The Prince of Midnight (29 page)

S.T. began to feel a twinge of affection for the gorgeous, muddled beast. He
always did as his horses approached this point, getting exhausted and earnest,
blowing hard with each stride, looking around like confused children for
somebody to take charge. Somebody to say it was time to stop running.

"Lower the whip," he said quietly. "Give him a chance to look toward you."

Leigh's mouth was set. She gripped the whip even as she lowered it, her
knuckles tight. She stepped forward to turn the horse—and the gray still
scrambled around with its rump defiantly toward her as it turned. Its flanks
were heaving, sucking air with every desperate breath, but the animal would not
surrender to her.

She tried twice more, without S.T.'s encouragement. Both times the horse
turned tail, declining to swing its head inward as it changed direction. He
could see her frustration in her back, in the way she carried her shoulders.

"I can't do it," she said, without looking away from the horse.

"You're losing your temper," he said.

"I'm tired!" Her voice was quivering. "I don't want to do this. You can do
it, if you want."

This was where he had intended to take over. To stride out and assume control
and prove his competence.

Instead, he heard himself say, "Try again."

She tried again. It didn't work.

"See?" She glanced at S.T., defiant and vulnerable.

"See what? Don't tell me you're tired; that breaks no squares with me. You're
telling him you're angry with every muscle in your body—do you think he's going
to stop and ask you why?"

She wiped at a trickle of perspiration with her sleeve and looked away from
him with an irritated move. The horse cantered relentlessly on, its shoulders
and flanks dark with sweat.

She lifted the whip again, asking the rogue to turn. Once again it spun away
from her. Three more times, she repeated the attempt, and three times failed to
coax the will-fill, weary horse to yield her its head. The fourth time the gray
showed her its rump, she gave a harsh, defeated sigh and threw down the whip,
turning to the gate.

And the gray came to a complete halt, its head hanging, facing toward her at
the center of the paddock.

"Hold up," S.T. said instantly.

She looked back.

"Just stand there," he said.

She stared at the blowing horse. They both looked bewildered—a little amazed
at the sudden stalemate.

"Let him rest. Let him stay there as long as he will, but the minute he takes
his eyes off you, drive him on."

Someone coughed, and the gray jumped, swinging his head toward the sound.
Instantly, Leigh's whip came up, and the horse scrambled into a canter.

"Give him another chance," S.T. said after a moment.

She lowered the whip and stepped toward the horse's course. The gray swung
its head inward and bounced to a halt, staring at her.

"Good," S.T. said. "Good. Drive him on if he takes his attention away."

But the rogue had made a choice. He stood with his nostrils flaring, drinking
in air frantically, his eyes locked on Leigh. She stayed still, the tension in
her body gone at last.

After a few minutes, S.T. instructed her to walk in a slow arc around the
horse. The animal swung its head as if magnetized, shifting its hind legs,
turning in a complete circle around its forefeet in order to keep her in view.

"Take a step straight toward him," S.T. said softly. "If he starts to back
off, don't chase him. You walk away before he does."

She obeyed. The horse lifted its head suspiciously. She took another step.
S.T. tensed as the horse did, but she caught the signs in time and turned away.
The gray lowered its head and walked a few steps after her.

She stopped. The horse stopped. Once again, she took a few steps toward it.
The gray looked nervous, moving its head away, and then snapping its attention
back to her when she clucked quietly.

"That's it," S.T. murmured. "That's the trick."

In small increments, the horse allowed her to come closer. When she was
within a yard, S.T. told her to walk away. The gray followed her.

She faced it again and took a few slow steps forward. Several times the horse
almost turned away to run, indecision in every trembling line, in the way it
lifted its head and twitched its nose an inch away and then back again at her
soft warning chirrups. He could see the horse trying desperately hard; scared of
Leigh and tired of running, working to conquer its own fear.

"Let him come," S.T. said quietly. "Let him make the choice. Turn away."

She turned her shoulder to the horse. It took a step, gazed at her doubtfully
out of one eye and then the other. And then, with a great sigh, it dropped its
head and ambled forward to stand with its poor battered nose a few inches from
her sleeve, asking for rest and comfort in the only way it could.

