Nearly there, the arc of light widening, the current easing, the end of the tunnel now tangible, reachable…
His fingertips grabbed the wall edge, and with all his strength, he propelled himself forward and into the peaceful stillness of the moat, light glinting above, and he chased the sun, upwards, breath gone till he erupted to the placid surface with a desperate gasp.
Warmth poured over him, bright and so very welcome, and he hauled air to his deprived lungs, laughed as the swans flapped their wings and paddled off in disgust at his interruption of their morn.
But with no time to dally, he swam with broad strokes through the still waters.
The moat bank met his fingertips and he shoved hands to the edge, began hauling himself up, but the bank gave way and he slipped, cursed.
Boots appeared in his vision and an outstretched hand presented itself. “Can I help?”
29
A DARK HORSE
Hebe held her breath as a groom bumbled down the corridor of Sir Henry’s stables, the sound of a bucket sloshing as he entered each box, followed by the gush of water filling the horses’ troughs.
His footsteps receded as he made his way to the stalls, and she at last allowed air to her beleaguered lungs. “That was close,” she whispered.
“Aye,” agreed Redmond, peering over her shoulder. “Although I’m not sure he had his eyes open. We’ll have to get on with it. The house is bound to be waking.”
Sir Henry’s fine stables were configured in a horseshoe layout, with the stalls at the far end and the boxes in the middle, but the two of them were secreted within the harness room at the near side, had been forced to dash in here at the arrival of the groom’s plodding boots.
There’d been no sign of Ernest on their ride over, no hoof prints in the dust or flash of jaunty grin, and worry gnawed at Hebe.
Could he be here with Lord Jack somewhere? Wounded or…
“The stallion was in the third box down,” she said, shaking the pessimism away. “He’d been exercised when I came here, but still Sir Henry made me sit far back as he was so restless.”
“Same with Sir Oswald. He needed a box to himself.” Redmond lightly stepped into the corridor before twisting to nod.
They darted past two boxes till they came to the third, wincing as the bolt squeaked and the lower gate creaked.
A swishing tail greeted them, a fall of midnight black. The stallion peered at them and bared his teeth.
Hebe took a step back. “Well?”
Shedding his cloak, Redmond circled the animal with a shake of head.
“Different colour and markings.” He paused, held out a palm and waited, till at length the beautiful creature sniffed and then nuzzled into it.
“Is it Sir Oswald?” Hebe crept closer.
With a slow hand, Redmond stroked down his crest and withers, along his back and rump.
“His hair is coarse. I reckon he’s been lampblacked, dyed ya know, and those markings bleached into him. I’ve seen it done back in Ireland.”
With a sharp inhale, Hebe folded her arms. “Lettie told me Mary’s father was a tanner and knew all the methods of dyeing.”
Scowling, he bent to rub the fetlock and nodded, before he opened the horse’s muzzle to run a hand across the teeth. “Damn.”
“Too old to be Sir Oswald?”
“Aye but likely the teeth have been filed down and shaped to make it appear that way.” He glowered. “But I can tell–”
“What the hell are you doing here? Release my horse.”
Hebe gasped and twisted to Sir Henry who strutted in the doorway with whip flicking, while behind him a groom slapped a stick to his palm.
