Page 16 of Once Upon a Winter's Tale
“No, if you don’t mind my following you,” Albert said. “Major is the name of the horse, correct?”
“Thank you, Miss Brianna,” George said. “Yes, Your Grace ’e’s m’horse. Please pardon my interruption, but Major is very important to me. It’s the last gift my da gave me before ’e died.”
Brianna turned to Jane. “You can stay here if you’d like, Jane. I know how you feel about these things,” she said, grinning.
“Yes, miss. Thank you,” the maid said, with an obvious look of relief.
“I’ve got just the thing for your tea,” Mrs. Crustin said, bringing over a hot cinnamon roll.
Brianna lifted her chin and closed her eyes, drawing in the delicious scent. “If I don’t leave now, I will find myself a stone heavier before I return home.”
Albert laughed. Most women he knew didn’t make jokes about their person in front of a man. They didn’t joke at all. They spoke of the weather and fripperies.
He, Brianna, and George walked across the street to the stable, where they found a gelding lying down, whimpering in the corner of his stall.
Brianna took off her hat and handed it to Albert. “Can you hold this? Sometimes the horses nibble on the hat while I’m working,” she said with a laugh, before turning her attention to the horse’s right foreleg.
“He slipped, and it rolled under him. I’m just praying it’s not broken,” George said.
She carefully fingered the swollen hock and fetlock joints. “I think nothing is broken, but he strained his tendons. It feels swollen, just like the joints.” She looked up at him. “You’re going to have to rest Major, longer this time. Do you have some cloth to wrap the leg? And the balm I left here.” She turned to Albert. “This shouldn’t take much time, Your Grace.”
George brought back the corked salve bottle and the clothes she’d asked for and handed them to Brianna. She pulled the big cork stopper and held the concoction to her small nose. It immediately wrinkled from the string of aromatic scents escaping the container. “Woo! I’d say that’s still fresh. My stars!” she declared, as she quickly resealed the bottle.
Albert watched Brianna gently massage the horse’s swollen joints with salve, wincing at the smell. Then she carefully placed splints on the lower leg and wrapped them.
“It might be good to pack it with some snow. The cold will help shrink some of the swelling. We should take advantage of it.”
George hopped up and grabbed a bucket. “I’ll be right back, Miss Brianna,” he said, tearing out the door into the weather and returning a few minutes later with the bucket flowing over with fresh snow.
“This will help so much,” she said, dipping her hands in the snow and patting it around the horse’s leg. She packed as much as she could, blowing on her hands to warm them in between applications of snow. When she had finished, she wrapped a towel around the leg, securing it with small pieces of rope. “As long as there is snow out there, keep doing this for a few hours, then you can stop. Major strained the muscles and will need to rest them until the swelling goes away. Change the wrap every few days and use the balm on the joints. He needs about six weeks of rest. The injury might have been worse.”
“Thank ye, Miss Brianna,” George gushed. “I was so afraid I’d ’ave to put ’im down. But you’ve given him back to me.”
“You give me too much credit, George. Major needs a little rest. That’s all,” she said, kissing the horse on the nose. Then she turned to Albert. “Are we ready to explore the village?”
“I am. Shall we be on our way?”
*
Brianna had enjoyedthis trip to the village more than any she had ever recalled, as the duke insisted on being introduced to every shop owner in town. They didn’t stay but minutes, but it was enough to earn smiles from everyone.
Not only is he the most handsome man I’ve ever seen, but he is probably the very nicest,she thought.
She made introductions to each of the small establishments that dotted High Street, the main street in the town. It had been a boon that the snow stopped when they arrived. Mr. Crustin predicted it would start again in a few hours, basing that on years past.
They had visited the businesses on the same side of High Street as the stable and were now making their way back to the bakery where Jane had been last.
They found their destination. It was an older building with the nameLibraire F. Stackall: Proprietorin large letters, edged in fading gold leaf.
“I think there’s just one more place to go,” he said, taking her arm and turning an ornate knob to enter. The twinkling of a small brass bell attached to the top of the door announced them. Tomes covered every inch of the business—knowledge just beckoning to be read.
“No, no, no, Elijah! Shakespeare’s books don’t belong in the astronomy section,” an old man chided his apprentice.
The young man seemed unperturbed by the old man’s rant. He simply retrieved the books in question and returned them to the proper shelf.
“Oh, Miss Brianna,” the old man said. “It’s wonderful to see you.”
“Mr. Stackall, this is the Duke of Kendall,” Brianna said.
