“But we just ate lunch.” The air was brisk, but the noon-day sun glared hazy and bright, and she shaded her eyes to look at him. “What’s wrong with the horse?”
Will tried to ignore the way the light picked white and golden highlights in her long, blonde hair. Pulling his eyes from her, he swung his leg over to dismount. “Colic, lass. The horse has colic, and he’ll be horse
meat
if I don’t tend to him.”
“I just thought he was a cranky old guy.” She got down, and keeping hold of her reins, reached over to pat at Will’s horse. The animal swung his head to bite at her, and Felicity squealed.
“Easy,” he said quickly. He pulled Felicity close, putting himself between her and the animal. “You’ll do no good for the horse. Or for yourself. A horse in pain can be a dangerous thing.”
She edged further from Will’s horse as they walked, and he watched as she cut nervous sidelong glances their way. He hoped she’d be all right. There was no choice, though. It was imperative Will find healing herbs, and he’d need to leave Felicity behind to mind the animal.
Despite the saddle on its back, the horse dropped to a roll the moment they stopped to rest by the trees. “Och, lad,” Will snapped. “Up. Up, up.” With a quick swat to its rump, he urged the animal back to standing and handed the reins to Felicity. “You’ll need to keep him walking. Don’t let him roll.”
Her brow furrowed in concern. “But rolling looks like it feels so good.”
She was so guileless and sweet, and Will quickly shoved such thoughts from his mind. “He’ll twist his gut,” he said flatly. “It could kill him.”
“Oh. Jeez. That’s horrible. Wait,” she said suddenly, trying to hand the reins back. “I can’t hold him. What if he bites me? You said he could be dangerous.”
“Just keep him moving,” he said, taking the healthier of the two horses from her. “Walk him a quarter hour every hour. I’ll take off the saddle, and you can lead the poor lad by the reins.”
“What do you mean walk him?” She looked at the animal as if he were infected with cholera, not colic. “Where will
you
be?”
“Easy, woman.” He chuckled.
“Don’t use your soothe-y horse-y voice with me. Where are you going? You can’t just leave me with a huge, sick animal. What if he dies?”
“He won’t if I leave now.” Will gave her what he hoped was an encouraging nod. He knew Felicity was nervous. And well she should be. But they needed their mounts, and the animal would die without immediate care. “He won’t get well on his own. I promise to return soon. I’ll need to gather mint,” he thought aloud, “valerian if I can find it. We passed a wee marsh late yesterday. I’m going to double back. See what I can find.”
She held the reins away from her body, arm outstretched rigidly. “But . . . You . . . What if . . .”
“Och, calm yourself, and the beast will calm too.” He smiled. “Relax, and he’ll not hurt you. It’s men I fear more than any animal.”
“Oh great.” The horse looked as if he might roll again, and she hopped into a hasty walk. “That makes me feel so much better,” she said over her shoulder.
“I’ll return as soon as I can.”
As soon as he could was well after dark. She’d spent the first hour terrified that the animal would rear up and trample her like she’d seen him do when Will was in the saddle. The rest of the time she’d worried that snaggle- toothed, sword-wielding men might pop out of the woods at any moment.
The nighttime sky was overcast, and had darkened into a uniform gray-black overhead. Being alone, in the eerily quiet night, with an enormous, sick horse had her filling the silence with an anxious monologue. About the horse, about his belly, about how Will would be back at any moment. But as she walked, her nervous chatter became low coos, and quick pats slowed into lingering strokes, until she was at ease, and the horse seemed so too.
She walked the animal in a close circle along the fringe of trees, worried that they’d trip in the shadows. The night was bitter cold, and though the walking kept the chill from her bones, it did nothing to alleviate the very urgent needs of her body.
“Felicity?”
“Thank God,” she said, hearing Will’s voice calling low. “We’re still here. Please hurry, I really need to . . . you know . . .
go
.”
He laughed quietly. “I’ll be but a moment.”
Will rustled in the dark, a tapestry of sounds floating to her on the crisp air. His low murmurs to her mare, the dull smack of a hand patting solid horseflesh. Stillness, and then the nascent crackle and pop of a fire.
