is Clare a friend, if she calls?”

  “No,” I said, and Jane made a little tsk-tsk sound, assuming, I suppose, that I was suffering, and she was vaguely correct. “Hugh from legal is here,” she announced as I was lowering myself into my chair.

  Hugh popped his head into my doorway, his buffed and balding presence a mere earpiece short of making him look like a secret service guy. I had to admit he was the closest person in the office to being a friend, and I knew he was here because he’d heard about my accident and was worried about me, something neither of us would ever have admitted or acknowledged. He was a man stripped of all pretense and so direct, it was like having a relationship with a laser beam.

  “Heard you jumped off your horse. That’s not true, is it? I mean, no one jumps off a horse. You were thrown, right?”

  “I jumped.”

  “Why did you jump?” Hugh pressed.

  “To avoid having her crash me into the barn and kill me. She was running like a bat out of hell, and I threw the reins up in the air and swung my body out of the saddle and over the left side of her, and landed on my head in Rattlesnake Creek.”

  “You swung your whole body up and out of the saddle of a runaway horse?” Hugh asked as if I was on the witness stand.

  “And bounced down the goddamned creek, Your Honor.”

  He grinned. “You know, most people in their forties would be a little hesitant about diving off a runaway horse. You could get seriously hurt.”

  The age remark really riled me. “Most people in their forties can’t afford a horse and a vet and a barn and a trainer and the gear so that they can have the exhilarating experience of throwing themselves off a horse.” I bristled. “It was my fault.” I got my anger under control. “I shouldn’t have ridden at night in the rain on my first trip with her.”

  “Not good,” he said with newly mustered sincerity.

  “No, not good, but she came back for me.”

  “Well, that’s good…I guess. Are you in a lot of pain?”

  “No, just when I breathe or move or try to focus my left eye.”

  We looked at each other for a moment and burst out laughing.

  “Don’t make me laugh,” I pleaded. “Laughing is really painful.” Whereupon he laughed harder.

  “Maxine from research is—” Jane tried to announce, but Maxine blew past her.

  “Hey!” Maxine’s large, solid frame filled the doorway, and her equally strong face, with its pageboy haircut, revealed no emotion. “Heard you had a horse accident.”

  “No accident. It was a planned jump off the back of a speeding horse,” Hugh said, as if he were my trial attorney.

  “Planned,” Maxine repeated.

  “Yeah, she didn’t want to get hurt, so she decided to jump off while the horse was running like a bat out of hell,” Hugh explained.

  “I can see how that would keep you from getting hurt,” Maxine said, giving Hugh a deadpan look.

  Hugh’s shoulders jiggled and he snorted as he tried to suppress his laughter.

  “Get out!” I ordered good-naturedly but firmly. Not good to become too familiar with the troops; it weakens command, I thought.

  Chapter Twelve

  By nightfall I was in agony, the pain so intense that tears gathered involuntarily in the corner of my eyes. I located pain pills and downed them as the doorbell rang, and I opened it to find Liz standing there with an overnight bag, asking playfully if I needed a nurse.

  I replied that I did, and I wasn’t kidding.

  “Thought so.” She walked past me, setting a sack of groceries on the kitchen counter, and put an overnight bag in the spare bedroom. “Come on, shower and bed.” She addressed me as one might a six-year-old. I wanted to argue if only to save my dignity, but frankly I was amused that she could walk into my home and take over without asking and without any fear of recriminations from me, a person of great privacy. I was also relieved to know Liz would be there to call 911 if I fell over and was unable to get up.

  I showered, which took a good thirty minutes longer than usual simply because leaning over to turn on the water took two or three tries, and I was too vain and too proud to allow Liz in the bathroom to see my bruised body. I studied myself in the bathroom mirror while the water was heating up. The blue-green bruise on my hip was as large as a dinner plate, and smaller silver-dollar-sized ones adorned my arm and chest. All in all, I was lucky not to have suffered broken bones. I did a haphazard job of toweling off after my shower, unable to bend much even after the blast of hot water had loosened my muscles, then pulled on a long sleep shirt and shuffled out of the bathroom.

