“They said my father had died,” Anthea said. “They said he was with my mother, at the seaside on holiday.” She looked up at Andrew, dazed. “Then they said that I had to go live with an aunt. They said my father provided handsomely for me. No one ever says your mother left you an inheritance, because her property belonged to my father.”
Uncle Andrew nodded.
“They just never talked about her at all.”
“No, they wouldn’t have,” Andrew said. “You see, she is a very unusual woman, your mother, and—”
“You have to promise me something,” Anthea said suddenly, interrupting him.
“Yes?”
“You have to promise that you will never lie to me.”
“I’m sorry that others have lied to you, I want you to know that—”
“It’s not that they have,” Anthea said. “It’s that they … never told me the truth. They never really told me anything.”
“But I do want to tell you,” Uncle Andrew said.
“I can see that. So, can I trust that all these things that you’re telling me are true?”
“Yes, Anthea,” he said, very seriously. “I swear it. I could never lie to you. I loved your father, my brother, very dearly. I would not lie to his daughter.”
“I think that’s all I can talk about right now,” she said.
“Fair enough,” Uncle Andrew said. “I wanted you to have some time to think.”
“Thank you.”
“But now, I’m afraid, that time is over,” he continued briskly. “I’ve told Cassie no more trays. We need you, Anthea. It’s time for you to take up your birthright, and get on a horse.”
Her uncle stepped out into the hallway and then returned with a bundle of clothes and a pair of boots.
“These are Jilly’s,” he explained. “But they should fit you well enough. She says your feet are the same size, and well, you’re only a little taller.”
He put the boots down, and handed Anthea the clothes. To her dismay, it looked like the topmost garment was a pair of the tight-fitting trousers she had seen Jilly wearing to ride in. They would not be as tight on Anthea, but still—they were trousers.
“I’m very sorry, but we’ve given you nearly a week to think things over. It’s time, Anthea. You can have the afternoon to get used to the idea, but tomorrow after breakfast I’ll take you down to the stables to meet the horse you’ll be riding.
“Her name is Bluebell.”
8
ONCE WAS LOST
In the watery morning sunlight, Anthea studied the pile of clothes on her bed. She had picked them out the night before, but they still looked strange.
There was a man’s tweed jacket, taken in at the shoulders and waist for a girl. A plain white linen blouse. And the trousers, made of thick serge, but lined with a silky material that felt far too exotic for comfort. She began to pace.
She had tossed and turned all night—yet another sleepless night in this place. She couldn’t get on a horse! She couldn’t even bring herself to try on the trousers. They were revealing and strange and mannish and awful! She had never even worn pajamas: nightgowns were far more ladylike and proper. What if Finn or one of the other young men saw her?
Anthea looked at the clock. She had less than ten minutes before her uncle came to fetch her.
“I can’t! I just can’t!” Anthea burst out.
She ran to the door, then checked herself. She listened for a moment, then carefully opened it and peered down the hall in both directions. It appeared that everyone was already at breakfast. Anthea tiptoed down the hall toward the back of the house. She had no idea where she was going, but surely if everyone was in the great hall, there would be plenty of places to hide.
Just for one more day, she told herself. Just … until she got used to the idea of the trousers. Or perhaps she could appeal to her uncle to let her ride in a skirt. Jillian surely didn’t want to share her wardrobe with Anthea. Perhaps Anthea could ask her for help in finding something more ladylike. That would buy Anthea time.
Anthea found a small staircase at the end of the hallway, and went down rather than up, knowing that up would lead to the schoolroom. At the bottom of the stairs she ducked down a narrow corridor that went off at an angle from the main house. She listened at a keyhole before opening the door when she heard someone coming out of a room behind her.
Quick as a flash she was turning the heavy, old-fashioned latch, and then she was through and closing the door behind her. She blinked, the light suddenly bright in her eyes, and gasped as she realized that she was outside.
