Page 19 of Taming the Earl (The Earls of the North #3)

A fter days of unseasonal sunshine, the day that meant so much to Morwenna was drab, grey and oppressive. The morning mist refused to lift from the lower paddocks, cloaking the distant trees and trapping the usual daytime sounds in its eerie fronds. Morwenna found it strange to work without the familiar backdrop of birdsong and the hum of activity from the castle grounds. Fauvel, however, was unperturbed.

She haltered him, groomed him, inspected his hooves and pulled his mane free of tangles. Throughout it all, he stood stoically, resting one back foot and blowing gently through his nose.

“You’re ready,” she told him, shivering a little in her green liveried tunic and wishing she had thought to bring a cloak.

She cast an eye towards the incline leading from the stable yard. At any moment she’d been expecting to look up to see Angus striding towards her, but so far there was no sign of him. She ignored the tug of disappointment. Mayhap he had other matters to attend to, especially after a day playing truant yesterday.

“What does an earl do all day, anyway?” she asked Fauvel, who showed little interest in the question.

She rested a hand on the horse’s shoulder. He was warm, despite the mist, but she could not leave him standing here much longer. Soon he would grow impatient, and her chance of riding him successfully would diminish.

“Will you let me ride you, Fauvel?” she murmured, patting his neck.

His ears flicked backwards, listening, thinking.

“Is that a yes?”

She moved to his head and placed her palms at either side of it. Exhaling heavily, he leaned into her belly and half closed his eyes. She bent at the waist and planted a kiss between his ears.

“Thank you.”

She had already brought tack up to the paddock and placed it in the shelter. In a matter of minutes, she had carefully placed a saddle on Fauvel’s back and adjusted the girth. Next came the bridle, which she had to stand on tiptoes to get over his ears.

“You’re a beauty,” she told him, standing back to admire the handsome horse in his gleaming tack. What a shame there was no one else here to show him off to. Then again, the last thing she wanted was an audience.

Unless it was an audience of just one man.

She bit down on her lip, pushing all thoughts of Angus away. She had no cause to doubt him. He had never let her down. And in truth, she had not been overly taken with his desire to watch her ride Fauvel. Mayhap Angus had picked up on that and stayed away? Oft-times now he had displayed surprising sensitivity, especially for an earl.

She couldn’t help a smile as her mind conjured images from the night before. Aye, he had been sensitive indeed. Kind and thoughtful of her needs, despite his taut muscles and obvious strength. He had held back to ensure she took her pleasure first. A gentleman in every sense of the word.

Fauvel’s ears flicked back, as if sensing her wayward thoughts, and Morwenna pulled herself back to the present.

“You’re right,” she told him soothingly. “One man at a time. I shall concentrate on you.”

There was no mounting block out here in the paddocks, so Morwenna led Fauvel over to the fence, banishing the memory of how just yesterday she had done the same with the grey horse before galloping across the meadow with Angus in hot pursuit. Before then, they had spent so little time in one another’s company, but now, somehow, she missed him.

Fauvel tensed as if realising both her intentions and her wandering attention. This would never do. Morwenna got a fierce grip on her emotions and took the reins in her hand. She clambered to the highest rung of the fence and balanced against Fauvel’s withers. The horse’s back was still some inches above her. Not for the first time, she wished she were taller.

Morwenna put the toe of her boot into the stirrup and lightly sprung into the saddle. The horse gathered his powerful hindquarters beneath her and threatened to rear, but she soothed him with her voice and her thoughts. Projecting calmness and quiet, scarcely moving her hands on the reins.

Fauvel snorted and swung his head up and down. This was make or break time. He would either toss her from the saddle, or accept her mastery of him.

Morwenna took charge, wrapping her legs around his belly and squeezing until he moved off into a slow, reluctant trot. She shortened the reins and forced him into a tight circle. Round and round they went, until she felt him become restless again. Then she motioned for him to trot in the opposite direction. Gradually, Fauvel’s demeanour relaxed. He dropped his head and pricked his ears, listening to her instructions. At the head of the next circle, she urged him into a canter, breaking into a smile when he acquiesced without any hesitation.

Fauvel’s stride was long, balanced and flowing. He would make the perfect charger for Angus.

She had done it.

“We have done it,” she corrected herself, reaching down to pat Fauvel’s neck as she slowed him back to a walk. They had both learned to trust again.

A smattering of applause rippled through the heavy mist, startling both her and the horse who shied to one side.

“Steady,” she murmured.

Fauvel recovered his stride and Morwenna exhaled with relief. She strained her eyes to see who was watching them, but the fog was too dense.

It must be Angus, though she would have thought better of him than to applaud like that without any warning. He must have known a sudden noise exploding through the mist would alarm even the steadiest of horses.

“Wonderful, truly wonderful,” a refined female voice spoke through the grey haze.

Morwenna felt her heart tense, as if she had been doused with cold water. Fauvel sensed the change in her mood and became instantly fearful; halting in alarm with his body rigid and his head high.

“You’re alright,” she told him, soothingly. Although it was the last thing she felt.