  Liz was standing outside the door. Over her shoulder I could see the bedcovers turned down, then I noticed the muscle gel in her hand.

  “Lie down on your stomach.”

  “Can’t. Won’t be able to get up or turn over.”

  Without another word, she unceremoniously flung my nightshirt up in back and without asking permission slathered heat gel on my lower back and my shoulder muscles. I shivered as her hot hand stroked my near-naked body, causing a tingling of my nerve endings that I could feel even through the pain.

  She stopped abruptly, and her teasing tone changed immediately to one of seriousness.

  “Brice, how are you even moving? These are the worst bruises I’ve ever seen.”

  “No choice. I have to go to work.” I kept my jaw clamped shut as she gently rubbed my body. She knew as well as I that a fortysomething woman executive had to be there, had to appear vibrant, had to be healthy and on top of her game—to avoid being replaced by a thirtysomething male who might not be any of those things.

  Liz helped ease me into bed and went into the bathroom to wash the gel off her hands. A few minutes later she was standing over me with a tray of hot soup and crackers and a half sandwich.

  “Really, this is far more than you should be doing. Or at least more than I deserve,” I said. “It just feels—”

  “Like we’ve been married for decades and now the only thing I rub is liniment into your back?” she said, and I didn’t answer. “Okay, in that vein, do you have to go to the bathroom?”

  “Do I have to report that?” I winced.

  “Probably, because I don’t think you’re going to be able to haul yourself out of bed to get there…whiplash and any other muscle trauma is always worse on the third day, and that would be tomorrow. So you must call me in the night if you need me,” she said, and went into the other bedroom.

  I was staring at the ceiling, the pain pills kicking in slightly now. Liz Chase is more caring and loving than most women I’ve lived with. Well, she’s auditioning, that’s what TV people do, I thought. But part of me didn’t really believe that. Liz Chase was just kind.

  *

  Paula Zale had built a large thirty-six-stall Morton barn with indoor arena, and, as soon as I could move my body, we transported the horses there. It was new and impressive, and her Arabians were the only horses in residence. We had worn out our welcome at Maynard’s farm. It was time to move our horses to their permanent location, and Paula’s barn was horse heaven.

  Paula was a big, bossy, heavyset woman who greeted us with a huge smile, patted our horses, and asked for their paperwork to ensure they’d had all their shots. We produced the documents and put Hlatur into a stall next to Rune at the end of the barn, excited about the possibility of training in the big arena and riding over her beautiful farm.

  Paula pointed to a buxom young woman who was flapping her hands in the air. “She’s not trying to fly, she’s drying her nail polish. I like girls with a little class.” Paula called out to her. “Floie, say hi to our new boarders, Brice and Liz and their horses Rune and Hlatur.”

  “Hiya!” Floie waved her red fingers at us. “You need anything, just knock on my door over there!” She pointed to the interior barn apartment.

  “These ladies have Icelandics,” Paula explained.

  “Cool,” she said
, and I made a mental note that special feeding instructions or anything else relating to horse care would have to be tattooed on Floie’s forehead if I expected her to remember them.

  *

  I was still recovering from my accident, so riding wasn’t on my immediate agenda, but I was going to the barn after work every day to pet Rune and brush her. She was a tough horse to get to know. Her eyes slanted back when she looked at me, like Norma Desmond ready for her close-up. My cuddling and cooing over her seemed to annoy her more than anything.

  She was a strong horse from a barren land, a horse who had lived with male owners who no doubt left her out in all weather, fed her little, and rode the hell out of her. At least that’s what I was told by Furtillo, the man Rune most likely preferred as her owner. He put her out to pasture, only hauled her up when he wanted to work her, and beyond that ignored her.

  I wanted a furry friend, a virtual house pet, a position for which she had no regard. Her haughtiness told me she wanted to make it on her own, viewed fine brushes and bridles and hands-on attention as frills, the latter a sign of weakness. She was determined to have none of it. As I took her chin in my hand to brush her forelock, she yanked her head away and blew a blast of hot air on me from her flared nostrils in what could only be described as disdain.

