sooner he could return.
“I’ll ride,” he said, striding for the door. “That is, if the groom can be bothered to saddle my horse.”
“I’m afraid the groom gave notice ages ago,” she said in that calm, conciliatory voice. She followed him out the door, the mastiff bounding down the stone steps ahead of them while she turned to lock the door. “Colonel Umbrey decided he was too old to move from the Hall and sold his carriage and horses.”
Was that what would become of him if he stayed? Would he grow to be a fat, complacent old man with no interest in even making the short ride into town?
“Then the fellow who’s staying in the stables,” Trevor all but snapped.
She handed him the ornate brass key, which weighed more heavily than it should in his hand. “No one lives at the estate except me and my father, Sir Trevor.”
He stared at her, feeling as if her great bear of a dog had sat on his chest. “Then who on earth took charge of my horse?”
Chapter Three
Lord, please protect his horse!
Gwen threw up the prayer as she led Sir Trevor around the side of the house and through a door in the stone wall for the stables. She could tell the animal meant a great deal to him. In the light of her lantern, his face was tight, his jaw hard. His long legs ate up the ground as they crossed the garden at the back of the house. She had to scurry to keep up.
Dolly obviously thought it was as great game, this rush through the growing dark, the garden silent around them. She bounded alongside Sir Trevor, veering off from time to time into the shadows to snuff at something under the weed-choked plants. Sir Trevor, on the other hand, had his eyes narrowed in such a fierce look that Gwen could only pray the person who’d taken charge of his horse was either a highly competent stranger looking for work, or was miles away by now.
“We’ve had a little trouble with vagrants,” she offered as they approached the long, two-story building of dark stone at the back of the garden. “Nothing’s been stolen, mind you. I’m sure it’s just men out of work, on their way to the next village and needing a place to stay the night.”
“And a horse to ride,” he said, voice as tight as his look.
Lord, not his horse! She needed Sir Trevor to love the place; she needed him to want to stay. It was the only way to save the village.
She hadn’t done more than check the stables for vagrants in the past two months, so she wasn’t surprised to find it dark as they approached. Her lantern’s light glinted off the half-moon windows that topped the arches in the stone. More weeds poked up among the gravel of the yard.
The big wooden door blocking the entrance protested as she tried to pull it open. With a grimace of impatience, he took the tarnished brass handle from her grip and tugged. The door moved out of the way with an unearthly screech that made Dolly yelp in protest.
“A little oil will fix that right up,” she assured him as he pushed past her into the stables. The scent of decaying hay and dried manure tickled her nose, and she sneezed. Oh, what must he think of them!
Even as Gwen raised her lantern, Dolly trotted down the wide breezeway between the rows of stalls. It had been an elegant stable once, the boxes lacquered black and the curving screen separating the tops of the stalls a pristine white. Now everything looked a dingy gray. When had she allowed things to get away from her?
Something whinnied in the darkness beyond the light. Sir Trevor let out a breath of obvious relief and stalked toward the sound. Gwen followed him, then pulled up with a gasp.
In truth, she’d wondered why he had been quite so worked up about a horse. She knew they could cost a pretty penny, but, in her experience, they were great hawking beasts like as not to step on your foot as to pull your coach.
The animal standing in the middle stall, however, wasn’t a horse any more than a diamond was a rock. This animal had a jet-black coat that gleamed like satin and warm, liquid brown eyes that demanded loyalty. Every line of muscle and tendon said power.
“Dolly, no!” Gwen ordered as the mastiff approached the rope that closed off the stall. But the magnificent horse merely lowered its head and blew a breath at the dog. Dolly’s tail wagged so happily her whole rump wiggled.
Sir Trevor strode up to his horse and stroked the long muzzle. “Good lad, easy now. Everything all right here?”
She wouldn’t have been surprised if the horse had answered him. The beast tossed his head with a jingle, and she realized he still wore his bridle.
“Never even removed the saddle,” Sir Trevor said, and his tone indicated he felt the lapse worthy of eternal punishment. “Still, I suppose I should just be thankful he didn’t make off with you.”
“I’m very sorry,” Gwen felt compelled to say. “I can’t imagine who met you out here.”
“Neither can I,” he replied, gently nudging Dolly aside with his knee so he could release the rope. “But I assure you I had better not see him again.”
Please, Lord, let it be someone besides Father!
“Certainly not,” she agreed, moving forward to latch her free hand on Dolly’s collar and pull the mastiff out of the way. The dog came reluctantly, clearly wanting to sniff about this fascinating creature they’d found in the stables. “Is your horse all right?”
He’d stepped into the stall and was running his hands over the animal as if to make sure, his movements gentle, soothing. Why had she thought he was meant for battle? She could imagine those hands playing a sonata or painting a masterpiece just as passionately.
“He seems to be unharmed,” he murmured, and she could feel his relief.
Gwen ventured closer, peering through the spindles of the upper screen on the box. The golden light from her lantern warmed horse and master alike, glowing in their dark hair. “What’s his name?”
“Icarus.” The word brought a smile to his lips, and Gwen felt her lips turning up in response. He patted the horse on its glossy flank. “He likes to fly higher than he should.”
She wondered if the same could be said of his master. “He’s beautiful.”
“That he is. A descendant from the Byerley Turk.” He dropped his hand and turned. His face was solemn, troubled, and she stood a little taller to hear his concerns.
“Tell me the truth, Miss Allbridge. Can this estate provide anyone a living?”
She hoped so; she prayed so. Everything she’d ever dreamed of depended on it. “Certainly!” she told him, putting every ounce of faith into the word. “It was the finest estate in the upper valley before the colonel took ill. All it needs is a little attention.”
Trevor glanced around the stable. Stalls just like the one in which he stood stretched away on either side. The place would hold a dozen horses and several carriages when full, with room for coachman and grooms in the quarters upstairs. Now the darkness surrounded them like smoke, and she thought she could hear the scurrying of tiny feet not far away.
