“He was fine yesterday.” Her voice trembled, but her hands were sure and strong as they stroked the stallion’s neck. “Are any of the others sick?”
“No, but we need to get them out of here before they contract it too. Arthur, tell Fredrick to start moving the other horses to the stud barn. They’ll need to be quarantined until we know what and how contagious this is. I’ll grab my bag, but we need to get the veterinarian here immediately. I’m not sure, but it sounds like influenza.”
Lady Blackmyre closed her eyes, fighting to hide her reaction. Even with all the technological wonders in this age, influenza still managed to kill too many people and animals to count, especially the elderly and very young. The proud old horse might very well be at the end of a long and rich life.
Arthur ran to find the other stable hands and gave them the orders, then rushed back to see if Cole needed help. He found him in the tack room. Cole stared down at a leather bag clutched in his hands, eyes closed, mouth moving as though he prayed.
Arthur waited until the man opened his eyes, then he asked softly, “Is there anything I can do?”
Cole’s hands trembled, his eyes moist. “I doubt there’s anything any of us can do. She loves that horse. If he dies…” Shoulders shaking, the man averted his face. “I can’t let her see me like this or she’ll fall apart. I can’t do that to her.”
Arthur found himself moving closer, drawn by the man’s pain and vulnerability. This was his chance to return the gentle consideration Cole had shown him from the beginning. The man was obviously hurting and in need of strength. I have more than enough strength for us both.
Gripping the man’s shoulder, Arthur turned him around to face him. Cole wept, his eyes desperate. “If I can’t save him, she’ll never forgive me.”
“Don’t be ridiculous.” Gruffly, Arthur pulled the man closer, wrapping his other arm around him in a hug. “She loves you too much to ever blame you for something completely out of your control.”
Cole fisted his hands in Arthur’s shirt, his grip fierce. “I have to find a way to save him. You don’t understand what that horse means to her. If he dies, it’ll destroy her.”
Kneading his back, Arthur remained silent, unsure what to say but determined to help in some small way. Sometimes in war, a soldier just needed some compassion, the warmth of another human’s touch to know he wasn’t alone. That he wouldn’t die alone.
“He’s got to be at least twenty years old,” Cole whispered. “He’s in fine shape for his age, but an illness like this could easily kill him. You should see the look in her eyes when she tells the story about how she almost lost her leg. Wounded on the wrong side of the line, she was too hurt to mount him and ride to safety, but he refused to leave her, even with cannonballs falling all around. He finally laid down beside her so she could pull herself up on his back and he took her straight to the field hospital. He knew she needed help and he wasn’t going to leave her to die.”
“And we’re not leaving him to die alone.” Arthur dropped his chin to the other man’s shoulder. “We’ll be with him through the end, even if he can’t recover.”
Cole’s breath sighed out, soft and warm against his throat. “It’s difficult to watch a loved one die.”
Arthur murmured agreement, but something nagged at him. Cole was so worried about how Lady Blackmyre would take this beloved animal’s death, even though she had to be one of the strongest women he’d ever known. Odd, wasn’t it, that she’d freed her darling pony, even though she obviously loved him? Was she afraid of death? His or hers?
“She’s a soldier at heart,” he said aloud, testing the idea. “She’s seen death before.”
“Of course, but very few loved ones. Her father died before we met, but to my knowledge, he’s the only person who’s died that she truly loved. She can’t bear to even speak of him.”
“Then we must help her.” Arthur firmed his voice. “She’ll need us more than ever.”
Cole tipped his head back and managed a grin. His palms flattened against Arthur’s back, and he was suddenly very aware that he held another man in his embrace. Emotion washed over him, leaving him shaken but calm.
This man needs me. Lady Blackmyre needs me.
And I need them.
Cole stared up at him, searching his face as though looking for any hesitation or lingering regret. “It’s going to be difficult to help her when you won’t even talk to her.”
Arthur deliberately squeezed his arm around the man’s back, letting him feel the acceptance and determination in his body. “I’ll manage.”