It was the first time she had set a foot outside since the day she had slogged through the mud to tell her uncle she wanted no part of this. Since she had saved a horse from choking. Since she had found out she had the Way.
Now here she was on the edge of the open area in front of the house, standing at the end of one of the sprawling wings. There was a neatly raked stretch of gravel, and then the huge sprawling building they called the stables.
She had seen horses going in and out of it from her window, and guessed that that was where they slept. But the doors were open now, and all the horses were off in the fields, and the men with them. No one was around to see her. She walked straight toward the stables, her heart pounding. They would never suspect her of hiding there!
She took a deep breath and held it as she walked into the dimly lit building, not sure what to expect. There were lanterns hanging on each side of a wide central aisle, and stalls with low doors, not unlike any barn where oxen or cattle were kept. When she finally took a breath, she found that the smell was actually tolerable.
She had a rush of memory, something about jumping into a pile of hay, of having a horse rub its nose on her face, but she fought it down. She grabbed an empty metal bucket from the corner and started down the aisle to one of the stalls about midway along. Checking carefully to make sure the straw inside was fresh—it was—she went into the stall and turned the bucket over to sit on.
“There,” she said aloud, with a sigh of relief.
Anthea wished that she had brought something to read. Or some paper and a pencil. Anything to distract her from thoughts of riding horses, and the news of her not-at-all-deceased mother.
Since she had nothing to write with, she tried to compose a letter to her mother in her head. What would one even say to one’s long-lost mother after so many years?
“Hello, why did you leave me?” Anthea said aloud.
There was a thud from the stall next to hers. The wooden wall shook. Anthea’s heart stuttered and she clapped a hand to her mouth. She waited, but heard nothing.
“He-hello?” she called out at last.
Another thud.
“Who’s there?”
There was a massive thud and a splintering sound.
Anthea stood up, afraid of what she might find on the other side of the wall. She peeked over the half door of the stall she was in. There was no one she could see in the wide corridor, or any of the stalls across the way.
Thud. Splinter.
A wave of emotion.
It wasn’t a person in the stall next to hers; it was a horse, Anthea realized with relief. Her hiding place was secure, for now. Although if the silly beast didn’t stop that racket, someone would surely come to see what was wrong, and find Anthea.
“Shh,” she said loudly. “Shush, you!”
The thudding stopped, but Anthea still didn’t sit back down on her bucket. Waves of longing crashed over her. Longing. Sorrow. And the deepest love.
Anthea stood in the straw, her head cocked to one side. She felt like she was hearing music in another room, a tune that she knew but couldn’t quite name.
Beloved.
“Oh,” Anthea whispered, and tears began to fall gently from her eyes.
FLORIAN
At last.
At last.
Beloved Anthea had come to him at last! Florian could hardly contain his joy when she opened the do
or of his stall. They gazed at each other for a long time.
“It’s you,” she said.
He lifted his head and breathed gently into her face. There were tears on her cheeks. He blotted them dry with his nose, then put his head over her shoulder. She wrapped her arms around his neck and laid her cheek alongside his.
“It’s you,” she whispered.
Here I am, Beloved, Florian thought. Here you are. At last.
“At last.”
9
NOW IS FOUND
The horse was beautiful. Anthea had little basis for comparison, but all the same … this was the most beautiful horse in the world. His legs were long and strong, and he had smooth muscles under his glowing golden-brown hide. His thick mane and tail were black, and so were the tall stockings on his legs, and the velvety end of his nose.
“Beautiful,” Anthea told him as she continued to hold and stroke him.
And as she held him, memories came flooding back. Memories of a tall handsome man with dark hair, like Uncle Andrew, but not. Her father, whose face she had almost forgotten until she saw his brother.
Memories of drawing horses, of talking about horses with Jilly. Memories of wearing a charm like Caillin MacRennie’s, shaped like what she now realized was a horseshoe and hung on braided horsehair. Even now she could feel it scratching her neck, though she didn’t know where it had gone.
