He looked away for a moment, and she sensed he was struggling with himself. She continued with arguments she had rehearsed almost as many times as the apologetic speech she had not had a chance to deliver. "Du Mond told me that he was a gift from another Firemaster, and although I have not had a great deal of experience with horses, it seems to me that he is truly quite out of the ordinary. Given that, don't you think you ought to give him the chance to prove he can tolerate more than any other horse you might have owned?"
"Perhaps," he murmured, but he did not sound convinced.
"He needs more exercise than he gets in that little paddock," she persisted, putting one hand on his arm. "And I cannot ride. I would not even dare to take him for walks, like a dog; I don't know enough about horses to keep him under control if he should take fright. He needs to be ridden, or he will be quite out of condition before long. He needs to see more than the paddock, or I think he will grow stale with boredom."
"Is he in the paddock now?" Cameron asked, still looking away from her, off in the direction of the stable.
He doesn't want to see my pleading expression! she guessed shrewdly. He is afraid he would not be able to resist it!
"Yes, he is-and you know, if he will not come to you, I think we could take that as the sign that he will not accept you as you are," she replied, as persuasively as she could. "After all, he hated du Mond, and the paddock seemed to provide plenty of room for him to feel safe when the man was anywhere near."
"That's true...." Finally, after several minutes, he turned back to her. "All right. I will make your experiment on that basis." His tone turned wry. "I only hope he does not decide to attack me! That is what the lead stallion would do, in defense of his herd, if a wolf came sniffing about."
"He won't," she replied with confidence. Given Sunset's reaction to the scent of Jason's shirts, she was quite certain that Cameron's fears were unfounded. Perhaps if she had not taken the time to accustom the stallion to the scent, he would have been correct-but now whenever she brought a new shirt, Sunset drank in the scent, then looked to the direction of the house or the door of the stable expectantly, whickering as if he thought that Jason himself was about to appear.
It was her turn to take Jason's hand and lead him along the path to the stable and paddock area. He hung back, as though reluctant to go, and yet he kept straining his gaze for the first sight of Sunset.
I thought he missed that horse more than he would admit, precisely because he didn't talk about it. In fact, he had avoided the subject of Sunset and riding as much as possible, once he knew that she did not ride and could not give his beloved stallion his needed exercise. This was a part of his life that had been painful to give up. As they came into sight of the paddock, she whistled shrilly-another unladylike habit that her father had never asked her to break.
"Whistling girls and crowing hens, both will come to some bad ends." How many times did bratty little boys quote that piece of doggerel at me?
Sunset whickered in immediate answer to her whistle, and soon came trotting into view. He broke into a canter at the sight of her-
And then stopped dead, staring at her companion.
Jason stopped as well, pulling his hand away from hers. "He sees me-he's afraid of me-"
"Nonsense!" she said briskly, seizing his hand again and tugging him insistently onwards. "He thinks you might be Paul du Mond, that's all! Good heavens, du Mond has been the only other human besides myself he has seen in months and months! Of course he doesn't know it's you yet. Call to him, or whistle, whatever you used to do so he knows it is you!"
Oh drat-can he whistle anymore?
But Jason cleared his throat, and made a series of very peculiar, high-pitched yipping sounds. "Sunset!" he called, as the stallion's ears pricked forward, and he took a tentative step or two in their direction. "Ho, Sunset!" Then he called out something else in a guttural tongue that Rose assumed was Arabic.
The stallion whinnied shrilly, and broke into a run towards them, pulling up at the last minute right at the fence, rearing a little in excitement. He continued to dance in place, ears up, tail flagged, showing far more excitement than he ever did when Rose greeted him. Jason ran too, dropping Rose's hand to sprint to the fence, where he met the horse, caught either side of the halter in his hands, and pulled Sunset's head down to his chest. The stallion made little rumbling sounds that Rose assumed were noises of happiness and contentment, as Jason rubbed and scratched his head, ears, and neck. Jason muttered things under his breath that Rose knew were words of affection and contentment, even though she couldn't understand a bit of it.
She made her way in a leisurely manner down to the fence, and stood beside them for several minutes. Stallion and Master were totally oblivious to her.
Which is as it should be, she thought, with great content of her own.
"His tack is all still in the stable," she said aloud. "And he's quite used to having the Salamanders about. I suspect you could have them act as stableboys. I'll be up at the library when you've finished your ride."
For a moment, she thought that he hadn't heard her. Then be turned to her with tears literally standing in his eyes.
"How can I ever thank you?" he asked. "You've given me back something I thought I would never have again-"
"You can thank me by saddling up and taking this poor, neglected horse for a long ride," she replied with a laugh. "You both need the exercise. Master Pao said that a great deal of your pain is, frankly, due to the fact that you never leave the house! I take my walks so that I don't turn into a fat little Milwaukee bratwurst-frau-now you go take your rides, or I fear you will do the same!"
