by Lynn Kurland
The beast was not well behaved. Zachary started to follow, then realized he had a job and couldn’t just go as he pleased. He turned to talk to Godric only to find the man standing next to him, watching him with a smile.
“Have a drink, lad, then go for a walk,” Godric suggested. “You’ve earned it.”
“I think I just might.”
“I suggest you watch where you’re looking, though.”
Zachary felt one of his eyebrows go up. “Is it impolite to look?”
Godric scrunched his face up in a look that was so reminiscent of Hugh McKinnon that Zachary did a double take. Godric considered, then shook his head.
“’Tis not my place to say anything at all. Just be careful. Things aren’t always as they seem.”
That was probably the understatement of the year. Zachary enjoyed the irony of it as he had a drink, then went to have his look. He walked out of the inner bailey gate and came to a stop against a wall where he could look in peace. There was a cluster of men already there, watching. He didn’t join them, though he recognized the stable master Rolf, Robin’s nephew Parsival, and the blond twins who seemed determined to shadow him at all costs. He’d been startled by either or both of them more than once and immediately identified them as major troublemakers. Theo had very willingly offered himself as language coach, but Sam had seemed merely interested in following him constantly in an effort to ferret out details Zachary hadn’t even considered giving.
Currently they seemed to be very concerned with that serving wench masquerading as stable girl, so he forgave them the starts they’d given him. Of course, he wasn’t interested in her. In fact, he was so uninterested in her, it was all he could do to stay awake to watch as she hooked the horse up to a long, leather line and sent him running around her in circles. He came to a rapid though no doubt obvious conclusion.
She was no servant.
He stuck his hands in his pockets only to realize he didn’t have any pockets. Still. He settled for folding his arms over his chest and having a good, long look.
The girl was dressed in boy’s clothes, which didn’t surprise him. It would have been impractical to tend horses in a gown. That she was allowed to do so, though, much less have anything to do with a horse that made her look so slight, was another thing entirely. He only caught fleeting glimpses of her face as she continued to turn in a small circle, forcing her horse to run in a large circle around her, but those were enough to convince him his first impressions of her hadn’t been wrong.
She was absolutely stunning.
It was with an effort that he dragged his attentions away from her lovely face long enough to watch what she was doing with the horse. He knew enough about the art to appreciate the skill she used in training the stallion. His brother-in-law Jamie was the best horseman he knew, but this girl had more control over her mount than he’d ever seen Jamie command.
She turned the horse in the other direction—or tried to, rather. The stallion was suddenly having none of it.
Zachary stepped forward, but found a hand on his arm. He frowned at the stable master.
“That horse is dangerous.”
“He won’t hurt her.”
“Are you crazy?” Zachary said incredulously.
Rolf only smiled.
Zachary turned back to the mayhem in process and watched as the horse fought his mistress. The beast stepped on the line, he walked toward her, he reared. In fact, he reared up not a foot in front of her.
Zachary found there were suddenly hands on both his arms. Rolf held one side and Parsival held the other.
“If you don’t calm yourself, she’ll shout at you,” Parsival said placidly. “I’d avoid that, were I you.”
Zachary supposed Parsival had that right. If nothing else, he didn’t want to do anything to startle her unnecessarily. He let out a careful breath, thanked both his keepers for their restraining hands, then folded his arms over his chest again and watched complete madness.
It took another fifteen minutes, but finally the horse gave in and went the direction the girl wanted him to. By that time, both of them were panting and Zachary felt a little queasy. Still the girl didn’t release him. She continued to work him, sending him in opposite directions every now and again, until he was completely obedient.
He wondered, absently, why she’d tried to help him that night. Maybe she’d felt sorry for him, or wanted to repay him for trying to keep her safe. Maybe she’d felt a kinship with him thanks to the forty-five seconds they’d spent together in the loo. He was sure of only one thing and that was that a girl who could control a horse that size without flinching didn’t do anything else without a very good reason.
He couldn’t help but wonder what that reason was.
He watched for another half hour as she hopped on the stallion’s back and schooled him in what apparently passed for medieval dressage. Under saddle, the horse was absolutely obedient. It was one of the most amazing displays Zachary had ever seen, and he’d spent ten years with a family full of expert horsemen.
He looked at Rolf. “I need a rest.”
“Aye, lad, we all do.”
“Who is she?”
Rolf slid him a look. “Don’t you know?”
“Would I be asking you if I did?”
Rolf scowled at him. “You’d best watch your tongue, son, lest I have you shoveling manure tonight instead of enjoying a fine repast at my fire.”
Zachary smiled. “Point taken.”
“I’ll tell you what you want to know,” Parsival offered, “in repayment for the entertainment you provided this morning. Surely that display of self-control should be rewarded somehow.”
Zachary had to agree. The temptation to put Geoffrey of Styrr in his place had been almost overwhelming. If he hadn’t been so determined to get in and out of medieval Artane without drawing any more attention to himself than necessary, he would have. “Let’s start with the horse.” That seemed safer, somehow.