“No doubt.” Cole’s voice softened, hope brightening his eyes despite their worry for her horse. “You’ll have to speak to her before…” He hesitated, as if unsure how far Arthur might be willing to go.
Before we can be together. With her.
“I will,” Arthur admitted, releasing the man so they could get back to the horse. “But on my own terms. I can’t surrender to her, not the way she wants.”
Cole didn’t say anything, but simply shook his head with a sad, pitying look. They hurried back toward Caesar’s stall, but Arthur’s gut tugged uncomfortably, like he sometimes felt before battle.
When the odds were stacked against him. When defeat seemed imminent.
Caesar’s breath rattled in his lungs. Heat rolled off him, and his eyes were glassy, empty, like he was already gone.
Violet’s throat ached with the pressure of keeping her tears in check. He’d had a good, long life, but that didn’t mean she was ready to let him go. Deep down, it shouldn’t surprise her. They’d been together since her childhood.
If my life’s ending, why should I be surprised that my horse is failing too? His life expectancy has always been much shorter than mine. I’m lucky I’ve had him this long.
That didn’t make it any easier to think about walking into the stable and not seeing his head hanging out of his stall. Never to hear his impatient huff again because she’d taken too long to fetch him for their daily ride.
Cole and Arthur dropped down on their knees in the straw on either side of Caesar. Cole had a bowl containing a putrid-smelling poultice that he began smearing all over the horse’s chest.
Arthur examined the horse’s head, lifting up his eyelids, checking his nostrils, and feeling under the horse’s jaw. He met Cole’s gaze and shook his head.
“That’s good. It’s probably not strangles, then.” Cole spread the whole bowl of poultice, and then leaned down and pressed his ear against the horse’s stomach. Slowly working his way down the horse’s mid-section, he tested for discomfort while listening to the inner workings of the digestive tract. “I don’t think it’s colic, either, not with the discharge and breathing issues. He doesn’t seem to have any pain in his intestines.”
Resigned, he straightened and met Violet’s gaze. Eyes solemn, he used his calming, singsong voice. “I called the vet and she’s swamped with cases of influenza all over Londonium. She’s too busy to make it out here for hours. Besides, she said there’s nothing much she can do. We keep him comfortable, use the natural poultices to help his breathing and congestion, and wait.”
“Wait.” Violet cleared her throat, trying to rid the betraying rasp. “Is there anything I can do?”
“His breathing sounds better now that you’re with him. Why don’t you talk so he can hear your voice?”
“About what?”
“Tell us how you got him.”
Her heart thudded so hard that she couldn’t hear anything but the thundering pulse of blood in her head. So many years ago. Such heartache.
Cole must have sensed her turmoil, because he settled beside her in the straw and took her hand, stroking his fingers over her skin in a soothing caress.
“He was a gift from my father’s family.” She let out a long breath, letting herself remember. “According to Mama’s exacting standards, the Kellys didn’t have much to improve their social standings, but they raised fine horseflesh. On holidays, I neve
r came home to Blackmyre. Papa and I went to Eire instead for weeks at a time. We all preferred it that way.”
She paused for breath, to gather herself before facing the uglier memories of her childhood.
“When I was older, Mama decided I should be training to take over the Duchy, not cleaning stables all summer and playing with horses. She refused to let me go to Eire ever again, and the row she had with Papa went on for days. Weeks.” Violet took a deep breath, held it, and slowly let it out. This time tears escaped. “Papa was so upset that he decided we’d leave Blackmyre forever. In the middle of the night, he came to wake me and we were going to Eire and stay forever. Mama couldn’t allow that, though. She hated us both, but she refused to let her only heir escape to a decent life of love and horses, not when she offered so much unpleasantness and responsibility here.”
She forced out a laugh that grated her throat. “I wasn’t allowed a choice, and neither was Papa. He had no right to me, she made that point very clear. Unfortunately, she’d been drinking for days. The Dowager pulled me out of the carriage and tossed me to the ground. Papa came after me to make sure I was all right, and she shot him.”
