EVENING RIDE
Broderick went to the armory. Fergall was busy mending swords. Broderick tried to talk over the hammering and the hiss of steam on metal, but after a few moments, he gave up.
I'll come back tomorrow.
He felt as if hornets were stinging him – the situation with Amabel made him miserable, and the more miserable, the more restless he felt. The more restless he was, the more he snapped at people and the more isolated he felt. It was a state that could only get worse.
He went to the stables to go for a ride. When he got there, there were only a few horses remaining, and two sleepy stable hands. He remembered why – Duncan and Blaine and half the men-at-arms had gone out.
Shite! He almost swore aloud, but the thought of the reaction of the stable boy stayed his tongue. Not that he would shock them. They probably swear worse than him, he thought ruefully. The castle manners had caught on fast, and he surprised himself with his genteel ways.
“The men said when they would return?”
“Lord?”
“He want tae ken, when're they comin' back?” the other lad explained carefully.
“Oh. They said late, milord.”
“Oh.” Broderick bit his lip. He had hoped Duncan would be back soon. If anyone would know how to amend his situation, it would be him. Duncan might be younger, but he had a good heart and he was by far the more sensible of the two of them. At least, over the years and all the scrapes they had gotten into together, it had been Duncan who had made a plan to get them out of it each time.
“Will milord be back before dark?”
“Yes,” Broderick said briefly. “Thanks.”
The little boys stared at him as if they never heard the word before. Probably hadn't, Broderick thought sadly as he rode away. He decided to slip each of them a little something – a few coins, a slice of bread, anything really – when he returned, if they were still working. Those boys, for all their humble beginnings, could be tomorrow's knights.
He dug his knees in and nudged his horse to a trot. Together, they rode out across the darkening landscape.
The ride helped to clear his head. Clinging on and focusing on the ride, on the terrain, on avoiding the trees as they sped on into the woodlands, took his mind from his worries. He could smell the high, fresh air and his head slowly cleared, back slick with sweat.
Eventually, he reached the end of the path. He considered going on ahead, but it was dangerous. He had never been in these woods, and he was not with Blaine or any of the local men who had been. He did not know the way. Forests were easy to get lost in.
He turned around. He was riding along, slowing the pace, when he started to think about Amabel again. What did I do? He could not fathom it. He had failed her, he knew. But why did she find him so repulsive now?
She didn't even want him to touch her. She went all stiff. Sat opposite. Hardly talked at all.
He shook his head. He wished he could talk to Aisling about it. Aisling.
As he remembered her, he remembered his revenge. He was here for that. And soon they would ride. They would take the fortress. Disarm them.
The Bradley family would never raid again.
He would take revenge.
He rode back to the castle, feeling his head clearer than it had been all day.
As he rode, he heard the sound of horses approaching. No. One horse. He tensed. A lone rider? In these woods?
He listened. The rider, whoever it was, was riding a lighter horse. A hunting-stallion, perhaps, not one of the big Clydesdale horse the troops rode, or the massively-strong destriers of the knights.
He waited. The rider came closer. As they came closer, he heard them talking.
“...and then we'll go far away. And we'll live in a castle, so we will. And you will sleep in a fine bed, with lots of hay and run every morning with the others.”
He frowned. The person was talking to their horse?
“Yes, you will. And I will live upstairs. And I'll come and see you every afternoon. And we'll ride every week, so we will. I promise.”
He watched the forest where the voice echoed. It was a light voice, more like a young person. Or a woman.
He was staring, his mind only half catching up, when she rode into the clearing. Amabel.
She was wearing a long green velvet cape, the hood falling so that her red hair glinted in the light. All he could see from here was the tip of her pointed nose and the glisten of her teeth. As he waited in shadow, she turned. She stared at him.
Her blue eyes widened, in shock, perhaps. Her moist, pink lips parted. She gasped. Then she recognized him.
“Oh,” she said, sitting back upright and smoothing her hand down her dress. She rode side-saddle, her saddle one of the latest design, French, if he were to guess, the saddle-horn high so it could be held while she rode, though he noticed that she barely touched it, having excellent balance.
“Lady Amabel.” He inclined his head deeply, throwing back his own hood.
“Husband.”
The two of them stared at each other. He could feel raw longing in his body, eating at him. He wanted to dismount and run to her, to grab her and pull her off the saddle and hold her tightly.
“You are out late,” she commented. “I thought they went for a shorter ride.”
“My brother and his party left before I met you in the garden,” he explained.
“Oh.”
Say something, he begged. He was not sure of whom he wished it.
“You are enjoying your ride, Amabel?”
“Yes,” she said. She swallowed, uncomfortably. “I ride often. Once a week. It calms me.”
“You talk to your horse,” he said, remembering.
“Yes.” She blushed and looked down. “If it upsets you, I will desist. It is a silly habit, isn't it?”
She sounded bitter, as if she expected his criticism. He frowned. “No, my lady, I do not find it thus. Many soldiers, many knights, speak to their horses. I believe they understand. The sense if not the words. A bond between a horse and a man is important. It can save your life, to know and trust your horse. I do not laugh.”
She smiled, then. He felt his breath catch in his throat. He had ridden alongside her, almost without realizing it. He was so close his knee brushed hers. He heard a gasp.
“Apologies, my lady.” His voice was raw. He swallowed hard, hating himself for it. “I was... distracted.”
“Oh,” she said in a small, tight voice.
“Thank you for your... advice,” he added gravely. He did not want to offend her. He was on dangerously thin ice. He could not make a miscalculation.
“Advice?” She was looking up at him with blue-gray eyes and they were wet. She was crying. He almost groaned as he saw her lower lip tremble. Those pouted pink lips ached for kissing. Even though the situation was grave, he was aroused nonetheless.
“About the man-at-arms. Armorer,” he corrected quickly. He did not want her to think him stupid!
“Oh,” she replied. Again, that tight little voice. What had he done now?
“He was busy,” he explained. “But I will go back tomorrow. He is just the person I need.”
“Oh,” she said. “Well. I hope he will be adequate assistance.”
“I am sure he will.”
They rode on in silence. As they did, he fought to control his urge.
“You will leave soon?” she asked carefully.
He blinked. He tore his mind away from thoughts of holding her, crushing her to him, taking that sweet body slowly, gently, with every care. “Yes.” His voice was harsh, and he cleared his throat hastily. “Within the week.”
“Oh,” she said. “You look forward to it?”
“I look forward to vengeance, my lady.” He had not meant himself to sound so intense, but the words ground out with peculiar satisfaction. “I have hungered for years for this. For revenge.”
“And my great-uncle lends you arms,” she said.
“Yes,” Broderick agreed. “He is a great help to me.”
“You must be glad, then,” she said, and when she looked up, her eyes were flaming, tears running, “to have married so advantageously.”
He realized then, what he had said. Realized that he had just dug himself into the worst position.
“Yes,” he said quickly. “It is kind of your uncle to have helped me. But...” he paused. “But that is not the only reason I am glad.”
“I am sure,” she said icily. Before he knew what to say, she had trotted ahead.
“I seek vengeance, my lady!” he called after her. “I have lived for it for many years. You must understand.”
She said nothing. Left in the forest behind her retreating back, Broderick could only wait and wish he did not feel so much, and hope that anyone who rode past would not notice his own tears.