He materialized from the shadows, tall and silent, and she gave a start.
“Here, lass,” he said, tucking something in her hair.
The feel of his fingers tracing along her scalp made her breath catch. “What’s that?”
“Mint. They say it keeps the midges away.”
She fingered the sprig in her hair, limp and softly fuzzy. Will could be so disarmingly thoughtful. She smiled up at him. Just a silly bit of mint, and yet her impulse was to press it in a book.
He cleared his throat. “How’s the lad?” he asked, taking the reins from her. He ran a hand down the flat plane of the horse’s cheek.
“Okay, I think.” She leaned over to stretch her legs. “I’m beat though. Do you mind if I—?”
“Aye, of course,” he said quickly, with a nod to the trees.
She ducked away to relieve herself, and when she came back, the horse was lying down with Will seated by his side. The animal grunted and nipped once at the air, then rested his head in the dirt.
“I thought he wasn’t supposed to roll,” she said.
“Aye, rolling is bad. But rest is a fine thing. Come.” He gestured to the ground. “You could use a spot of it yourself. Come bide a wee by the fire.”
“I would
love
to sit by the fire,” she said, plopping down next to him. Just that little bit of physical relief, combined with the promise of heat and maybe even a drink of water, had her nearly giddy with pleasure. “Now if only we had s’mores.”
He met her eyes, confusion flickering on his brow, and she felt a little thrill when their gazes caught. The flames popped and crackled, casting an orange glow along one side of his face. The light danced in his eyes, and far from feeling chilled now, she thought she might melt there on the spot.
“I’m afraid I don’t have much, but I do have water with herbs on to boil. We’ll see if we can get some into him, and mayhap we can spare some for you too,” Will told her, offering a rare smile.
“How is he? Can I . . .” She reached a hesitant hand to the horse. “Can I pet him? Would that be all right?”
“Aye.” Will had replaced the bridle with a halter, and he offered her the length of rope. “ ’Twould be a fine thing,” he told her, urging her to take hold of the animal.
The horse chuffed and flinched, making as if to roll, and Felicity scooted closer, instinctively guiding his head into her lap. She smoothed the wiry forelock from his eyes, and to her surprise, the horse eased.
“The beast has taken to you.” Will used his cane to pull a small pot from over the fire. There was a hiss as hot water sizzled along cast iron, and the sharp smell of mint tingled pleasantly in her sinuses. “You did well today. Despite your worries.”
It was modest, as compliments went, but still she swelled with pride. The horse did seem soothed, she thought, stroking her palm down his sleek neck. “Thanks. I never realized how nice horses were. I’m such a city girl. Before all this”—she gestured around her—“the closest I’d ever gotten to a horse was when my Aunt Livvie took me to the racetrack for my eighteenth birthday.”
“But surely you’d ridden before?”
“Nope. Never.”
“That’s remarkable,” he said, astounded. “You got on a saddle without a word, never having ridden before?”
“That’s right. Wait,” she amended quickly. “Scratch that. I went on a pony ride when I was a kid, but—” She stopped herself, remembering Will’s horrific tale of his childhood accident. “Oh, God, I’m sorry.”
“For what?”
“You know . . . the pony thing.”
To her surprise, he gave a low laugh. “Don’t fash yourself, lass. I remember the
pony thing
daily. It’s not as though your words remind me of something I don’t already know.”
She stroked the horse’s neck. It was pure power, silky and muscular under her fingertips. Will watched her, and she felt oddly shy, unable to meet his eyes. She hoped she was petting the animal correctly.
“Aye,” he said finally. “It’s remarkable how the beast has taken to you.”
She smiled. “Maybe horses are my thing, huh?”
“Your . . .
thing
?”
“Yeah.” She sighed. “Haven’t I told you? I’ve tried it all. But I’ve never managed to find my calling. Lots of things interest me, but nothing has ever really sparked my passion.”
He was quiet for a moment, and just when she began to worry that her last sentence was somehow inappropriate, he spoke. “I believe horses are
my
calling. I can’t imagine never having ridden. Horses are the one thing in my life I can rely on.”
“What about your family? Surely you can rely on them.”