And with that, she turned and marched back up to the house, sure that he would take her advice.
She stopped in her room long enough to put her hair and clothing back in order, and looked out the window at the unaccustomed sound of hoofbeats. Sure enough, she reached the window just in time to see Jason, feet somehow crammed into riding-boots, galloping off towards the cliff-top trail.
She wiped a tear or two of her own away, although she was smiling at the same time. I don't think that I have ever seen him so completely happy before. I believe that this time I managed to give him an important part of himself back.
She returned to her mirror, but once her hair was pinned back into place, she didn't rise. Instead, she sat at her dressing-table, staring soberly into the eyes of her reflection. She had not had a moment for contemplation of anything other than Magick in a very long time, but this had brought the question of the future home to her in a way that could not be ignored.
What will happen when he gets the rest of his life back?
Realistically, she already knew what would happen. He wouldn't need her anymore. He would return to his former social round, and there was no room in that for her. She was not the kind of woman that a man of his station would associate with, socially. The only time someone like her would encounter someone like him, perhaps, was as the wife of one of the university professors if he were given a reception following a generous endowment. Or if she somehow achieved scholastic notoriety, and he required advice about a manuscript or something of the sort.
More importantly, she was not the kind of woman a man like Jason Cameron would marry. It was not the thing to have a wife interested in anything other than being the hostess to one's guests, and looking attractive and charming on one's arm when one was a guest elsewhere. Her interests could be in genteel charitable work, fine embroidery, or even gardening, but they could not be scholastic. That might imply she was better educated, or even (heaven forfend!) that she was more intelligent than her spouse.
He'll marry an heiress, of course. Since he has plenty of money of his own, he'll have his pick of an entire flock, and since they have nothing much to do except groom themselves for prospective husbands, they'll all be beautiful, accomplished, and none of them will be as rude or outspoken as I am.
Before he married, of course, he would have to dismiss her i
n such a way that she would not take offense and cause an inconvenient fuss. He would, no doubt, find her a real Master of Air to Apprentice to, probably as far away as possible. She and all the things he had given her would be packed off-with Jason's heartfelt thanks, eternal gratitude, and a fat check besides her savings to cover any hurt feelings.
Or broken hearts? Oh, I expect he's well acquainted with paying for broken hearts. There. I've admitted it. I'm in love with him. She sighed, and stared into the eyes of her reflection with resignation; her reflection stared back at her through the lenses of her quite unmodish spectacles. If this had been her first love affair, she probably would have been in tears at this point. But it wasn't, and the fact was, she had never really forgotten the vast social gulf that separated herself and Jason. That gulf was bridged only by the fact of his appearance, and there had never been any illusions on her part that when he got his old self back, the bridge would disintegrate.
And even if he actually proposed to her against all logic, it would probably be out of a sense of duty, of what he owed her. And perhaps out of a notion of avoiding possible scandal-which would not hurt him, but could ruin her. If she accepted, he would be chained to an inappropriate wife, and she would be aware, and resentful, that he had offered her marriage only because he felt he had to. The resentment they both felt would sour everything good that had ever happened between them.
So what does a woman in love with a werewolf do at this point?
The heroine of some popular romance would probably dissolve into tears, and be perfectly incapable of thinking. This would put off any need to plan whatsoever, since she would not be able to face the prospect of such a bleak future, and would live helplessly from day to day. And of course, romantic novels being completely divorced from reality, when Jason did return to normal, like the Prince in Cinderella, he would declare that no matter who or what she was, he would love her forever.
And pigs will doubtless fly before that happens.
But she was not the heroine of a silly romance; her mind seldom stopped working just because her emotions were involved. This was not a fairy tale and even in the originals of the fairy tales, the ending was not guaranteed to be "and they lived happily ever after."
Well, the brave heroines of quite a few fairy tales sacrificed everything for the happiness of the one they loved. She thought about the Little Mermaid, dying so that her prince would never know that it was she who had rescued him, and not the princess he had come to love. Or the half-human, immortal Firebird, giving up Ivan so that the mortal Tsarina could have him. The thought of Beauty and the Beast occurred to her, but she was no Beauty, and her love for him would be no cure for his condition.
Very well, then. I shall be the Little Mermaid, and walk upon legs that stab me with a thousand pains, and in the end, fling myself into the ocean with a smile so that he can have his life again. I will still have my work, I will have a lovely wardrobe, and I shall have the financial means to complete my degree and pursue an academic career. I believe that I will make a fine Professor of Literature in a won-tan's college somewhere. I shall attempt to wake the intellect of silly young girls, most of whom will be occupying space until they marry men like Jason, and I will treasure and nurture the intelligence of those few who are different. I will be mysterious and enigmatic, respected, if not loved, perhaps a little eccentric, and I will continue to have Magick.