Arthur made a low sound of surprise, while Cole leaned into her, wrapping his arm around her shoulders.
“It was all ruled an accident of course, and the Blackmyre money and title managed to keep most of the scandal at bay. But if anyone deserved the name Black Duchess, it was my murdering mother. I never saw the Kellys again, but on my next birthday, my paternal grandmother sent me a snow-white colt sired by Papa’s favorite stud. Caesar’s the only piece of my father I have left.”
Now more than ever Arthur regretted his decision to not speak to Lady Blackmyre. He’d had no idea that the ugly rumors Grandmama had whispered about how the Duke had died were true. He’d thought it nothing more than an extravagant, malicious lie. The Dowager Duchess had truly shot her husband in cold blood—in front of their daughter—and escaped prosecution entirely.
He couldn’t imagine the miserable cloud of hatred under which Lady Blackmyre had lived her entire life.
Cole pulled her closer, offering the comfort of his body, and Arthur burned with jealousy. He wanted to be the one holding her, patting her back while she cried and whispering that surely Caesar would recover. Instead, he had to remain locked on the opposite side of the sick animal, muted by his own pride.
Muted when she needs me the most.
Hours crawled into evening. Cole repeated the poultice and called the tardy vet again, who still couldn’t make it to Blackmyre. Supper came and went and the horse’s breathing rattled in the silence, worsening with each passing moment. Unable to resist the Duchess’s distress, Arthur found himself drawn to them, until she huddled between them in the straw, her hand never ceasing in her soothing stroke to the horse’s head and neck. They settled into an uneasy, never-ending silence, almost as though they joined the horse in that slow slide toward darkness.
So when she abruptly stood, Arthur jerked up from a light doze.
“Where are you going?” Cole asked.
“I can’t watch him die.”
Arthur scrambled to his feet with the other man, though he didn’t dare put his hands on Lady Blackmyre. Cole gripped her arm, keeping her from leaving the stall. “You can’t leave him. He needs you!”
“I’ve said my good-byes.” Wooden and cold, her words fell flat and heavy like fat raindrops of sorrow despite her dry eyes. “I’ve honored him with my fondest memories. I’ve eased him the best I can. What more would you have me do?”
“I’d have you stay by his side until he draws his last breath!”
She tipped her chin up, her voice a lash of icy fury. “I won’t sit here and watch him die. He deserves better than that. He deserves to die in a glorious gallop to victory, not this slow misery sucking his life away. He wouldn’t want me to see him like this, weak and broken and wretched. Leaving now lets him die with dignity!”
Watching her dark eyes hollowed with grief, Arthur couldn’t help but suspect she was hiding something. Dark demons seemed to writhe within her eyes, shadows that she couldn’t shake. She loved the horse, that was clear. She’d certainly be devastated by his death.
But that’s not what’s tearing her apart right now.
“How can you do this to him?” Cole whispered, his voice breaking. “He needs you now more than ever.”
“He doesn’t need me to watch him die,” she whispered softly, reaching out to touch his cheek. “He needs peace. He needs me to keep his memory alive in my heart, all the good and wonderful times we had together. Not the suffering.”
Why did she look at Cole like she was pleading with him to understand? Arthur looked from one to the other, the growing sense of certainty and dread weighing heavier in his stomach. What’s she not telling him?
“I’ve known him his entire life.” She clutched Cole’s arm, squeezing hard enough that his eyes flared with the force of her determination, as though she could physically will him to understand and hear whatever silent message she was sending him. “He’d want it this way.”
Cole stared into her eyes with the lost, bewildered look that said he didn’t even know the person he was looking at. “You’d leave him to die alone?”
“Yes,” she said softly, but her voice echoed with power. “It’s what he would want if he could speak.”
She released Cole and turned to leave, but caught Arthur’s gaze. Her eyes flared with surprise at his intensity. But then she nodded, as though she were silently telling him he was right.
