AllFreeNovel
Share Us
Anger at his father for banishing Robbie and lying to the world about the rightful heir’s death.
At the duchess, for submitting to the old duke’s schemes, though her husband had intimidated all whom he met, very likely including his wife.
At the army of servants who’d kept questions to themselves rather than warn the younger Nathaniel that something untoward was afoot.
At himself, because even given those warnings, what could he have done? Like his mother, he’d been dependent on the duke, without legal authority, and without powerful allies.
And yes, he was also angry at Robbie. Nathaniel’s brother could not help his illness, could not help the damage that had been done to his mind. Could not help that society was at heart cruel, shallow, and stupid. But now Robbie had gone wandering by the river, courting injury, illness, and discovery.
“I know not which is worse.” Nathaniel’s words were snatched away on a stray breeze, one that bore the scent of the stables. He turned in their direction rather than cross the garden again, and Elf greeted him in the yard.
“Mornin’, Yer Grace. Fine day ’tis. Have you come to see the new colt?”
“We’ve a new colt?”
“Black as your Loki, at least for now. Mare’s a gray, so who knows what will happen to his coat as the lad ages. Come take a look.”
The baby horses were lads and lasses to Elf, new life to be proud of and cosset into grand good health. To Nathaniel, the colt looked like what it was: another mouth to feed, another vulnerable dependent, though thank heavens the mare was experienced and conscientious.
“He arrived in the night?” Nathaniel asked.
“They usually do. Mares are canny. Wee beast was still wet behind the ears when I came down to start the haying this morning. He was up and about, no help from anybody, and at his dam like Thatcher at the first batch of summer ale.”
And the mere sight of the colt, little tail whisking as he curled in the straw beside his mother, made Elf smile.
I will never have a son, and neither will Robbie.“Congratulations on another new arrival,” Nathaniel said, shoving away from the stall’s half door. “Robbie has begun his day with a turned ankle, so I’m for the house.”
Elf walked with him down the barn aisle, though Nathaniel wasn’t fit company. “Turned an ankle, did he?”
“Down by the river, where you have doubtless seen him wandering on foggy mornings for the past half year, but about which neither you, Treegum, Thatcher, nor anybody else saw fit to inform me. Now he’s injured, he could very well end up ill, and he’s forbidden me to send for a doctor.”
Nathaniel quickened his pace, which was petty of him when Elf was old and small.
“Will he recover, sir?”
Who knew? If lung fever or an ague set in, seizures could accompany them. “I hope he’ll be back on his feet in no time, but Elf, how can I protect a man from harm when my own staff won’t be honest with me?” The staff wasn’t in fact Nathaniel’s, but rather, Robbie’s.
Or should have been Robbie’s.
Elf came to a halt at the end of the barn aisle. “Robbie asked us not to mention his little jaunts. Seemed no harm in them. We thought you’d be pleased if you learned he was venturing beyond the garden.”
So why keep the news a secret?“Pleased? He was found nearly unconscious, all but in the water, disoriented, unable to walk without assistance. The loyal Rothhaven staff hadn’t informed me I might have to look for him by the river when he turned up missing, and I wasn’t the one who came across him.”
Elf’s rheumy gaze went to the Hall, which from the stables resembled a monstrous dark boulder hunkered beneath the blue sky.
“I guess you’ll have to take that up with your brother, then.”
A fair and diplomatic answer for which Nathaniel wanted to plant his loyal stableman a facer. “A fine suggestion. Good day.” He stalked off, knowing Elf didn’t deserve his rudeness. Treegum met him inside the Hall, and Nathaniel wanted to plant him a facer too.
“Please ensure the medicinal stores are replenished,” Nathaniel said, striding past Treegum. “Illness is no respecter of season, and if the housekeeper can’t be relied on to manage the herbal, somebody else will be given that responsibility.”
Treegum shuffled along beside him. “Did Your Grace have anybody else in mind?”
“You. You’re my steward, or the closest thing to it.” Thatcher ought to have been next in line for such a task, but Thatcher was growing more hopeless by the day.
“But sir, I have no familiarity with the remedies and tisanes. That is the province of the ladies.”
“Then approach the under-cook.”