She practiced the bright smile in the mirror, until she was certain that she had gotten it right. At least she would do better than the poor Mermaid out of this. In the end, she would have a well-fattened bank-account and someplace to go.
And she would have Magick. Perhaps among those silly young girls, she would find another with a spirit like her own, to pass the Magick on to.
Jason's Master had never needed anything more than the Magick to make his life complete. Perhaps she could learn to feel the same.
Her throat closed over tears she refused to shed. And pigs will surely fly the day I do....
Jason brought Sunset back into the paddock at a walk; the stallion was sweating from a good run, but not foaming, and his unstrained breathing told the Firemaster that his wind had not suffered in spite of his long idleness. For being confined to the paddock for so long, he was in remarkably good condition; better than Jason had any right to expect.
That he had accepted Jason, changed as he was-it was nothing short of a miracle, and it was a miracle that would never have happened if it hadn't been for Rose. It had never occurred to him to get Sunset used to the changed scent by bringing shirts down to the stallion's stall. It had never occurred to him that the familiar scent could overcome the unfamiliar sight.
Once again, Rose had given him a gift that he could never repay. What a woman she was! Compared to her, the daughters of his business peers were as shallow and empty-headed as the brainless horses they rode, or the idiot little spaniels they carried about with them.
Once, he had taken it as a matter of course that he would, in due time, marry one of them. He would, of course, continue to have an expensive courtesan discreetly kept in town for his real pleasures-a woman of wit and amusement, who would entertain him in more ways than the amorous. If the girl he married, as was all too likely, found her marital duties a burden, he would perform his duty just often enough to produce a family. He probably would have chosen the prospective bride on the basis of whether or not she showed any potential in her family for Magick; if he had children, he wanted them to be magicians if at all possible.
Frankly, now that I have come to know Rose, I would rather marry one of the spaniels. Fortunately, I don't have to marry one of those brainless debutantes if I choose otherwise. I am a self-made man, in a city of self-made men. I have no well-bred parents with familial expectations of my station. This is no monarchy, where I must wed for the sake of the country. There is no reason why, when all this is over, that I cannot marry Rose. There is no one I have to placate through marriage. I have a fortune of my own, and I do not need to wed another. And I need not explain my choice of bride to anyone. She is a Magician, of a Discipline compatible with mine. She will not need to be sheltered from anything, nor will I need to keep any secrets from her. And-I do not believe she will find the sensual side of marriage at all distasteful.
He had to laugh at that, after a moment. Her? The woman who told me crisply that she had read The Decameron in the original? She might well force me to prove my mettle!
But as he dismounted, and pain shot up his legs from his cramped feet, the reality of his situation came home to him.
He was still trapped in the body of a half-beast. And there was no real evidence that he would be able to reverse that condition any time soon. No matter what his dreams and plans, that was the current reality.
He led Sunset into the stable, and with the help of his Salamanders, removed the tack to be cleaned and began to rub him down and groom him.
Such a purely physical occupation gave him plenty of time for reflection, although his thoughts were far from pleasant ones. He was being very confident in her presence about the matter, but the fact was that they were no closer to finding a solution than they had been when he first hired her. And he had a shrewd notion just who owned that manuscript the Unicorn referred to.
Beltaire has it, I'm sure of it, and he'd burn it to ash if he thought there was even a chance that I might get my hands on it. He is the only person I "know" that I have not asked about it, and if he had any inkling of my condition, he is probably gloating over it. What could he possibly offer her, trapped in this state as he was?
She was being very brave and very controlled, giving no obvious sign that she found his bestial form repugnant, and in fact, he thought that now and again she actually managed to forget the form he wore, at least as long as she was not looking directly at him. But how could any woman look at him without shrinking away? He was hideous, a nightmare, and he would be a fool to think otherwise.
She was willing to be kind to him, but he shoul
d not hope for love, could not expect it out of even this most generous-hearted of women.
Even though I am afraid I have actually fallen in love with her myself. She would have to be a saint to love me as I am, and Rose Hawkins is no saint.
What a damnable situation.
He bore down on the brush savagely, and Sunset snaked his head about and nipped him in protest. Not that painful, but a reminder that Sunset would not put up with mistreatment.
If the situation were different-
Then I might well find myself in an equally damnable situation. She is not some pretty fool to be swept off her feet as I impersonate a prince in a fairy tale. How could I possibly propose to her as myself without giving her cause to resent me? "Here I am, handsome, rich, powerful, and shouldn't you be pleased that I, in all my glory, have deigned to make you my bride?" Or she'll think I'm making the offer out of a sense of obligation, and that would make any normal human feel strongly resentful.
Perhaps, in time, he might be able to persuade her that he was sincere-but she might not be willing to grant him the time.
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