Right about what? That she’s hiding secrets from us both?
She marched out of the stall and Cole sank to his knees. Shoulders slumped and shaking, he wept, dampening the horse’s mane. “I won’t leave you, Caesar. You won’t die alone. I can’t believe she left you.”
Arthur settled back down beside him, letting out a groan as his knees protested about the long vigil. “It’s not over yet. There’s still hope.”
“She left him. How can there be any hope?”
He gripped the man’s shoulder, squeezing firmly. “There’s always hope. She needs time too. People grieve in their own ways and there’s something bothering her. Something…”
Cole turned and searched his face. “What?”
“Why did she free you?”
“I don’t know,” Cole answered glumly. “It was like a kick in the gut. She keeps telling me that I need more than she can offer, but that can’t be the only reason. I told her I was interested in finding a man over a year ago and she didn’t free me then. I could see it if I’d found you and asked for my freedom… Or if you didn’t want her…”
“I don’t want her,” Arthur replied automatically, stiffening at the knowing look that flickered across Cole’s face. “I want to learn, yes. But I don’t want a mistress.”
“Your erection says otherwise.”
Arthur flushed and averted his gaze. Damned cock refused to cooperate. And damn Cole for noticing!
Because that only made him harder.
“She’s hiding something.”
“She’s the mistress, Arthur. She’s always got an agenda, planning ahead for some great test or event that I don’t even have an inkling about. I don’t have a head for chess or strategy. I feel too strongly, I guess, to ever play by my head.”
“So you’re just going to sit back and let her cut you off for no reason.”
Cole gave him a slow smile that made Arthur’s eyes flare with surprise. His stomach tightened at that look, a surge of what could only be called attraction at that wicked, confident amusement. “I never said that. I have my ways. She hasn’t gotten rid of me yet, has she? And she won’t as long as there’s breath in my body.”
“She loves you.” Arthur tried not to let emotion creep into his voice, but he feared he failed to keep the envy out of his words. I don’t want her love. I don’t want the mistress. I don’t…
I don’t want to leave Blackmyre. Ever.
“W
hy would she hurt you like this?” he continued, ignoring the uncomfortable rasp in his throat. “You aren’t into that kind of play, are you?”
Cole shrugged and settled back against the wall of the stall. He rubbed his neck tiredly, surely sore and tense from the long, watchful hours. “I’m into whatever play she wants, but generally, no, I’m not into humiliation, although I like it rough enough to hurt.”
Arthur had to swallow down the growl threatening to escape. Rough enough to hurt. My kind of play exactly. He shifted his weight backward beside Cole, stretching out his legs. Even if that made his erection painfully obvious to anyone who cared to look. “Has she been sick?”
“No.” Cole frowned. “Not that I know of. She looks well enough to me.”
“Do you know her friend well enough to ask if she knows what’s wrong?”
Cole turned to study Arthur’s face. “You’re that sure there’s something wrong with her?”
“You know her better than I, obviously. But I’m telling you my senses are screaming that there’s something wrong. Her speech about giving him peace while heartfelt was too…deliberate. As if she was encoding a secret message for us, if only we could figure out what she meant to say.”
Cole bent his neck side to side and then tipped his chin to his chest, stretching out his neck. Before Arthur quite knew what he was doing, he found himself grasping the man’s neck and massaging the kinks out.
Groaning with pleasure, Cole sagged against him. “That feels wonderful. Thank you. I tossed and turned last night, unable to sleep, and then to have this happen today, it’s just too much.”
Arthur didn’t ask why the man hadn’t been able to sleep. Very likely the same reason he hadn’t slept more than an hour at a time in days. He was consumed with need, obsessed with Lady Blackmyre, her ring, and what she had planned. After last night, he wondered whether she’d consider hitching him up with Cole again. Whether she’d get Arthur a tail.
Assuming I ever asked. Which I won’t. I won’t!
Her Grace's Stable: A Jane Austen Space Opera, Book 2 Page 10