Her Grace's Stable: A Jane Austen Space Opera, Book 2 (14 page)

“Where are you going?” Cole asked.

“I can’t watch him die.”

Arthur scrambled to his feet with the other man, though he didn’t dare put his hands on Lady Blackmyre. Cole gripped her arm, keeping her from leaving the stall. “You can’t leave him. He needs you!”

“I’ve said my good-byes.” Wooden and cold, her words fell flat and heavy like fat raindrops of sorrow despite her dry eyes. “I’ve honored him with my fondest memories. I’ve eased him the best I can. What more would you have me do?”

“I’d have you stay by his side until he draws his last breath!”

She tipped her chin up, her voice a lash of icy fury. “I won’t sit here and watch him die. He deserves better than that. He deserves to die in a glorious gallop to victory, not this slow misery sucking his life away. He wouldn’t want me to see him like this, weak and broken and wretched. Leaving now lets him die with dignity!”

Watching her dark eyes hollowed with grief, Arthur couldn’t help but suspect she was hiding something. Dark demons seemed to writhe within her eyes, shadows that she couldn’t shake. She loved the horse, that was clear. She’d certainly be devastated by his death.

But that’s not what’s tearing her apart right now.

“How can you do this to him?” Cole whispered, his voice breaking. “He needs you now more than ever.”

“He doesn’t need me to watch him die,” she whispered softly, reaching out to touch his cheek. “He needs peace. He needs me to keep his memory alive in my heart, all the good and wonderful times we had together. Not the suffering.”

Why did she look at Cole like she was pleading with him to understand? Arthur looked from one to the other, the growing sense of certainty and dread weighing heavier in his stomach.
What’s she not telling him?

“I’ve known him his entire life.” She clutched Cole’s arm, squeezing hard enough that his eyes flared with the force of her determination, as though she could physically will him to understand and hear whatever silent message she was sending him. “He’d want it this way.”

Cole stared into her eyes with the lost, bewildered look that said he didn’t even know the person he was looking at. “You’d leave him to die alone?”

“Yes,” she said softly, but her voice echoed with power. “It’s what he would want if he could speak.”

She released Cole and turned to leave, but caught Arthur’s gaze. Her eyes flared with surprise at his intensity. But then she nodded, as though she were silently telling him he was right.

Right about what? That she’s hiding secrets from us both?

She marched out of the stall and Cole sank to his knees. Shoulders slumped and shaking, he wept, dampening the horse’s mane. “I won’t leave you, Caesar. You won’t die alone. I can’t believe she left you.”

Arthur settled back down beside him, letting out a groan as his knees protested about the long vigil. “It’s not over yet. There’s still hope.”

“She left him. How can there be any hope?”

He gripped the man’s shoulder, squeezing firmly. “There’s always hope. She needs time too. People grieve in their own ways and there’s something bothering her. Something…”

Cole turned and searched his face. “What?”

“Why did she free you?”

“I don’t know,” Cole answered glumly. “It was like a kick in the gut. She keeps telling me that I need more than she can offer, but that can’t be the only reason. I told her I was interested in finding a man over a year ago and she didn’t free me then. I could see it if I’d found you and asked for my freedom… Or if you didn’t want her…”

“I don’t want her,” Arthur replied automatically, stiffening at the knowing look that flickered across Cole’s face. “I want to learn, yes. But I don’t want a mistress.”

“Your erection says otherwise.”

Arthur flushed and averted his gaze. Damned cock refused to cooperate.
And damn Cole for noticing!

Because that only made him harder.

“She’s hiding something.”

“She’s the mistress, Arthur. She’s always got an agenda, planning ahead for some great test or event that I don’t even have an inkling about. I don’t have a head for chess or strategy. I feel too strongly, I guess, to ever play by my head.”

“So you’re just going to sit back and let her cut you off for no reason.”

