Page 17 of The Trials of Alaric
“You got the big bay!” Versey commented to Alaric, admiringly. “I asked for him last night, but the stable master said he was not available. You sly dog!”
“He is not as fine as Lochinvar here,” Beverley claimed, then his participation in the conversation was halted because his mount objected to the proximity of the other horses. He tried to take a bite out of Dashwood’s chestnut and did his best to unseat Beverley when he curbed the attempt. To give Beverley credit, the horse’s efforts failed.
“He’s going to have trouble with that one,” Fairweather predicted.
Beverley was riding in circles around the courtyard. “He will settle once we are away,” he assured anyone who cared to listen.
Perhaps. The stablemaster had warned Alaric against Beverley’s horse yesterday evening. “Lord Claddach can ride him, sir, but he’ll unhorse anyone else.”Did Beverley ignore the advice or was he not told?Alaric had already noticed that none of the servants liked the young viscount.
The men were all mounted, and all the young ladies were in the shooting brake with a groom at the reins and Lady Joan as chaperone. “Lord Claddach will meet us at the market square, my lords and gentlemen,” said Maddrell.
“Why didn’t you say so before?” Beverley demanded, and without a further word, he wheeled his horse and headed off down the carriageway.
“Papa will not start until we all arrive,” Lady Beatrice commented.
“What of Mama and the other parents?” Dashwood wondered.
“Their carriages were leaving from the front of the house as we came out,” Lady Joan informed him.
“Then lead on, Lady Beatrice,” said Versey, touching his whip to his top hat, and the men formed up around the shooting brake, so it progressed down the carriage way with a guard of honor.
The town was clustered around a harbor on the opposite side of the castle from the beach where Alaric had washed up. The castle crowned the top of the bluff between the harbor and the beach, and a wall winding around the hill halfway up marked the extent of the castle’s park.
On the town side, buildings sprawled up the hill as far as the wall, but the town square was across the bridge at the bottom of the hill. As the cavalcade passed the gatehouse, Alaric could see Beverley crossing the bridge. Even from this distance, it was obvious his horse had not settled.
Nor was it any calmer when they arrived in the square. Indeed, both horse and rider were agitated—the one dancing on the spot and the other casting baleful glances at the other riders and longing looks at one of the streets from the square. The crowd that had gathered to watch the start of the race was giving them a wide berth.
The other riders, Alaric among them, rode to the corner of the square where Beverley waited, and Looby’s dance became more frantic.
From his raised platform in the middle of the square, Lord Claddach lifted his hands, palms out. Everyone—riders, townsfolk, castle guests—stopped talking to listen to what he had to say.
“Gentlemen, the street you will take out of town has been cleared for the start of the race. You have all been given maps of the island, and you know the rules. You must check in with a race steward at each church on the island. You are free to make your own route once you reach the town boundaries. Be courteous to my people and respectful of their lands and livelihood. I warn you, the first rider back may not be the race winner if they lose points by breaking any of the rules. Good luck to you all.”
He nodded to the man who stood beside him, arm raised with a flag in his hand.
“At the drop of the flag, the race starts,” Claddach declared.
The flag dropped. Several of the riders left at a gallop. Looby danced in a complete circle before taking off after them. Alaric and Versey held their own horses to a trot. They had a long way to go before the day was done.
*
The others werestill in sight, leaving the church as Alaric and Versey rode into the first village. The man who must have beenthe race steward waited at the lychgate of the church and gave them each a soft leather bag and a numbered disk. “The bag can go in a pocket or be tied to your belt, sirs. Put the disks you collect at each church into the bag and present it to the race steward in the square at the end of the race. Also, if I might have your names, please.”
It was the same at the next village, except the other riders must have chosen a different path, for the race steward told them they were the first to claim a disc from him. After that, they went cross-country down a ride away from the road, leaping hedges and a couple of streams. Dhone took the obstacles in his stride, as did Versey’s mount.
At the fourth village, they paused to let the horses take a drink from a trough outside a tavern, and the proprietor brought them each an ale. “On the house, gentlemen,” he told them, when Alaric tried to wave his away. He accepted it with thanks, feeling his lack of money keenly.
From that village, their planned route would have taken them through fields of hay ready for harvest. After a moment’s consultation with the farmer who happened to be on the path—and the realization they’d interrupt the haying process and perhaps damage the crops—they changed direction for a different village.
Maddrell and Whittington arrived at the next church at the same time as they did. They were participating in the steeplechase, even though they had made it clear in the dining room they were not suitors for Lady Beatrice’s hand. Alaric wondered if they were there as observers to report back on the suitors. It would not surprise him.
“Have you seen the others?” Versey wondered.
“We lost sight of Beverley and Fairweather after the first church,” Maddrell said. “The others went a different way.” His voice was heavy with disapproval.
“Through the hay,” Whittington explained. “Not good form.”
The village was on the slope of a hill, and the road to the next led over the crown, where the ladies in the shooting brake were waiting. Alaric and Versey reined in for long enough to exchange greetings and to admire the view from the lookout they had chosen. They could see Maddrell and Whittington on their way to the next village in the valley they had just left—one that Alaric planned to visit as he came back around the island. Down in the next valley, two groups of riders galloped through fields, the smaller group some distance ahead.