  I bent over with some physical effort, picked up her hooves each in turn, and took a hoof pick to the groove that ran along each side of the V-shaped frog. The human equivalent of cleaning toenails. The groove had a slightly unpleasant odor as I removed the dirt from it. Underneath lay a dark, mushy substance that told me she was fighting thrush…a kind of horse’s athlete’s foot. I painted the underside of her hoof with an antifungal, just one of the things the vet had taught me to treat.

  “Your horse is a lot like you,” Liz called out through the driver’s side window as she put her 4Runner in park, never taking her eyes off me, watching me brush Rune’s golden mane and sleek yellow body.

  “How’s that?” I answered happily as the sunshine warmed me and the wonderful smell of my mare lowered my heart rate. “Must be that we’re both gorgeous.”

  Liz swung her legs out of the car, revealing her derriere in tight riding britches, and I stopped brushing Rune to stare at her.

  “She’s proud and she thinks she doesn’t need anyone,” Liz said.

  “She’s survived a long time alone, well, virtually alone,” I said, intentionally ignoring the comparison and focusing the brush on Rune’s well-muscled chest and down her long, thick neck.

  “I’m predicting she’ll warm up. It’s only a matter of time.” Liz sashayed her ass over to Hlatur, who gave her a big lip-smack through the open stall window.

  “Do you see that?” I lowered my voice and spoke into Rune’s fuzzy ear. “You could kiss me, even if it were just for show. It would improve my status with Liz.” Rune let out a very loud snort that drew a glance from Liz. “Forget I asked!” I said to my difficult mare. I stroked her long, golden mane and her short, sleek yellow coat and led her back to her stall.

  She flatly refused to enter it, digging in, then at the last minute taking two small, dainty side steps and leaning her full weight against me, pressing me into the stall wall like a cockroach. I buckled at the knees, moaned, then staggered to my feet, yanked on her lead rope, and tried to pull her into her stall.

  “I can tell you one thing for sure.” I grunted as Liz came over to help. “If you get a freaking horse, you’re looking for ways to resolve issues no human can touch.”

  “What’s she doing?” Liz asked, taking the lead rope from me and quietly walking Rune into her stall, making me look like an incompetent fool.

  “Why in the fucking hell did I ever think I needed a horse? I’m afraid of heights and speed, and I have control issues! What is this mare but control issues tackled at uncomfortable heights at a high rate of speed?”

  I knew once I started something with my horse I had to finish it kindly, with patience, and in the way I’d like it to end, because horses have amazing memories, and what Rune would remember today was that she was able to crush me, then avoid exiting or entering her stall.

  I clamped my jaw shut and circled Rune around in the stall, leading her out, then back in again, praising her afterward. I’m exhausted and in pain, and I’ve done nothing more than untack her. It isn’t like I’m not showing this horse a lot of attention! I’ve adjusted the fit of her tack, changed her bit to give her a copper ball to roll around on her tongue for relaxation, bought toys to entertain her in the pasture, special treats from the tack shop, and massaged and groomed her. My reward is no love, no riding pleasure, and big expenses.

  “Respect from the horse!” Paula boomed loudly as she passed the stall, jarring me out of my mental monologue. “You don’t think you can control this eight-hundred-pound animal with little leather straps for reins or that little lead rope. You and the horse must have respect for one another.”

  She was right, but I didn’t like hearing it. I’m not building any trust with her; she hates me, I thought. Managing to kneel down in Rune’s stall, I looked her in the eyes. You’re sweating around your eyebrows and you look worried. Are you afraid I’ll sell you, or beat you, or even eat you?

  Suddenly I felt an intense wave of sadness wash over me. It was her sadness as well as my own. I looked up at my recalcitrant mare and began apologizing, as tears ran down my cheeks.

  “I know I took you away from your owner. I know you’re sad. I am so sorry.”