“’Tis hers,” Parsival said, “though my uncle wouldn’t concede that if he had a sword to his throat. He allows her to ride—indeed he first put her in a saddle as soon as she could sit up—but that was only because he didn’t want her to endure what her mother had.”
Zachary felt his mouth fall open. Her mother. Was that wan nabe serving girl actually Robin of Artane’s daughter?
“The lady Anne had her leg crushed by a poorly trained stallion when she was a girl,” Parsival continued, “and limps a bit because of it to this day. I daresay my uncle thought the only way to spare Mary that was to teach her to manage a horse from an early age. ’Tis an unusual thing, though, for a woman to ride so well. My sisters certainly don’t. I don’t think Robin is particularly happy about it, but he hasn’t forbidden her.”
“Maybe she gives him well-trained horses,” Zachary managed.
“I think he would prefer she give him well-trained grandchildren,” Parsival said dryly, “but some of that is his own fault. He was very choosey about her suitors in her youth.” He paused, then shrugged. “Now, I think her years discourage those who might otherwise have offered for her.”
“Her years? But she can’t be more than what, a score?”
“A score and seven,” Parsival said, then he shut his mouth and frowned. “I’m not sure what it is about you that leads me to babble so.”
“I don’t babble to others,” Zachary said without hesitation, “if that makes you feel any better.”
Parsival studied him in a way that made him slightly nervous, as if he looked for something he shouldn’t have. Zachary gave him his best nothing-to-see-here look, but he had the feeling that Parsival wasn’t buying it.
“Zachary, my friend, you intrigue me,” Parsival said, confirming Zachary’s fears. “A smith without burn scars, a stable lad with sword skill. There are many things about you that simply don’t fit. Perhaps you’ll enlighten me over supper. I have an appointment presently with my uncle in the lists that I daren’t be late for, but I wou
ld be interested in your tale later, if you’ve a mind to give it.”
Zachary nodded, though he suspected his tale was the last thing he would be giving the knight who was now walking away from him. It was one thing to make up a history for himself and spin that lie as long as he needed to. Harder, though, was to explain to Robin’s nephew how he found himself inside Robin’s keep without anyone having seen him enter.
Then again, the little twins seemed to do it with regularity, so perhaps it wasn’t impossible.
He allowed himself another lingering look at Mary de Piaget. He was very surprised that she hadn’t been snapped up the moment she’d turned twelve. Maybe Robin had kept all the candidates at bay until it had been too late. He wouldn’t have thought twice about her age had he been a medieval sort of guy with title and gold.
Then again, he had a soft spot for tomboys, so perhaps he wasn’t the one to be offering an unbiased opinion.
He admired for another minute or two her skill with a horse that even he would have hesitated to ride, then shook his head. The sooner he got out of Artane, the better off he would be. And until that time, he would do well to simply stick to his business. Not that any looking or thinking he might have done mattered. That girl was farther out of his reach than even the normal women he attempted to date. Not only that, he couldn’t have dated her even if he had dared to.
Leave no mar in the fabric of time.
Jamie’s cardinal rule couldn’t have been any more a part of him if it had been tattooed on the backs of his hands where he could see it constantly. He and Jamie had perfected the art of looking for what needed to be done in any given time period, then leaving no trace of their passing. Well, almost no trace. There were times when interactions with those in the past had been not only desirable, but necessary.
But dating a gorgeous woman was definitely not on either of those lists.
He walked off the field and made his way to the forge, where he found Godric waiting for him.
“Well?” Godric asked.
“Please give me something to do that requires my full attention.”
Godric laughed at him. “Looked a bit too much, did you?”
“I’m afraid so.”
Godric smiled at him knowingly, then stroked his chin with his good hand. “You’ve made a good start on a nail. What say you to the crafting of a dagger this afternoon?”
“It sounds hot.”
“’Tis all hot, my lad. You’ll simply have to work fast.”
Zachary smiled and went to fetch what Godric asked for.
Three hours and several burns later, he had created something that might have resembled a knife if he’d invaded Lord Edward’s stash of schnapps and was now admiring his work while completely plastered. Godric had assured him it would go better the next day and sent him off to look for supper. Zachary left the smithy, then paused and considered the possibilities. Supper could be found in the garrison hall.
It could also, as it happened, be found in the stables.
He walked there not because there was manure there that someone else couldn’t shovel, or horses there that someone else couldn’t groom, or food there that someone else couldn’t eat.
He went because he was an idiot.
Don’t do it, a nagging little voice whispered in his head.
Actually, it was less of a whisper and more of a shout, but he ignored it just the same. It was just dinner and he would probably eat it alone. After all, it was fairly late in the day. Surely Mary de Piaget had already gone inside for a comfortable seat at her father’s table.
He wandered down the aisle between the stalls, then came to a halt. He glanced to his left. There was a quite lovely horse there in a stall, a mare who looked as if she were floating even as she stood perfectly still. She also had very nice manners. Zachary suspected that was because her mistress didn’t give her any choice. He paused, then cast caution very deliberately to the wind and leaned on the edge of the stall door where he could watch Mary de Piaget brush the mare’s tail.
