Star of the Morning (24 page)

“ 'Tis fit for a king. Adhémar is a bumbling oaf. I would settle him on something less fine, were I you, and save this for someone who can ride.”

Hearn choked. He finally had to lean over with his hands on his thighs and cough until he had apparently recovered from some sort of fit. He straightened eventually, put a hand on Miach's shoulder to steady himself, then he laughed heartily. “Well, Mistress Morgan, I just might. Or perhaps I'll make certain that young Buck here can teach his brother what he needs to know to ride such a beast.” He drew his sleeve across his tearing eyes and chuckled a final time. “Ah, me. Oaf, indeed. Now, Buck, continue on with your company and we'll see what suits.”

Morgan allowed Miach to discuss the needs of the rest; she spent her time admiring a line of horseflesh that men likely would have killed for. She suspected murder might have been the least of what a man might have done to have an Angesand steed. To think something of this quality might be hers . . .

Hearn put his hand on her shoulder in a friendly fashion. “Well, we've settled the rest of the company. What of you, missy? Is there something there that catches your eye?”

Morgan didn't dare say. There was a beautiful horse standing there, somewhat apart, of a mahogany color with a streak of white down his nose and little white socks on his feet. He stood next to a horse that matched him except that he was black. Both beasts seemed to be flying even as they stood there, perfectly still and perfectly mannered. Outside of the flashy horse that Morgan couldn't imagine Adhémar managing to ride, those looked to be the finest of the lot.

And that was saying a great deal.

But she didn't dare voice her desire. Miach's water had been sweet and her swordplay superior, but even those things could not possibly manage to win what stood before her.

Hearn studied her for a moment or two, then motioned to one of his lads. Morgan watched in astonishment as the mahogany horse was brought forward. To her everlasting horror, she felt her eyes begin to burn.

Hearn met his lad halfway and brought the horse back to Morgan. “His name is Reannag,” he said. He held out the reins. “He's yours.”

She looked up at him. She could hardly see for the tears in her eyes. “How did you know?”

“Some things are destined to be, my girl,” he said with a grave smile.

Morgan blinked, hard, then accepted the reins with a gingerliness she might have used with a legendary sword. Reannag didn't seem to mind, though. He merely stared at her in friendly horse fashion, as if he waited for her to come to terms with the magnitude of his splendidness.

Morgan thought that might take quite some time.

Hearn turned to Miach. “You'll have the black next to him, won't you?”

“Gratefully,” Miach said. “What is he called?”

“Rèaltan. Do you care to try him?”

“Desperately,” Miach said frankly.

Hearn laughed. “Saddle or none?”

“I'll manage without, thank you.”

Morgan stood next to Hearn and watched with concern. “Are you certain he shouldn't have a lesson or two?”

Hearn shrugged. “If he's bucked off and breaks his neck, you may have his horse.”

“Well, that's fair enough, I suppose,” she conceded.

But to her surprise, Miach swung up onto that horse as if he'd done it all his life. Then again, he was a farmer. That would explain his proficiency on horseback, which even she could see was considerable. He rode the horse around the lists several times, then slid off its back in front of Hearn. He made Hearn a very low bow.

“My gratitude. He is a magnificent beast.”

“Keep him well.”

“I will.”

“I'll know if you do not.”

Miach smiled. “I imagine you will.” He looked at Morgan. “What of you? Saddle or not?”

Morgan shifted. It wasn't in her nature to shift, or to display discomfort, or to doubt herself. Then again, everything that had happened to her in the past month had been out of the ordinary, so perhaps this was not unexpected. She looked at Hearn.

“Perhaps a saddle,” she said, trying to sound more confident than she felt.

“Perhaps a gentler mount,” Hearn offered. “Just until you feel secure.”

Morgan chewed on her next words for a moment or two. “For me to feel secure might take longer than a pair of circles around your lists.”

Hearn studied her for a moment, then turned and called for another of his lads. A sturdier-looking beast was brought in, saddled and apparently ready for a lesson.

Not a lesson for him, but a lesson for her.

Hearn took Reannag's reins from her. “You'll learn quickly,” he stated.

“I had better.”

“I wasn't going to say that,” Hearn said with a twinkle in his eye, “but that would be best. Here, lass, come over here and I'll give you a leg up.”

Morgan took a deep breath, then considered her weapons. She decided finally that perhaps it was best not to bring them all on board at first. She handed off her sword and a clutch of daggers to Miach, then walked over and let Hearn boost her up into the saddle.

The horse only shifted slightly.

She took a moment or two to get used to the idea, then smiled. Perhaps it would not be as difficult as she feared—

The horse, unaccountably, reared as if he realized he had something atop his back he did not care for. Before she could find the words to convince him that she meant him no harm, he was bucking wildly beneath her. She was not graceless, but this was completely beyond her experience.