  Rune stopped eating her hay and took a few steps toward me. I was no longer afraid she would crush me; I was too sad to care. She lowered her head slowly until it rested on mine, and I didn’t move as she placed her big rough lips on top of my head then slowly, her warm breath creating a trail, slid her lips down onto my forehead and let them rest there for over a minute, breathing softly on my skin, calming me as she might have calmed her foal.

  I sat still on the stall floor, not wanting her rough lips and silky soft muzzle to move from my forehead, and closed my eyes. The images appeared.

  The blond queen is behind me, astride my horse, her arms wrapped around me. I’m fighting her people, killing them as she screams in terror but clings to me. Then chaos—my horse is confused, my own men are clawing at us, wanting the woman, wanting to kill the last vestige of this realm she represents. A soldier slices at her leg, and I swing my sword and block the blow, and in that instant, he is beheaded by the enemy. In saving this woman I have caused the death of one of my own men. I should throw her to them—but I cannot.

  I move my horse farther up the ramp and take a position on the wall and watch my men dispatch what is left of the enemy. I retreat to an inner part of the compound, dragging the woman with me. She stands, defying me to touch her. I pull her clothes from her. Naked, beautiful beyond all imagining, she glares at me. I push her down on the straw pallet. Her legs radiate heat, my thighs wrap around her, and her breasts pressed so tightly to my chest cannot muffle the beating of her heart. I climax in no time and take myself from her.

  My aide is in the doorway; some of the troublemakers among my soldiers have my horse and are threatening to kill my mount and leave me afoot. I pull the queen to her feet and, with the help of my aide, exit down a small stone tunnel where another of my men has rescued my horse. I hoist the woman up onto the horse’s back and see in the animal’s eyes absolute terror that the men who have walked beside her are now trying to slash at her throat and kill her.

  I shout to the woman, “You belong to me! Go into the hills and wait. You are not safe from either side now. My men want to kill you, and yours would give you up to die to save their own necks. I will come for you.” Ripping the leather cord and stone symbol from my neck, I thrust it into the woman’s hand, allowing her a fleeting glimpse into my heart, aflame as surely as this compound is on fire. Angry over my inability to control my emotions, I shout at the horse to run, slap the nervous animal on the buttocks, and watch as it takes off, heading for the faraway hills, a
bandoned, with a strange woman as its charge.

  “Get up before your legs cramp.” Liz stood over me in the stall and her voice caressed my heart in the way Rune’s lips caressed my forehead.

  I got to my feet unsteadily and looked into my mare’s face, her eyes soft for the first time, looking deeply into me. “It’s different now. It’s safe,” I said to Rune.

  Liz looked at me as if to inquire of my sanity.

  “This horse put her lips to my forehead, and suddenly I was in another place, another time. I had taken the queen by force, then put her on my horse and sent her into the hills because my men wanted to kill her.”

  “Well, that would explain why you’re having so many issues with men in this lifetime—and maybe why it’s hard for you to get a date,” she said impishly. “So this queen—she’s there fighting alongside you?” Liz stopped joking.

  “Apparently I gave up war for her.”

  “I’m more interested in why you keep getting back on this horse—you could permanently injure yourself.”

  “I get back on because nothing beats me.” Even as I said it, I realized the insanity of getting back on an animal who obviously didn’t want me on her, in order to prove I could control her.

  “I think this horse is here to help you work on that issue. You got this horse because of me, not for you. You and the horse had no attraction, nothing in common—a lot like the women you’ve chosen. But women can walk away. This horse has nowhere else to go. You’re going to have to build a relationship, Brice. She knows you didn’t pick her because you love her.”

  I looked over at Rune, who was eating prairie hay from a corner of the stall, seemingly uninterested now in whether I loved her or not, so long as I left her alone.

  Chapter Thirteen

  I heard the commotion in the hallway before I ever saw Jack’s face, or his nervous secretary with the odd hairnet hair, or Megan Stanford. I couldn’t imagine what topic they all had in common until Megan spoke. “Brice, a woman’s out on the eighteenth-floor ledge, and she’s threatening to jump.”