Will stiffened. “I suppose you could say their behavior is . . . reliably predictable. But I’ve found horses are really the only dependable thing.”
“That’s sad,” she said at once. This was possibly the most Will had ever opened up to her, and Felicity wanted to press him, explore every little aspect of what he said to her.
“Not sad,” he told her with cool finality. “It simply is.”
So much for sharing.
“What is colic, anyway?” she asked after an extended silence.
“It might be a number of things. Something could be blocked. His belly,” he said, running his palm along the horse’s stomach, “feel how it’s warm.”
She brought her hand next to his. The horse’s stomach felt hot, distended. Felicity felt the heat of Will’s arm, so close to hers. Her gaze went to his fingers, long and strong in the firelight. Concern for the animal warred with the sudden and complete awareness of Will, in such close proximity.
“It could be as simple as gas, or as dire as a twist in his gut. Either way, the beast needs water.” Will rose. Taking the rope from her, he pulled the horse to standing. “Come now, laddie,” he said in a low voice. “Let’s have a wee drink, shall we?”
She stood too, using her skirts to pick up the pot. The water had cooled quickly in the night air, and Rollo took it from her with his bare hands.
He held it to the horse’s mouth, but the animal merely lipped it, not drinking. Will grunted.
“What’s in the water?”
“Valerian, to relax the gut. Mint too. If he doesn’t work it out, the colic will be the death of him.” He pulled the horse into a walk. “You should rest, Felicity. I’ve a long night ahead.”
“I won’t be able to sleep.” She fell into step on the other side of the horse, scratching lightly behind his ears. It killed her to see the poor thing in such distress. “And I like being able to help.”
They walked in peaceable silence for some time, then Will asked, “Would you like to assist me, then? With the horses, I mean.”
He pulled the horse to a halt, and steadied Felicity’s hands as she brought the water once more to the animal’s mouth.
“Really?” She let her heart soar over what she knew was probably such a silly thing. “You’d let me do that? Maybe show me some things?”
Their eyes met in the dark, and Will was the first to look away.
“Aye.” His answer was clipped, distant once more, and Felicity wondered if she’d even heard him correctly. Will studied the night sky. “Though it’s mostly stablemen who’ll be minding the horses from now on. Winter is in the air, and the beasts need hay for bedding and fresh feed for their bellies.”
Thoughtful, he stroked the animal’s side. “We’ve no choice. I fear it shall be inns for us, from now on.”
Chapter 8
“Not another one,” she grumbled, studying the dingy sign swinging above the inn’s front door. Felicity wondered just how many seedy inns with fleas and rodents and leering men there were between England and wherever it was they were headed in Scotland.
It had been so nice, that one night’s respite with Will and the horse and the great outdoors. Though they’d walked in silence, his proximity had sent a warm buzzing through her body. She’d felt connected to another person in a way she’d never before experienced.
She’d also felt genuinely useful for the first time ever. Like she’d been needed, and had been able to help. And she’d loved doing it.
But the animal had recovered, and Rollo quickly receded back into himself. His retreat stung. Every day that passed left Felicity wondering even more if that night had actually happened, or if it had just been some strange and disjointed dream.
The Pipe and Tabor Inn. She scowled. “What the heck’s a
tabor
anyhow?” she asked, urging her horse to catch up with Rollo’s.
She’d thought old Scotland would be a real hoot, but after God knew how many days on horseback and God
only
knew how many roasted rabbits she was supposed to be grateful for, Felicity thought she might just be ready to pack it all in and head for the nearest spa.
“Oh man, I’d give anything to soak in a great big Jacuzzi tub.” She sighed wistfully. “And a shampoo. My hair”—she rubbed vigorously at her scalp—“is driving me
insane
. I can’t keep it out of my face.”
She noticed he’d gotten ahead of her. “Hey, Will,” she said to his back, kicking her horse into a grudging trot, “are there any hot springs around here? There’s got to be something in, like, Italy right about now. I mean, it’s only about a two-hour flight there. How long a ride could it be?”
She noted him shaking his head. Was that a
no
or just an annoyed headshake? If it was a
no
, why couldn’t he just say
no
? What would it take to get a rise out of the man? Get him to chat, just a little.