Page 16 of The Trials of Alaric
Bea would like nothing better, but neither Reina nor Christina were competent riders and Bea’s Hetherington cousins had been horrified at the idea of competing with the men.
“No, Eunys. I am taking out the big shooting brake with some of the ladies.”
All of the young ladies, in fact, she discovered when she came out into the courtyard beyond the stables. Also, Aunt Joan, who had agreed to come along as chaperone when Aunt Lewiston had objected to her daughters traveling in an open carriage on her brother-in-law’s land without one.
Aunt Lewiston was upset that Papa had continued with his trials rather than welcoming her son with open arms and handing Bea over as his bride. Bea giggled at a sudden picture of herself, bound and gagged, so she could neither run from thechurch nor protest at the altar. For that was what it would take for a wedding between her and Beverley the Beast. Not even if Papa requested it of her, and he wouldn’t.
There Beverley was now, mounted on a restless stallion, telling everyone else he had the best mount in the stables. Light-foot Lochinvar didn’t have the stable name ofLoobyby chance. It was a corruption of the wordLhoobeyr, the local word for a trickster, and a trickier more self-willed beast one couldn’t wish to find.
The beast—the four-legged one—was undoubtedly handsome, though, and the pair looked the part. It remained to be seen whether Cousin Beverley would look as smart and as smug after Looby had landed him in a stream or the thickest part of a hedge. Looby had the strength and the stamina for a steeplechase, and could fly over hedges as if on wings—if he felt like it. He lost interest quickly, though, and if the ride bored him, he was prone to tossing his rider just to add some excitement.
Should she warn him of the probability? Only Papa had ever succeeded in making Looby mind his manners for an entire ride, and the fact that Papa had been choosing a quieter horse was a measure of his slow decline.
But no. She would not warn Beverley. If she said anything, he would take it as an attack on his ability as a rider, and not as an expression of honest concern.
Crebbin, the stable master was standing by the shooting brake. “How did my cousin Lord Beverley come to be riding Looby?” she asked him.
The stable master cast a glance heavenward, as if praying for patience. “He came down last evening, my lady, to choose a horse. Looked right through the stables and declared that yon demon-sprite was the best horse in the stable, and he would have him for the steeplechase.”
He shook his head. “We tried to tell him what the horse is like, my lady. He wouldn’t listen.”
As she had thought. No point in her repeating the same warning, then.
Several more men emerged from the house and attracted the stable master’s attention. Then Redhaven walked out of the stable with Woodpecker Bay, affectionately known asDhone, which meantbrown. Dhone, a big and muscular gelding, was a good choice.
Dhone was steady. He’d be as determined and focused at the end of the day as he was now. His alert ears were turned to Redhaven while his eyes surveyed the courtyard. “Yes, my fine gentleman,” Redhaven was saying. “We are off for a ride. Do you like being in front? I imagine you do. You shall have your chance, Dhone.”
He paused when he looked up and saw Bea and changed direction to come to her. “Good morning, Lady Beatrice. A lovely morning to see more of your beautiful Claddach.”
“We have been fortunate with the weather,” Bea told him. “Though here on Claddach we insist we have better weather than any of the nearby lands.”Is he well enough to ride?No point in asking. He would certainly not tell her that he wasn’t.
He chuckled. “Yes, Colyn was telling me that on Claddach, it only rains between midnight and dawn, and a man can walk around na—in shirtsleeves—all year around.”
“But of course,” Bea agreed, laughing with him. “I see you chose our Dhone for your mount.”
“I think he and I will suit,” Redhaven told her. “He seems like a sensible fellow.”
Mr. Redhaven somehow seemed to use up the air in his vicinity, so she felt breathless and a little dizzy. It was very annoying. To give herself something to do, she gave Dhone a pat. “Any luck with your treasure hunt?” she asked.
“Not yet. I feel I am missing something. Fortunately, none of the others are crowing about completing the first clue. They would, would they not?”
“Are you so determined to win, Mr. Redhaven?” Bea asked, and then wished she had bitten her tongue before she asked the question. He would think she was flirting or asking for a compliment.
He took her seriously though, regarding her with his face open and his eyes frank before he said, “Increasingly so, I find. I hope that is acceptable to you, Lady Beatrice.” But he did not wait for her answer, twisting his mouth in a self-deprecating way and saying, “I beg your pardon. I should not ask. We have days of trials yet.”
They were interrupted by the arrival of Aunt Lewiston and her daughters. “Is this our conveyance, Beatrice? Well, girls, up you go and take a seat. Use your parasols to shade your complexions.” She gave Beatrice a smile that was closer to a baring of the teeth. “We are happy to wait while you encourage all of the competitors, dear Beatrice.” Her expression as she turned her gaze on Mr. Redhaven was closer to a glare.
Mr. Redhaven seemed to find it amusing but managed to change a bark of laughter into a cough.
Bea admonished him with a frown and obediently went to speak with the other riders.
*
Today’s steeplechase wasone of the trials. Lord Claddach had told them so last night, after dinner, and several of the men had hurried down to the stables straight away, anxious to pick the best horses. Alaric left them to it. He had dropped by the stables before dinner to take another futile look at the clock, and hadfallen into conversation with the stable master, who turned out to be Colyn’s uncle.
He’d been given a private tour of the stables, which were admirable. Clean, spacious, organized, and all the horses in magnificent condition. The stable master must have been pleased with his compliments, for when they came to Dhone, the big bay he was currently astride, the man had said, “I’ll reserve this fellow for you for tomorrow’s steeplechase, Mr. Redhaven. He has a steady temperament and great heart. He’ll do you proud.”
Alaric had almost refused. A steeplechase? When he hadn’t ridden since Brazil and was still recovering from the shipwreck? But what if it was a trial. Though he had been given the right of refusal, stubbornness perhaps, or maybe an unwillingness to give in to a weakened condition, made him say, “Thank you,” instead. Just as well, as it turned out, for after dinner, Claddach confirmed it was a trial, and he might have lost his choice. Not that Claddach had any slugs in his stables. All the men were well-mounted, and they were currently comparing horses.
