A Kestrel Rising (37 page)

“I love you,” he whispered. “Thank you.”

“I couldn’t be anywhere else. I did what you asked and every answer that I found brought me back to you. If it had been possible, I would have been here a long time ago, but there are no ships and we had to fly. If I could’ve swum the Atlantic, I would have done it. These last six months have felt like forever.” She couldn’t take her eyes from his face. “I love you, Francis and I
will
marry you.”

He kissed her again. “Will tomorrow do?”

“Tomorrow?”

“We can go to the County Courthouse right now and pick up our license. What do you think?”

“Yes, I think we’ve been engaged long enough.” The prospect of such an immediate wedding seemed the perfect end to such a long journey.

“I suppose we’d better stop off at Mom and Dad’s first. They’ll be all afire to see the happy couple. You know, I wondered why Dad closed the factory down for the whole week. He told me that, because the war was over, everyone deserved a whole week to celebrate Thanksgiving. I guess we have a lot to be thankful for, don’t we? I know one thing. If you stay here with me any longer, they will know that we’re up to no good.” His hands strayed to her hips. “As tempting as that is, my love, I’d rather wait until tomorrow and carry you across the threshold, because we’ll have the rest of our lives. No more waiting for leave, no more pining, longing, or empty nights.” He touched her face. “Can you imagine it, Ilke, after all these years?”

She shook her head. “I can’t. It seems impossible. It seems unreal. I still can’t believe that I’m here with you, about to spend the rest of my life with you.”

“It’s real.” He took her hand. “And this time tomorrow, we’ll be married. Six years ago I would have never imagined this. I may have wanted it very badly but I never thought it would happen.”

She smiled. “It took a little while, didn’t it?”

“It will be worth the wait, I promise you. We’ve been through a lot, you and me, and now we can finally enjoy the peace.”

“No more war, no more planes, no more waiting.” She closed her eyes as he kissed her knowing that, finally, she had come home.

* * * *

The airfield was still under the cold, frosty light of the moon that glinted on the wings of the planes as they rested on the grass beside the silent and empty runway. The kestrel wheeled down from the night sky and found its roost, settling down to rest, far away from the shifting winds of the moors. It tucked its head beneath one wing and slept as one last ghost flickered and faded away like autumn mist beneath the slowly turning stars.

Also available from Totally Bound Publishing:

Christopher’s Medal

S A Laybourn

Excerpt

Chapter One

“Arse like a fry cook,” Harry declared.

Grace glanced up from the hoof she was examining. “Who’s got an arse like a fry cook?”

“This horse, Boss.”

She straightened up and looked at Harry. He had just finished putting the shark’s tooth quarter-marks on Allonby’s hindquarters and had stepped back to admire his handiwork. Considering that he had probably spent at least three hours in the pub after morning stables, he looked relatively sober. The quarter-marks were perfect and the colt’s coat gleamed like varnished oak, even in the gloom of the saddling enclosure. Grace had learned that Harry could be as pissed as a rat and still turn a horse out to a very high standard.

She smothered a yawn and wished the colt’s owner wasn’t going to be attending. She was glad that it was the General rather than one of the syndicates. He and his wife were much easier to deal with than a group of inebriated bankers or estate agents.

“He does look good, doesn’t he?” A racehorse trainer had once said that a good horse should have ‘the look of eagles’. Grace was pleased to see that Allonby had that look when he lifted his head and surveyed the activity on the lawn beyond the enclosure. His ears were pricked and he stared sharply at something that no human could see. That serene and arrogant gaze gave her goose pimples. She just
knew
she was looking at the winner of the night’s five-furlong sprint.

Grace patted Allonby’s neck and glanced at her watch. “The General should be here soon.”

The paddock quickly filled up with other horses, trainers, grooms and owners, standing in knots on the lawn. Women dressed in summer finery enjoyed the soft warmth of the July evening as they strolled across the lawn. Grace envied them their Pimms and gin and tonics as she took a sip of lukewarm water from her plastic bottle while she searched the crowd for Allonby’s owner. The jockeys were already making their way out of the weighing room and she spotted Billy Riley in the General’s gray and claret colors. Allonby’s owner, guest in tow, also strode across the grass toward her.