Cole gave him a slow smile that made Arthur’s eyes flare with surprise. His stomach tightened at that look, a surge of what could only be called attraction at that wicked, confident amusement. “I never said that. I have my ways. She hasn’t gotten rid of me yet, has she? And she won’t as long as there’s breath in my body.”

“She loves you.” Arthur tried not to let emotion creep into his voice, but he feared he failed to keep the envy out of his words.
I don’t want her love. I don’t want the mistress. I don’t…

I don’t want to leave Blackmyre. Ever.

“Why would she hurt you like this?” he continued, ignoring the uncomfortable rasp in his throat. “You aren’t into that kind of play, are you?”

Cole shrugged and settled back against the wall of the stall. He rubbed his neck tiredly, surely sore and tense from the long, watchful hours. “I’m into whatever play she wants, but generally, no, I’m not into humiliation, although I like it rough enough to hurt.”

Arthur had to swallow down the growl threatening to escape.
Rough enough to hurt. My kind of play exactly.
He shifted his weight backward beside Cole, stretching out his legs. Even if that made his erection painfully obvious to anyone who cared to look. “Has she been sick?”

“No.” Cole frowned. “Not that I know of. She looks well enough to me.”

“Do you know her friend well enough to ask if she knows what’s wrong?”

Cole turned to study Arthur’s face. “You’re that sure there’s something wrong with her?”

“You know her better than I, obviously. But I’m telling you my senses are screaming that there’s something wrong. Her speech about giving him peace while heartfelt was too…deliberate. As if she was encoding a secret message for us, if only we could figure out what she meant to say.”

Cole bent his neck side to side and then tipped his chin to his chest, stretching out his neck. Before Arthur quite knew what he was doing, he found himself grasping the man’s neck and massaging the kinks out.

Groaning with pleasure, Cole sagged against him. “That feels wonderful. Thank you. I tossed and turned last night, unable to sleep, and then to have this happen today, it’s just too much.”

Arthur didn’t ask why the man hadn’t been able to sleep. Very likely the same reason he hadn’t slept more than an hour at a time in days. He was consumed with need, obsessed with Lady Blackmyre, her ring, and what she had planned. After last night, he wondered whether she’d consider hitching him up with Cole again. Whether she’d get Arthur a tail.

Assuming I ever asked. Which I won’t. I won’t!

Cole drooped lower, his breathing lengthening into slumber. Stress had taken its toll. Arthur kept rubbing the man’s neck and shoulders, enjoying the way Cole simply melted, fully relaxed, into slumber despite all the worry about Caesar. In fact, his own eyes began to get heavy.

Chapter Twelve

A solid thud made Violet jerk upright. Groggily, she rubbed her eyes. Straw tumbled onto her lap, so she shook her head to get the rest out of her hair. Stiff from sleeping on the hard floor despite the straw, she pushed up to her feet, wincing until she got the kinks out of her bad knee. Her chest felt tight and her energy reserves low, as though her body were beginning to fail.

So much for my demonstration for Cole’s benefit. I got as far away as a few empty stalls before I couldn’t go another step.

Afraid of what she’d find, she made herself go back toward Caesar’s stall. She hadn’t heard any urgent running back and forth. Surely Cole would have come to tell her the worst if the horse had passed. The thump came again, urging her to quicken her step.

Bedraggled and scruffy, Caesar was on his feet. He nickered, not his usual deep-chested welcome, but a sweet sound indeed. Crying, Violet rushed inside and threw her arms around his neck. He was thin and weak, leaning against her as though he might slip back down into the straw, but he was up and his breathing was better.

She wiped her face on his neck and sought Cole. He and Arthur were huddled in the corner and the sight of them tumbled together like puppies made her smile. Arthur might never have had a man before, but there was nothing reluctant in the way he kept a thick arm clamped around the smaller man. Cole’s head was tucked up into Arthur’s neck.

Like he used to sleep with me.

Heart aching, she buried her face in Caesar’s mane and held onto him for dear life.

“He’s better!” Cole scrambled to his feet and pressed his ear to the horse’s chest. “His breathing is still congested, but definitely improved.” He drew Violet into a hug, squeezing her so tightly she grunted. “I knew you wouldn’t leave him.”