Two figures stepped forwards. One of them tall and broad, unmistakably Angus. The other was a woman dressed in a fine cloak of sapphire blue. Morwenna could see no more from this distance. What was it about a woman in a blue cloak that could make her heart hammer so in her chest?

Still speaking words of reassurance to the horse, Morwenna dismounted, dropping on heavy feet to the ground which turned out to be surprisingly far away.

Oh, how she would love to press her face against Fauvel’s warm shoulder and ignore the sharp pull of reality, for she already knew this woman was bad news.

Fortune’s wheel never stops turning.

She pulled up her stirrups, loosened the girth and urged Fauvel to walk closer to the shelter. If she could have busied herself longer with mundane activities, she would have.

Angus cleared his throat. “Congratulations, Morwenna. That was an impressive display of horsemanship.”

“A display which still continues,” the woman added, opening her arms disarmingly. “See how the wild horse is entirely in your control.”

Morwenna found her voice. “He is not wild. And he is only in my control for as long as he chooses to trust me.”

There was an awkward silence. Now that they were closer, Morwenna could make out a strain across Angus’s open features; frown lines at his brow and an anxious light shining from those piercing eyes. His companion stood an entire head taller than Morwenna. She had blonde hair which framed her face with ringlets, and eyes a deeper shade of blue than even her sumptuous cloak.

“Lady Emelia Foxton,” she introduced herself with a gracious smile. “I was the one to send the horse to the earl.”

Morwenna’s gaze skittered to Angus. “Your friend?”

Angus nodded. “Emelia, may I introduce Miss Morwenna of Em…,” he froze mid-sentence. “Morwenna has trained the horse, made him rideable,” he concluded lamely.

“So I have seen.” Lady Emelia gave a tinkling laugh like a peal of bells. “You have done an excellent job,” she said to Morwenna with real feeling.

“Thank you.”

Morwenna couldn’t pinpoint what it was about Lady Emelia which put her so on edge. The woman was polite and spoke with true warmth in her voice. She radiated neither hostility nor disinterest, and despite the rich fur on her hood, she conversed with Morwenna quite readily, putting on no false airs.

Still, something about her sent tingles racing up her spine.

“You have, Morwenna. Truly magnificent,” Angus added, gazing down at her in something like desperation.

“Thank you,” Morwenna said again. She began to feel a little desperate herself. “May I?” She indicated the shelter.

“Of course.” Angus stepped back and motioned for Lady Emelia to do the same. Morwenna couldn’t help but notice how her gloved hand caught at his elbow.

She led Fauvel over to the fence and looped his reins over a post, then worked quickly to remove his saddle before the tension growing in her belly should communicate itself further to him. All the while, she murmured to him gently, pretending her insides were not writhing like a basket full of snakes.

She offered him half an apple and when he lowered his head, she lifted the bridle over his ears, sending up thanks that her actions still managed to be smooth and swift, despite her newly trembling fingers.

“Allow me.” Angus stepped forward quickly to take the bridle from her. She flinched as his warm hands closed over her own.

Morwenna patted Fauvel’s shoulder. “You can go now,” she told him, although she longed for him to stay.

The horse exhaled heavily and moved away, though after a few strides he flicked up his tail and broke into a joyful canter.

“A transformation,” Lady Emelia remarked. She smiled again at Morwenna before switching her gaze to Angus. “And so, dear Angus, you have completed my final challenge.”

Morwenna watched as his eyes widened in alarm. His voice, however, was smooth and calm. “Your final challenge, Emelia? Forsooth, the days will grow dull without them.”

“Oh, I doubt that, very much.” Her gloved hand again tapped at his elbow. “I’m sure you recall that the stakes for this particular challenge were high indeed?”

Angus nodded mutely, his lips pressed together.

He doesn’t want me to hear this , realised Morwenna.

She spoke up, her voice high and wavering. “What were the stakes?”

Lady Emelia’s cheeks tinged with pink and she gave another tinkling laugh. “Well, I hardly like to say, although considering you played such a part in helping the earl succeed, perchance it is only right you should know what, exactly, he has won.” She nudged at Angus as if asking him to speak up on her behalf.

The earl’s face had turned ashen. “Something so long ago discussed, that I fancy it had become almost entirely theoretical between us.”

“You’re right,” Lady Emelia mused. “In truth, dear Angus, it was something that my younger self rebelled against.”

He took a breath as if to say something significant, but then his eyes met Morwenna’s and he froze once again.

Morwenna now felt strangely calm. The crisis, whatever it was, was coming, whatever she now said or did.

“I most likely owe you an apology. Any number of them. The lute, I fear, was impertinent.” Lady Emelia smiled up at Angus. “And then the horse.” She gestured towards Fauvel and her voice dropped. “I didn’t know the circumstances of Lucan’s death when I arranged for the horse to be sent to Wolvesley. It was a terrible misstep.” She shook her head, pursing her lips together. “But e’en before I learned what had happened, I felt sure you would refuse.”

“Mayhap I should have refused.” Angus sounded as if someone were strangling him.