"Very slowly," S.T. murmured. "See if you can touch his face."

She lifted her hand. The gray's head came sharply up again, and the animal
watched her with liquid brown eyes. She dropped her hand, and the horse relaxed.
She lifted her hand again, and this time the gray didn't shy, only raised its
nose a little. She touched the blood-spotted forehead lightly. The horse's ears
were flicking back and forward anxiously, its nostrils still swelling with the
quick pants. But the animal stood its ground.

She moved her hand down, barely stroking its nose. She touched its ears and
ran her hand down its neck as S.T. had done to the other horse. The rogue stood
steady, its sides heaving. She rubbed its poll. The horse turned its head,
pushing upward into her hand a little, as if to ask for a harder massage.

"Oh, God," she said in a cracked voice. "Oh, God."

Her mouth opened, and she put her hand over a sudden, wrenching sob. She took
a step back, and the gray threw up its head in startlement. Then the horse
turned, following her. It stood with its nose at her waist, breathing more
steadily.

Suddenly she turned and began to stride away. Her face was white, as if she'd
just seen a terrible accident. The horse trailed behind her. She stopped and
turned. The rogue stopped beside her.

No one spoke.

"Oh,
look
at you," she cried in a broken voice. She put her hand
over her mouth again, and reached out with the other. As she rubbed the horse's
ears, it bobbed its head gently. "Look at you!" Tears began to tumble down her
face. Her expression seemed to crumble, to lose its substance and shatter into
something wild and awful. She stood there with silent sobs racking her body,
massaging the horse's poll.

S.T. felt as if the breath had been knocked out of his chest. He almost went
over the fence.

But he didn't. He was paralyzed. He whispered, "See if you can put your arms
around his neck."

She did that, breathing in distraught hiccups. She bent down when he told her
and picked up one of the rogue's forefeet. It stood peacefully, only turning its
head to nudge at her as she bent over. She was crying all the time as she went
around the animal and handled each of its feet. He told her to walk away again,
and the gray plodded along at her side.

She looked at it as if it were something terrible, some strange and
terrifying vision as it came to a placid halt beside her. Her face was wet,
splotchy with tears. She swallowed painfully. "Oh, how did this happen?" She
stroked the animal's face again, its neck and ears, making little whimpering
sounds. "Oh, God, you're so beautiful; why are you coming to me?"

She wiped the tears away with her arm. The horse nudged her. She shook her
head and sobbed frantically.

"I didn't
want
this!" She shoved at the animal's head, as if to make
it move away, but it only shifted around and faced her again. "I don't want it!"
She put her hands over her face. Her shoulders were shaking. The gray pushed its
nose against her body and tried to rub its face on her coat.

She sank to her knees, her face buried. S.T. moved at last, hiking himself
over the fence, savagely curbing his impulse to run, moving with slow
deliberation to reassure the horse.

The rogue's head lifted in startlement at this new intrusion. It took two
steps backward, and he jerked his chin up and spoke sharply to drive it on. He
reached for the whip where Leigh had dropped it and sent the animal cantering
around the paddock.

"I had to make him go," he said inanely to the huddle at his feet. "You've
got to stand up, Sunshine; it's too dangerous." He caught her arm, tugging
gently. "Stand up, sweeting—you can't lie down here."

She lifted her face, and he felt a shaft of pure agony at the dazed misery in
it. He pulled her up, allowing the whip to fall. The gray instantly dropped to a
trot and turned inward, walking toward them. When she saw that, another huge sob
welled up, and she turned her face into S.T.'s chest, holding on to his coat.

"Damn you!" she shouted into his shoulder. "Why did you do this to me?" She
curled her fist and smashed it against him. "
Why—why—why ?"

He stood there helplessly, holding her close with one arm and stroking the
horse's offered head with the other. The gray seemed to take her hysterical
voice as a matter of course, adjusting to it as quickly as to S.T.'s presence.
"It's all right," he murmured. "It's all right."