Throat aching, she stared up at him.
Should I tell him the truth? Why is it so hard to tell him that I’m dying? I thought a sharp, clean break would be best, but would it be better to tell him now?

Staring into his cloudy blue eyes that seemed to reach deep inside and tug on her heart, she began to doubt her original decision.

Arthur came to stand beside them, drawing her attention to him. He didn’t say anything, but the narrowed, considering gaze told her he suspected. He arched a brow and lifted his chin slightly, as though urging her to simply say it.

Staring back at him, she willed him to voice his doubts. With her steady gaze, she dared him to speak and break his determined battle to keep her out.
I’ll lay down my sword if you will, dear boy.

Cole waited between them without saying a word, as though he could sense the complex battle surging about him. He leaned back enough to press against Arthur’s chest, a gentle bump urging him to speak. To give on this one thing.

Arthur opened his mouth.

Violet fought to keep her eyes and expression flat and even. No victory, no relief, no understanding, just the calm, steady order for him to surrender.
Give me your will, Arthur, or you’ll never be my pony. Not the way you want and need.

He shut his mouth, took a deep, raw breath, and tried again. His eyes blazed with fury as he battled his curiosity and his own urge to tell her she was wrong. Wrong to keep whatever secret from Cole, wrong to free him against his will.

Tell me how wrong I am.
Violet stared back at him.
Challenge me with your words. I’ll gladly admit I was wrong in order to win your war.

Voices echoed down the aisle, breaking the silent confrontation in the stall. Arthur’s head jerked up, his eyes blanking and his face slipping back into a mask of cool disinterest. The veterinarian tromped into the stall to examine Caesar, so Violet stepped back to give her and Cole space to work and discuss the horse’s treatment plan.

Wearily, she rubbed her eyes. Doubt weighed on her chest, clogging her weakening lungs to the point she felt lightheaded.
I’m going to have to tell Cole the truth. But how? When? What am I going to do with Arthur? How much longer do I have?

“He’s already begun the road back to recovery,” the veterinarian said. “He needs lots of rest, quality feed and fresh air and sunshine. Some time in a country paddock away from the city will do him a world of good.”

Violet agreed to have Caesar sent to one of the manors in the Duchy’s extensive network of lands and estates far from the urban sprawl of Londonium. She stroked his neck, he nibbled on her hair, and she fought the urge to throw her head back and wail like a baby.
Even though I might never see him again.

Chapter Thirteen

It was surely a sad state of affairs when the front page of the
Royal Gazette
was covered in war news and not the latest
on dit
with the Season in full swing. Queen Majel must be beside herself that someone had dared leak a story about the failed siege of the Pyrenees, a scattered trail of moons that served as the outer defense for the main Iberian system. Without the fortresses secured at her back, Wellington wouldn’t be able to penetrate deeper to the central planetary jewel.

She has absolutely no idea how to make the final push to Iberia. Not without Arthur.

Violet scanned the rest of the article and set the datapad aside, sick at heart. More than a thousand Britannian soldiers had died at the initial battle. They’d withdrawn for now to regroup, but if Arthur wasn’t returned in the next few weeks, she feared the worst.

How many more will die?

She pushed up from her desk but wavered, dizzy. Sweat broke out on her forehead and her chest clamped down in a vise. She still hadn’t managed to recover from the long vigil in the stable. Her knees quivered, alarmingly weak, and she fell back down in her chair.

Closing her eyes, she fought to keep the involuntary panic at bay.
Breathe, I have to breathe!

A spasm tore through her lungs and she coughed so hard she feared her head would explode. She barely managed to catch the bloody phlegm in her handkerchief. Pain tore through her lungs and blackness threatened.

Laying her head down on the cool wood, she concentrated on slow, shallow breaths.
Control yourself. Fear will only make this worse. You’re not dying yet, Blackmyre. You have to help Arthur before you can expire.