The woman was, he had to concede, even more beautiful from ten feet than she had been from a hundred. He couldn’t believe he’d spent an hour with her in a dungeon and hadn’t bothered to introduce himself or ask her who she was. Then again, he hadn’t been at his best and neither had she.
“What are you doing here?” a voice demanded from his left.
Zachary watched Mary dive for a spot just inside the stall door. He almost told her to get up before she found herself trampled, but he supposed she knew that well enough without his pointing it out. He took a fortifying breath, then turned to see Geoffrey of Styrr standing in the aisle, fighting his mount.
“My lord,” Zachary said deferentially. “How may I serve you?”
Geoffrey threw reins at him. “See to my horse.”
“Of course, my lord.” Zachary took the reins, then soothed the beast with whispers until it was merely standing there, quivering. He wondered if Lord Robin would be angry if he tied the horse up then punched the good lord of Styrr very calmly in the face. Repeatedly. Truly, the man had no business anywhere near a horse.
“Have you seen my betrothed?”
Zachary looked at Geoffrey blankly. Who the hell would be crazy enough to get engaged to the jerk facing him?
“Your betrothed?” Zachary echoed.
“The lady Mary, you fool,” Geoffrey said impatiently. His expression hardened. “I understand she was about her usual foolishness with horses today.”
Zachary had absolutely no means of answering that in any useful way. He would have looked harder for something innocuous to say, but a movement near the stable entrance distracted him. He looked over Geoffrey’s shoulder to find Robin de Piaget standing there, his expression inscrutable.
Geoffrey stiffened, as if he realized he had revealed just a bit too much and hoped an unintended audience hadn’t been privy to it. He schooled his features into a pleasant smile before he turned to face Robin.
Interesting.
“My lord Robin,” Geoffrey said smoothly. “I was hoping I would see you here. I would like to speak with you at supper tonight about a matter of importance.”
Robin of Artane would have made a formidable poker player. His expression gave absolutely nothing away. If he’d heard what Geoffrey had said, he gave no sign of it.
“I was looking for your daughter,” Geoffrey continued brightly. “Just to take a bit of her burden from her, of course. I don’t mind tending a horse for a beautiful woman after she’s finished with her little amusement of riding it.”
“I daresay Mary’s in her bedchamber,” Robin said, “readying herself for supper. Shall we go await her at table?”
“Of course, my lord.” Geoffrey looked back over his shoulder. “See to my horse, smith. And keep away from his shoes.”
“Of course, my lord,” Zachary said with a nod. “I appreciate your patience.”
Geoffrey laughed politely, then walked off to join Robin. Zachary watched them go, convinced beyond all doubt that Geoffrey of Styrr was absolutely not what he wanted others to believe he was.
He turned away from the sight and the mystery with equal firmness. He didn’t want to know what Styrr was hiding behind that mask. What he wanted was to get home and get on with his life. Getting thrown back into the past had been an unfortunate aberration. The sooner he got out of medieval England, the better off he would be.
He found an empty stall, tied up His Lordship’s poor mount, and began to remove its tack. The horse hung its head, obviously exhausted.
“He beats his horses.”
Zachary jumped in spite of himself, then turned around and found one of the twins leaning over the wall approximately three feet from him. He let out his breath slowly. “Sneak up on me again, little lad, and I can’t guarantee what will be left of you. Now, which one are you?”
The lad grinned. “I’m Theo.”
“For the moment, at least. Where’s your brother?”
“Following St
yrr.”
Zachary lifted the saddle off the gelding and handed it over the wall to Theo. “Be useful and go put that away.”
Theo took it, then paused. “My father is a lord, you know.”
“Is he?” Zachary asked, taking off the horse’s woolen pad. He turned and looked at Theo. “And?”
“You might want to show me a bit more respect.”
Zachary piled the rug on top of the saddle. “My brother is an earl and my sister’s husband a Scottish laird. If you want to test which of our connections makes us more worthy of respect, I’d be happy to settle the question with a wrestle.”
“I’ll return posthaste.”
“Not in the stable,” Zachary called after him, but Theo was already disappearing down the way. He shook his head, then looked for a brush of some sort.
One was being held out to him.
He met Mary de Piaget’s very pale eyes and smiled. “Thank you.”
She only rested her arms on top of the stall door and watched him work. He wasn’t one to find himself particularly unnerved by the scrutiny of a woman, not even an excessively beautiful woman who was seemingly capable of managing males weighing in at fifteen hundred pounds, but he found he was now just the same.
He was, as he had decided earlier, an idiot.
He finished with Styrr’s horse, accepting tools from Mary as needed, then he closed the door and looked at her still standing there. Before he could stop himself, he reached out and picked a stalk of hay out of her hair.
“I think you’re supposed to be upstairs.”
“Thank you for keeping my presence here a secret,” she said quietly.
He leaned back against the door next to her, because it was safer to stare at the horses across the aisle than it was to stare at her.
He wasn’t supposed to look where he couldn’t have, after all.