Page 12 of The Butterfly
“Would you read it to me? I’ve always thought your voice is perfect for telling stories, Niall.”
His throat clenched, and his mind did battle over which emotion to dwell upon—flattery that she’d ever given any thought to the sound of his voice, and dismay that she had attempted to hand him a book and ask him to read it.
Did she not know that stable grooms had no reason to learn to read or write? That he had been born for one purpose—to breed and care for her stepfather’s horses, and eventually, Adam’s horses, until the day he grew too old to continue?
Tearing his gaze from the book, he glanced up at her, his lips parting but no words coming forth. The guilelessness of her stare told him that she did not know … ofcourseshe could not have known. She was still young, sheltered, and had not fully grasped the differences between the two young men she had dubbed her ‘knights’. It would never occur to her that one of her chosen defenders was an illiterate simpleton.
For some reason, being unable to identify strings of letters brought him a shame he’d never known, and he leapt away from her as if she’d burned him.
“Niall?”
Ignoring her, he stalked toward his pile of clothes, leaving his apple to roll down the embankment. It did not matter that he was barely dry, or that Adam now watched him with both understanding and regret in his eyes. His friend knew what Olivia did not, but understood better than to speak of it. Not now, while Niall yanked his shirt back on, his heart hammering as the desire to flee overtook his entire body.
Coming to her feet, Olivia clutched her precious book against her chest. “Niall, what’s wrong?”
“I have’ta go,” he muttered, scooping up his shoes without bothering to put them on.
Then, he stormed off through the trees, putting Olivia and her damned book behind him as fast as he could. Guilt assailed him at the sound of her calling out to him, but he did not turn back. To his relief, Adam urged her to let him go, allowing him to retreat with what was left of his dignity. He jerked on the rest of his clothes as he went, slipping his feet into his shoes and pulling his braces back over his shoulders.
For so long, he had not understood why his father had harped on and on about the importance of remembering one’s place. Conall had never let him forget that even if the earl’s son befriended him, he would never be anything but the lowborn stable boy whose highest aspiration could only ever be that of Stablemaster. Now, he understood. For the first time in his life, he finally grasped what his father had meant when he’d told Niall that fine things weren’t to be touched by him, that he was not to aspire to stand head and shoulders with his betters. How could he, when he could not even read or write?
Fortunately, he had been gone long enough that when he opened the door of the cottage, he found his da passed out before the fire, the bottle resting empty on the floor beside his chair. His maw had probably retired for the night. Ignoring Conall’s heavy snores, Niall retreated to his room and fell into bed. He hid his head beneath his pillow and attempted to forget the shame of being found lacking by the one person who had always thought of him as good, brave, and smart. The loss of such regard would hurt him far more than any beating his da had ever given.
Humiliation could not keep him hidden for long. Inevitably, the sun rose, forcing him to emerge and go about his duties. He refused breakfast, his stomach too twisted up in knots for him to endure a single bite. He chose to begin his day’s work early, even arriving at the stables before his da.
It was there Adam found him an hour after sunrise, pulling Cally out of her stall to lead her into one of several paddocks for an hour of exercise.
“Niall,” his friend called out, leaning against the wooden fence, watching him with eyes far too perceptive. “She didn’t know.”
He could only nod, still too ashamed to speak.
“She felt awful about it,” Adam added. “So awful, she cried after you left.”
He flinched, just the thought striking him like the lash of a whip. “Tell her it’s all right. I know she didnae understand.”
“Tell her yourself,” his friend countered. “She’ll be waiting for you in the schoolroom after you finish your duties.”
“I cannae,” he protested, his guilt not quite enough to blot out the disgrace weighing so heavily upon him. “Too much to do.”
“That’s a load of shite, and you know it,” Adam snapped. “You’ll come and make her feel better about it, or I’ll pound you into the dirt.”
Niall glared up at Adam, nostrils flaring. The two had come to blows on more than one occasion, the overabundance of masculine energy coursing through the veins of men so young making it difficult to keep their tempers under control at times. It always ended with lots of laughing and pained groans as they swiped the blood from their noses and chins and returned to being the best of friends. But, they had never fought over Olivia before. As badly as Niall felt about it, he might just stand there and let Adam pummel him. Perhaps that would chase away the pain he felt at knowing he’d made her cry.
Instead of meeting the challenge with one of his own, he grunted, then turned his attention back to Cally, who had grown restless. Taking this as acceptance, Adam left him alone, retreating back into the house.
Throughout the day, Niall found himself unable to focus fully on his work, his gaze straying to the windows he knew encompassed the floor Olivia occupied. Her bedroom sat just down the corridor from the nursery and schoolroom, where she would wait for him at day’s end. Could he face her after the events of yesterday?
As it turned out, he could. Once he had completed his duties, as well as his chores, he could not have stayed away. Sneaking in through a servants’ entrance, he made his way to the schoolroom, his shaking hands clenched tight at his sides. Of course he could face her. He had no choice. If Olivia wanted something, he would give it. No force on Earth, not even his own pride, could have stopped him.
He paused in the open doorway, and found her pacing before a large, blank slate board. Hands clenched behind her back, she appeared older than her years just now, brow furrowed, mouth pinched, hair pulled into a severe knot. If he did not know her, he might think he had stumbled upon a governess awaiting her pupil.
“Livvie,” he said, calling her attention to him.
She gazed up with wide eyes, her mouth falling open at the sight of him. For a moment, she seemed shocked that he had come, which he found amusing. She was so oblivious of the power she held over him, of how easily she could have anything she wanted if only she would ask.
“Niall,” she whispered, her lips twitching with the ghost of a smile. “I was not certain you would come.”
He leaned against the door frame, watching as she began to approach, hands now folded demurely before her. “Adam said ye were upset, so I came t’ apologize. I didnae mean—”
