A sin, aye, of Biblical proportions.
On his way out, his eyes met those of Annista and it felt as if he could see—feel—all that was inside her.
I told ye, ye should kill him.
He left the chamber as swiftly as he’d entered it, fleeing his own impulses.
Chapter Fifteen
Nothing could have kept Annista from following in her husband’s wake when he left Evan’s chamber. She did not even attempt to deny the urge.
He was angry, fair transfigured by rage. She needed to know what had reduced him to such a state.
“Alan—wait,” she called when they reached the gallery. “Wha’s happened?”
It was the third time he’d been asked that question. Now he turned with his back to the balustrade and replied.
“He’s gone and savaged his horse, has the bastard. And I’ll ha’ the equal o’ it out o’ him, but not while he’s puking all over himself.”
“Tempest?” Annista asked, her heart sinking so violently it soured her stomach. A thought followed swiftly—so he’d act on behalf of the stallion, would he? But not on Robena’s behalf.
Be that as it may, she barely recognized the man who stood before her. Dark gray eyes ablaze, face gone white and tense enough to display the lie of the bones beneath the skin.
“Is the beast all right?”
“God knows.”
She narrowed her gaze at him. “Ye knew he was abusing the animal—”
“He took a crop to him, aye, fro’ time to time. Naught like this. He has gone too far.”
She pushed past him and headed for the stairs.
“Where are ye goin’?” he demanded.
“To look at Tempest.”
He followed her now, so fast did she fly down the stairs, her hand sliding along the black oak banister. Not back toward the kitchens but out the front door, leaving the footman startled, and around the side of the house at a run.
She could run fleetly when lit, and she was lit now. By horror. By the desire to protect—impossible after the fact. By anger.
Alan came after her. She could hear his steps on the crushed stone of the path and then the cobbles of the courtyard. The stables loomed, doors wide open.
She could hear voices when she went in. The stable boys murmuring. She flew to Tempest’s stall where at last she hesitated.
The stallion was down, not on his side but on his chest in the straw. A big animal he was, and he fair filled the space, but once her paralysis broke she went pushing in past the groom nearest the door.
“Careful,” Alan called from behind her. “He’s still—”
Upset, aye. Not one of them gathered there but was upset.
She went down to her knees in the straw beside the stallion’s head with a cry of dismay.
Old Billy exclaimed, “My lady! Ye will ha’ a care. He could bite.”
Annista barely heard him. The horror inside her had transformed to something else, an appalled dismay so powerful she could not speak. She laid the palm of her hand on the horse’s neck and leaned close to him.
Tempest rolled an eye at her.