Memories that explained the dream.
All her life she had dreamed of flying. Skimming above the ground with her arms outstretched and a man’s voice laughing in her ear. Now it unfolded in her mind, and she knew: that man was her father, and they weren’t flying, they were riding a horse. In the dream her eyes were watering from the stinging wind of their flight, which prevented her from seeing their surroundings.
Was it this horse they had ridden? She looked at him intently.
He looked back with dark intelligent eyes. She had seen him in the paddocks, she felt sure, but the only horse she could recognize was the screaming Constantine, who was more reddish, with a black shawl-like marking on his shoulders.
This horse, this beautiful, gentle horse pulled back and regarded her for a moment, then he sighed so deeply that the gust of breath plastered Anthea’s blouse to her chest. She giggled as her lace-trimmed collar tickled her neck. The horse leaned forward and put his nose on her shoulder, snuffling.
Through the Way, Anthea caught a strange stirring from him, a welter of impressions that involved a man’s voice, the taste of sugar, being warm … and then being cold and the voice stopping, the sugar going away. The horse smelled her deeply and then he leaned his head against her shoulder, sighing again. A sense of coming home washed through Anthea, and she put her arms around the horse’s head again and held him tightly.
“My darling,” she murmured. “My precious boy. I’m sorry you were alone.”
The sound of voices and boots clomping on the stable floor disturbed Anthea’s reverie. The horse snorted, bothered as well, but neither he nor Anthea moved.
From outside the stall she heard Jillian and Finn talking. Keth added something, and Anthea’s cousin laughed loudly as they came down the aisle.
“Wherever Her Majesty is hiding,” Jillian said, “you have to admire her. We live here, and we can’t find her.”
Anthea would have been offended, but all she could think about was this horse and how wonderful it was to simply stand here with him, breathing in unison.
“Be kind,” Finn said.
“Oh, I’m so sorry!” Jillian said with exaggerated concern. “Was I not being gracious about Her Majesty?”
“Just … be kind, Jilly,” Finn said.
There was a splash and a smacking noise. A strangled cry. Jillian and Keth laughed. Then another splash and a splat, and Jillian screamed with indignation.
“You—you—you!” she spluttered.
“Be kind!” Finn said, but he was laughing now, and the door of a stall banged shut. There was another splat and a whoop from Keth.
The horse stamped a foot, and irritation flashed through his emotions. Anthea agreed, and stamped one of her feet as well. The horse laid back his ears and made a grumbling sound. If she could have made such a noise, Anthea would have.
“Shh, shh, you’ll make him mad,” Jillian said, but she was giggling.
“They’re all out in the paddocks,” Keth said, dismissive.
“Except for the troublemaker,” Jillian said. “The horse equivalent of our friend Finn,” she teased.
Another splat.
“You brat! Would you throw a wet sponge at Her Majesty, Miss Anthea?” Jillian demanded. “Or do you think she’s too fine? Too byoo-tee-full?”
A splat and a squawk.
“I’ll get you for that!” Jillian declared.
There was a clatter of boots coming down the aisle. The boots skidded to a stop right outside the stall where Anthea was standing, meditatively stroking the neck of the horse.
“What in the—” Finn said. “Jilly, quick!”
“Oh no, I’m not falling for that,” Jillian called from farther down the stable.
“Jilly! Go get your father!”
“Wait, are you serious?” Keth’s voice came closer. “What is—” He broke off with a gasp.
“Don’t move, Anthea,” Finn instructed. “Keth, go get Captain Thornley. Now!”
Anthea wasn’t planning on moving. She was enjoying feeling the smooth hide of the horse, and running her fingers through his long silky mane. She was irritated with Finn for bothering them.
Finally Jillian came to the door of the stall. She gasped and whispered to Finn for a moment before talking to Anthea.
“Are you all right?” Jillian asked in a low voice.
“Yes,” Anthea said.