She fell off, but landed on one leg, feeling quite confident that she would manage to at least hop briefly in an undignified fashion before she got both feet back under her.

There was a horrendously loud crack.

Morgan only realized that it had been her leg to make that sound the moment before her world went black.

She felt as if she were swimming in deep water. It was similar to the feeling she'd had during her time aboard the ship, but this was easier. Perhaps she was not seasick. Perhaps there was no magic involved.

Perhaps she'd landed finally on her head and lost all sense.

She kept her eyes closed and tried to understand where she was. She smelled hay and horse. She sensed Miach nearby and heard Hearn making noises of concern and worry.

“At least the stable is cleaner than the house,” Hearn said gruffly. “Smells better too.”

“She will be well.”

“I've never seen a break this severe.”

“My lord Hearn, she will be well.”

Hearn sighed. “I feel responsible.”

“I daresay she won't hold you so. Now, if you would be so good as to let me think for a minute.”

“I suppose there is no need to call in a physick, is there, with you about—”

Miach must have glared at him, for Hearn sighed.

“I'll say no more.”

“Thank you. That would be quite helpful.”

Morgan felt Miach put his hand on her leg. Both hands. Then he began to speak. She didn't recognize the language, but even so, somehow the words seemed to sink into her very flesh and become part of her.

Then the words started to sound familiar. She puzzled mightily as to how that might be so, but before she could begin to figure it out, a strange, sweet sleep crept over her.

She allowed it.

 

 

 

She dreamed.

 

 

Morgan woke. She woke without moving, as usual, only today there were several things to determine before she gave any sign of being conscious. One was why her leg tingled so abominably. Another was why her hand felt the same way. The third was why she felt so completely unsettled.

She addressed the last first. She considered several alternatives before she realized it had been a dream to leave her so unnerved. She thought on it for quite some time but could remember nothing but a terrible sense of foreboding and a feeling of futility that she could not stop something that needed to be stopped.

She pushed that feeling aside with an effort. No doubt all would return to her at some point and she would face it then. For now, she would deal with easier things.

She wiggled her toes. She felt as if she'd had her leg cut off, but despite the pain it worked quite well. Her hand was another thing entirely. She turned her head ever so slightly to find that that hand was being held in both Miach's own. He was sound asleep, his face peaceful and quite beautiful in repose, and his damned long eyelashes fanned out against his cheek in a manner that was simply wrong. Why was it men had such pretties while women did not?

She debated as to whether or not she should move her hand. What stopped her, primarily, was the fact that she wasn't sure she could. It tingled in a manner that tempted her to cut it off and spare herself any more pain. And she had to admit that there was something unwholesomely comforting about warm hands around her own. As if Miach protected her.

Preposterous, but true.

“You had a nightmare.”

She looked at him in surprise, but his eyes were still closed and he gave every appearance of sleeping. And then he opened his eyes and looked at her.

“You were crying out.”

“I never cry out.”

“It frightened the horses. I had to do something.”

“But you don't have to do anything now,” she said with a pointed look at his hands around hers.

But as soon as she said the words, she regretted them. Regret made her angry and that led to several curses that she directed at herself, at Miach, and at the fact that now that he had released her hand, it tingled so badly that it felt as if it might fall off her wrist of its own accord.

Miach sat up and dragged his hand through his hair. He yawned hugely, paused, then flopped back against the hay.

“I'll get up tomorrow.”

There was hay in his hair. That might have had something to do with the fact that his cloak was covering her, not residing under him where it could have served him. He had comforted her without her even knowing it.

Or deserving it.

She regretted her ungracious words. She wouldn't even have said something that nasty to Glines.

Well, she would have said worse to Glines, but he was accustomed to it. Miach was simply doing her a good turn. He deserved better. She was mustering the courage to tell him so, when memory flooded back.

She had broken her leg. She sat up and looked at it in astonishment. The only mark on her leggings was a large, dark patch of what she assumed was blood. But when she moved it, it worked as it should. It ached dreadfully, but it worked.

“Did you mend my leg?” she asked Miach.

He looked at her, clear-eyed and calm. “Might have.”

“It still hurts.”

“It wasn't a very good spell.”

She wiggled her toes, bent her leg, pushed against it with her hands. “It seems like a good spell.”

“Well, it works on pigs.”

She felt her mouth fall open, then she glared at him. “And there I was thinking about apologizing for being ungracious.”

“I accept,” he said solemnly.

“I changed my mind.”

“I still accept.”

She frowned. “I wonder if Hearn will give me a horse now.”

Miach sat up. “I daresay he'll have no choice. Your mount put up such a fuss when we tried to get him to stop standing over you so we could move you off the field that I had to carry you here with his nose pressed up against my back.”