Grace allowed herself a relieved smile when Harry handed her the saddle, grateful that the General was one of those owners who stayed out of the saddling enclosure. She hated the owners who lingered in the box, pestering her with questions and talking as if they knew something. Grace tightened the girth and patted the colt on the rump when Harry led him toward the paddock. Allonby walked ‘like a hooker’—another pearl of wisdom. He had a loose, easy swinging stride and, although he was busy looking around, the lead rein remained relaxed and the colt’s ears twitched while he listened to Harry talking calming nonsense. Her father had put a lot of work into the horse and Grace could see why. People stopped to watch him when he ambled past, then look at their race-cards. She wondered what odds he was getting down in the betting ring.

“He looks good, Miss Webb,” Billy observed as they headed toward the owner.

“He does. If you behave yourself, we might win this one.”

The jockey laughed. “Don’t you worry. I’ll save the bad stuff for after—fancy joining me?”

“No thanks. You know me, no stamina these days. Plus, Dad’s up at York tonight so I’m in charge tomorrow.”

“You always have an excuse, Boss.”

“With good reason. Remember the last time we went out? I didn’t stop vomiting for days. You have lousy taste in restaurants, Billy.”

Grace smiled when she approached the General. He was easy to spot in a crowd, with thick white hair and an alarmingly red complexion.

“Hello, Grace.” He took her hand and kissed her cheek. “It’s lovely to see you.”

“It’s lovely to see you, too.”

“I brought a guest, I hope you don’t mind. Mary couldn’t make it. She had a bridge tournament or something like that. Anyway, this is Christopher Beaumont. I served with his father in the army. His family and mine have been friends for years.”

Grace became aware of his companion for the first time, a tall, lanky man with short, brown tousled hair and almond-shaped eyes the color of strong tea. “It’s nice to meet you,” she murmured as he shook her hand.

“It’s nice to meet you, too. I’ve heard a lot about you, Miss Webb.”

“All good things, I hope.” She offered him a smile and took in the neatly pressed chinos and the blue and white striped shirt. His eyes held her, dark and rich with secrets.

My God, he’s beautiful.
How am I supposed to concentrate on a race with this distraction?

His cologne smelled of juniper and lemons and Grace felt like an idiot while she fumbled to retrieve her Assistant Trainer frame of mind. Billy stood at her elbow awaiting her instructions. She turned to him and hoped that no one saw him wink. “Keep him tucked in behind the Godolphin horse,” she told him while they walked across the paddock. “That’s the one you have to watch, but I don’t think I need to tell you that. If there’s still plenty in Allonby at two furlongs out, move him out and let him run. He’s as fit as he’s ever been.”

Another wink. “Yes, Boss.”

Harry turned Allonby in and Grace gave Billy a leg up. She caught a glimpse of the favorite who jigged about, coat darkened by sweat. “It seems,” she said to him, “that the Godolphin horse is a bit worked up. That’s no bad thing.”

Billy grinned. “Don’t worry, Boss. I’m on it. Just put your eyes back in your head and do your be-nice-to-the-owner thing. I don’t think you’ll find it hard tonight, somehow.”

“Am I that obvious?”

“Nah. I just know you, that’s all.” He gathered up the reins and patted the colt on the neck. “See you in the winner’s enclosure.”

Grace stood on the edge of the grass and watched them walk toward the course. Allonby was still calm, still taking everything in. Even in the warmth of the evening, he hadn’t broken into a sweat. He swished his black tail and followed the other horses.

“So, Grace, what do you really think?”

She was unaware that the General had come to stand beside her. “I think he could win. He worked really well last week and ate up afterwards. That’s always a good sign.”

“What does that mean?” Christopher asked. “That he ‘ate up’? Is that important?”