She felt at ease for the first time in days. She wrapped her left arm around the horse’s neck and rubbed between his ears with her right. He drooped against her with pleasure, and she had to widen her stance to keep him from knocking her over.
“We’re fine.”
Naturally they were fine. Together, they would always be fine.
“That’s Florian,” Jillian said in a choked voice.
“Oh,” Anthea said. “Florian!”
He made a chuckling noise. Anthea was embarrassed that she had forgotten, but now that she heard the name, she felt like she had always known it.
“Didn’t my father warn you?” Jillian whispered.
Anthea shook her head, and so did the horse. Florian. Why would she need to be warned about Florian? She continued to stroke his ears.
“Anthea,” Jillian whispered, “what were you doing in here?”
“I hid in here,” Anthea said simply. “Because I don’t want to learn to ride.” She hurried to reassure Florian. “Except for you! I wasn’t hiding from you.”
“Oh no no no!” Jillian babbled. “Finn, what are we going to do? I think she’s gone mad!”
“She has not gone mad,” Finn said. “Keep your voice down.”
“Then what’s wrong with her?” Jillian demanded in a loud whisper. “Anthea?” she called softly. “I’m sorry I made fun of your clothes. And called you Your Majesty just now.” There was a faint creak as she lifted the latch of the stall door. “Now please come out of there. Slowly.”
“I can’t leave him,” Anthea said, and her voice broke a little. “I left him before, you see.”
“Oh,” Jillian said, and she sounded like there was something in her throat.
“How could I have forgotten him?” Anthea said. She leaned back so that she could look deeply into Florian’s eyes. “How could I have forgotten you?” she asked.
Waves of love came from the horse. She knew that he didn’t blame her. She apologized to him all the same.
“That’s wonderful,” Jillian whispered. “So wonderful! But I want you to let go of the horse now, Anthea, and step back.”
“Jillian Thornley! You aren’t teasing that poor beast, are you?”
Ca
illin MacRennie’s voice intruded before Anthea could sink back into her reverie. It was just so warm and nice here in Florian’s stall.
“I would never!” Jillian was indignant. “Anthea went into Florian’s stall. She doesn’t know he’s been acting up.” Her voice was full of concern.
“Jillian cares about me,” Anthea murmured to Florian. “And I care about her. But I love you.”
“Ah, so you found him,” Caillin MacRennie said, his gruff voice almost tender. “Now, Florian, ye can stop bein’ such a terror. There’s your girl back.”
“His girl?” Anthea freed herself and looked over the stall door at the old man.
“Florian was the last of your father’s horses,” Caillin MacRennie said. “And your first. Delivered the wee foal himself, with you assistin’. Raised him up by hand, you did, giving Florian sugar and carrots and once a whole pie that you stole from the kitchen. He used to chase you and your papa, when he’d ride you over the hills on Justinian.”
Anthea reached out again and laid her hand flat between Florian’s eyes. “We used to go flying over the hills together. With Papa.”
Feelings of warmth and security overwhelmed Anthea as the tears rolled down her cheeks.
She had found Florian. He had found her.
“It’s you at last,” she whispered.
FLORIAN
Beloved Anthea had come to him at last. Florian felt his heart straining to contain his joy. Beloved Anthea rubbed his ears in just the way he had always liked, and he breathed in her scent.
All the noise and fury, the storm of emotions that he had experienced over the past weeks faded away. Nothing else mattered, but that Beloved Anthea was here at last. With him.
They must never be parted again.
10
DINNER WITH A KING
“It’s out of the question,” Uncle Andrew said again.
“But he needs me,” Anthea wheedled.
“Florian’s turned round again. Taken to her like the missing piece o’ himself,” Caillin MacRennie put in from his end of the dinner table, and Anthea gave him a grateful look.
“Well, that goes without saying,” Uncle Andrew said. “Charles always wanted …” He stopped and cleared his throat.
The Rose Legacy Page 5