Suddenly, a shout tore through the grounds outside the house, sharp enough to cut every other sound cleanly in half. For a moment, the room froze.
“Stop him—someone stop him!”
The words were followed by thudding in the yard beyond the windows, boots striking stone, voices rising in panic, and the distant but violent sound of a horse breaking into full distress.
Anne was already turning before anyone else had fully processed it.
“What is happening?” Lady Carlisle asked sharply, stepping forward.
A stablehand burst into the doorway, pale and breathless. “Your Grace, it is your horse. Mr. Fletcher tried to mount him and was thrown hard. He is injured. The horse has broken loose.”
Anne went still, though not in shock.
“Where is he now?” the Duke asked immediately.
“In the yard, Your Grace. He will not let anyone near him.”
Anne was already moving.
The Duke caught up with her in the corridor, his voice tight. “You should stay back. If he is in that state?—”
“He knows me,” she said without looking at him.
“That does not matter if he is panicked.”
“It does. I would know that better than you.”
They reached the front steps together, but Anne was already descending before the rest of the household had even gathered behind them.
The moment they stepped outside, the full extent of the chaos became visible.
Tempest stood in the middle of the yard like a storm that had not finished breaking. He jerked left and right, reins trailing loosely behind him, his head tossing violently as if trying to escape something no one else could see.
Mr. Fletcher lay several yards away, being helped up by another man while blood darkened the side of his face. The air itself felt thick, broken by shouting and the harsh sound of hooves striking stone.
“Do not approach him!” someone called out urgently as another man tried to step forward.
Tempest reacted instantly, spinning with explosive force and striking out in warning, and the man stumbled back.
Anne’s voice cut through the air. “Stop!”
It was not loud, but it carried.
Everyone in the yard paused at once. The Duke looked at her sharply, but she was already walking.
“Lady Anne, please do not—” a groom started.
She did not turn. “Do not follow me,” she said, her voice steady but firm enough that it stopped him where he stood.
The Duke moved with her but more slowly, watching her carefully now instead of trying to block her path. “If he strikes out again, you will not have time to step away.”
“He will not strike me,” she said simply.
Already, Tempest had stopped moving not because he had calmed, but because he had seen her. The shift was immediate, but subtle enough that anyone unfamiliar with him might have missed it entirely. His breathing remained uneven, his body still coiled, but the direction of his panic changed. It was no longer scattering outward. It was focused on her.
Anne slowed down as she drew nearer.
“Tempest,” she said softly.