Grace looked at him and felt absurdly pleased that he seemed interested in what she had to say. “When a horse does hard work it takes a lot out of them. Some horses can be a bit picky and they won’t eat afterwards. It’s as if they get too wound up and they won’t settle. Allonby didn’t let his hard work bother him. He ate everything he was given. He’s like that. He’s very laid back, except where it matters.”

Someone strolled past with a huge plastic cup full of Pimms and Grace wanted one. She also wanted a cigarette but resigned herself to waiting until after the race. “We’d better find a place in the stands,” she said absently.

They followed her as she picked her way along the front of the stands. She kept her eye on Allonby, watching as he cantered lightly toward the start. She could tell from the set of his ears that Billy was talking to him, keeping him calm. She loved the way that the colt skimmed so easily across the grass. Her father was convinced that he could win the big sprint at Newbury in September, and this race was the first test of his ability.

Christopher discovered some space in the stands and Grace found herself wedged between him and the General. She tried not to let the cologne distract her and, instead, studied the formbook with more diligence than usual until the horses went behind the stalls and the steward raised the flag. Then, Grace forgot all distractions when the gates flew open and twelve two-year-old thoroughbreds sprang onto the track in a melee of jockeys, silks and thundering hooves. Grace spotted Billy and was glad to see that he had tucked himself neatly behind the Godolphin horse at the rail.

Allonby ran smoothly, not fighting his rider’s hands. He flicked his ears back as he listened to Billy. At the three-furlong pole, Grace held her breath when he eased out from behind the other horse. It was clear that he still had plenty of go in him. Billy hadn’t even picked up his stick. Instead, he leaned low and pushed forward with his hands and heels. Grace sat on her hands. If she’d been watching the race alone at home, she would’ve been riding the race with Billy, yelling him on, pushing her hands out as if she were holding the reins. At the two-furlong mark, Allonby stretched his neck and found another gear. He pounded past the third-place horse at the next pole and, when he approached the final furlong, swept past the second horse with contemptuous ease before bearing down on the laboring leader. Billy showed him the stick and he quickened once more.

Grace finally let her trainer’s restraint slide. “Go on, Big Al, you can do it.” She stood up and shouted, “Come on, boy!”

Allonby pinned his ears back as he came alongside the leader and ran on, galloping toward the finish. The General squeezed her arm when his horse flew across the line, a clear half a length ahead of the other horse. Grace could hardly feel his grip and she tried, very hard, not to jump up and down like a schoolgirl at a Take That concert. Trainers weren’t supposed to do that. She caught a drift of cologne and remembered the other reason why she needed to restrain herself.

“My God,” the General exclaimed. “He made it look easy.”

Grace nodded. Her heart pounded. “He did, he was wonderful.” Her legs shook. She also realized that she’d just made herself look a bit of a fool in front of a very attractive man. She really wanted that cigarette. She led the way through the crowd and back to the paddock, where a jubilant Harry was already in possession of his charge.

Billy greeted her with a huge grin when he slid from Allonby’s back. “That’s a hell of a horse, Gracey.” He unfastened the girth and took the saddle. “I’d better go and weigh in.” He ruffled her hair with his free hand. “The Old Man did a bloody good job with this one.” He shook the General’s hand and headed for the weighing room. Harry walked the colt around the tiny enclosure. Grace threw the light netting rug across Allonby’s back and wanted to hug him. Instead, she patted him and let his owner do the hugging. The General hugged everything and everyone, from his horse, to Harry, to Grace, to his companion. She was sure he would’ve hugged the steward given half a chance.

“I’m going to get us all a drink,” he declared while Harry led Allonby back toward the saddling boxes. “What would you like, Grace?”

“A Pimms, I could really use a Pimms.”

“Excellent choice.” He turned to his guest. “Come on, then, Chris, let’s get the lady a drink while she sees to my horse.”

Christopher scarcely heard what Richard said while they walked across the grass toward the trees and the bar. The paths were crowded with people and clustered three or four deep around the bar. He hated crowds. He hated this crowd more than others because he wanted to get back to her.