"It's not all right!" she cried against his chest. "I hate you!" She gripped
his coat in her fists. "I don't want you. I don't want this." She was breathing
as if she couldn't get enough air. "I can't—
bear
it!" she cried, with
her voice breaking in a shrill whimper like a frenzied child's.

He didn't answer. The three of them stood there in the middle of the paddock,
with twenty pairs of yokels' eyes on them. He kissed her hair, said incoherent
soothing things, blew a loose lock of his own hair out of his face. She felt
soft and shaky against him, as if she'd lost the ability to command her own
body.

"Do you want to sit down?" He stroked her back. "Do you want me to finish
this?"

She shoved away from him. "I want to be free of you!" Her cheeks were
flushed, her voice high and strident. "You importune me. You inconvenience me.
You're a fraud. I wish you gone."

"Leigh—" he said, but she went on speaking, glaring at him, her voice rising.

"You're
deaf,
cocksure dolt—
deaf—
and bungling, and trying
to be what you aren't any longer! Do you think you impress me with this?" She
flung up her chin. "Do you think I want your help or your horse or your bloody
bribes to make me sleep with you?"

He felt himself growing cold.

"I'm just waiting for you to fall flat on your face," she cried. "You're so
proud of yourself because you can stand up and walk instead of reeling like a
drunkard. But you'll never know if it's to last, will you?" she sneered. "And
neither will I. I can't trust you. I can't depend on you. You've run entirely
mad and useless."

In public. In full view and hearing of a crowd of fascinated bumpkins, she
said these things. She paused in her abuse and caught her breath in a sob. Her
eyes glittered, swimming blue with tears as she stared at him defiantly.

"As you will, madame," he said, keeping his voice low. He drew a breath of
freezing air. "I will not importune you any longer, that's certain."

Leigh whirled away, wiping fiercely at her eyes with the back of her cuff.
The cold air made her damp cheeks feel icy. She stalked across the grass, trying
to get her breath, still hiccuping with every inhalation.

Before she reached the wall, she heard the sound of slow hoofbeats behind
her. She glared at the men standing beyond the gate, hating them for their
shocked and curious faces.

"Go away!" she screamed. "What are you staring at?"

They gawked at her. The gray came up behind and nudged at her with its nose.
Leigh put her elbows over her face.

"Go away!" she shouted. She dropped her arms and hit wildly at the horse.

It shied off, trotted in a small circle and came to a halt, looking at her.
After a moment, it took a step forward.

"Go
on!"
She flung up her hands, running toward it. The rogue
started to shy and then faced her, backing up as fast as she moved. The instant
she stopped, the horse did. And then it came toward her again, closer than
before.

"Don't! Don't! Don't!"
she shouted, lunging toward it, waving her
arms frantically. The gray stood its ground, head lifted, nose bobbing with the
wild motion of her hands as she attacked. It raised one hind foot, as if to step
back, and then put it down in the same place, refusing to budge. Leigh dropped
her arms with a cry of frustration.

The horse lowered its head and walked up to her. It stopped with its nose at
her elbow.

"Admirable job of sacking him out," the Seigneur said sarcastically. "Care to
try it with a blanket?"

She closed her eyes. When she opened them, the horse was still there. The
Seigneur was still there. She was still hurting, still alive, still drowning in
love and grief and rage.

Oh, Papa. Oh, Mama, I can't do it. I'm not strong enough; I can't hate
enough; I'm going to fail.

She looked at the swollen cut that marked the rogue's face where the coper
had clubbed it across the nose. There were other scars, older than that one, and
the horse's straight profile was marred by an ugly lump from some past
concussion.

She was aware of the Seigneur, still standing in the center of the paddock.

"I'm sorry," she whispered to the gray rogue. She put her hand on its
shoulder and leaned her forehead against its neck. The horse stretched out its
nose and shook its mane vigorously.

She turned away, walking toward the gate, avoiding looking up at their
audience. They gray followed her, but this time she didn't stop; she only
climbed the gate and passed through the spectators. At the tree where she and
the Seigneur had eaten lunch, she sat down, cradling her head on her knees.