Morwenna looked from Angus to Lady Emelia. The wispy mist lent an air of unreality to the unfolding scene. “What were the stakes?” she asked again.

Lady Emelia looked expectantly at Angus, as did Morwenna.

His face was now as grey as the fog, but his voice regained its steadiness. “Lady Emelia wagered our wedding date on my ability to master the unrideable horse.”

Morwenna’s heart plunged into a lake of ice, but she was not entirely sure she had heard correctly. Her head swam. “Your wedding date?”

“Angus and I have been betrothed for many years. Since we were so high.” Lady Emelia flattened her palm and held it below shoulder height, smiling at Morwenna to ensure she understood.

Morwenna understood. As if in slow motion, her memories of the strange conversation she’d had with Molly and Isaac shifted into a new and terrible light.

There’s no sign of a new countess coming any time soon.

’Twas not the case that the earl had no interest in courting, as she had assumed. It was that he was already spoken for.

“A contract drawn up between my brother Lucan and Lady Emelia’s late father,” Angus interjected shakily. “We had no say in the matter.”

“None,” Lady Emelia agreed, a smile on her lips. “And so, Miss Morwenna, I have been testing his lordship’s determination to see the contract through with a series of challenges.”

“Challenges,” Morwenna repeated. Her lips were dry. She recalled that first conversation with Angus in the stablemaster’s room.

“I’ve been set a challenge, and it is very important I succeed.”

All at once the full meaning of those words reached her. She gasped as if for breath, fearing she might topple to the ground. Angus loomed out of the mist towards her, placing a large hand on her shoulder. A hand which just minutes earlier might have offered comfort.

“Morwenna, are you well?”

She shook his hand away and lifted her chin. Never had she needed her grandmother’s strength and wisdom more.

“That is why you needed me to tame the horse?” She fixed Angus with a steely stare.

He nodded. “That is why I first summoned you to Wolvesley. It is not why I asked you to stay,” he added through clenched teeth.

Morwenna gave a little shake of her head to show how disinterested she was in any such explanations.

“I am pleased to have helped you answer your challenge.”

Angus flinched as if her words had wounded him. Lady Emelia raised her blonde eyebrows a notch.

“You really have done a magnificent job,” she murmured. “I felt sure you would admit defeat on this occasion.” She inclined her head towards Angus, who looked utterly stricken.

“I am sure the Earl of Wolvesley will succeed at whatever he sets his mind to,” Morwenna said bitingly, uncaring of the look of surprise passing over Lady Emelia’s lovely face. “I wish you both a good day.”

She nodded to both in turn, resisting the urge to dip into an elaborate curtsy– and resisting a stronger urge to slap the Earl of Wolvesley across his lightly stubbled cheek.

He was betrothed.

To a beautiful wealthy woman.

She, Morwenna, had believed his words of affection. She’d placed her trust in the instinctive connection between them. She had taken him to her bed. And all the while, he’d been betrothed .

Even in her rage, she acknowledged that he had never lied to her, not explicitly. But his actions had always implied that their relationship meant something to him. He had allowed her to believe in the possibility of more .

Albeit, that tantalising prospect had never been properly spelled out.

Her cheeks burned with a mixture of shame and rage as her feet pounded up the rabbit path and she crested the hill.

He was betrothed.

And she had helped him win the challenge that would see his wedding date named.

Nay, she had not helped him. She had delivered his victory.

“I want you to be mine, and I want everyone to know it.”

The memory of his fine words in her room last night made her skin flush pink. Not with embarrassment, but with a red-hot rage.

He had seduced her. He an earl, and she an impoverished village girl.

She should have known better. She had seen off more than one unwanted advance from uncouth youths in the past. Youths who saw her unprotected status and thought nothing of pushing their advantage. The difference, she realised, stumbling to a halt, was that she hadn’t wanted to stop him. On the contrary, she’d been longing for his touch and his kiss for endless days.

Tears blurred her vision as she turned into the stable yard, her booted feet readily finding their way over the familiar cobbles.

“Morwenna?” A light touch on her arm made her startle. “What ails you?”

She knew even without turning her head that it was Gerrault. The very last person she wanted to see right now.

Or was he?

She lifted her tear-stained cheeks and heard him gasp in surprise.

“Gerrault.” She choked back a sob, noting how his grey eyes had clouded at her visible distress. He was a kind soul.

Not a man who would ever lie and deceive.

“Tell me what has happened?” he urged.

She clutched at his sleeve, anchoring herself to him. He was wearing a clean shirt and pale breeches, not his usual groom’s livery.

“Why are you dressed like that?”

He glanced down. “Sir Henry has given me the afternoon off.”

An idea began to form in Morwenna’s muddled mind. She sniffed in a most unladylike fashion as her tears cleared and the cobbled yard came into clearer focus. “Do you have plans?”

He shook his head. “Nay. The plans I did have were cancelled. Sir Henry thinks that heavy weather is on the way.”

Morwenna pushed back her shoulders and lifted her chin, meeting his anxious gaze. “Then will you help me?”