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Ethan woke to the morning sun streaming through his window, wondering what time it might be.
Scrubbing his eyes, he heard the clock chime eight. Christ, he hadn’t been awake at this hour in who knew how long. Which only made him wonder….When was the last time he’d gone a night without indulging?
Mentally, he counted the drinks he’d had the night before. Had it been six or seven? He cursed low under his breath. Was that a reasonable wake at eight in the morning amount of alcohol? How much did he normally drink?
He rose, feeling a deep pit of shame despite what ought to be a fine day. He was awake, alert, and the sun was shining, but still he couldn’t shake the feeling that he didn’t deserve the sun’s warmth.
He came down the stairs to find Rush dressed in simple clothing and headed for the door. “Where are you off to?”
Rush turned to him, looking surprised. “What are you doing awake?”
He grimaced. “I am up plenty of mornings.”
Rush gave a snorting laugh. “Like bloody hell you are.” Then he jabbed his thumb toward the back of the house. “Triston left his bars and weights in the stable and I’ve been using them for exercise. I’ll have to help plant the fields this spring and I’m trying to be ready.”
Ethan rubbed more of the sleep from his eyes. “Plant fields? This is something you actually wish to do?”
“I do. Before I came here, I was chained to a desk doing the accounting for the club. I still do, of course, but now”—he spread his arms wide—“I get to be outside in fresh air with exercise and the freedom to move and the quiet to think.”
Ethan considered those words as he made his way down the stairs. “Can I join you? In the stable?”
He’d always been naturally muscular, with broad shoulders, but of late…he felt his upper arm, noting that much of the muscle had disappeared.
“Of course.” Rush gave a nod. “If you’re going to help protect us, you should probably be able to lift a sword.” And then he laughed heartily at his own joke.
Ethan didn’t find his words nearly so funny as he followed the man out to the stable.
The first thing he noted when they entered was that more buckets of water sat warming by the stove. “What are those for?”
“I wash up after. Can’t go back to my new wife reeking, can I?”
Ethan’s grimace pulled even tighter. He didn’t wish to marry Red, but he did want to court her, which had been made more difficult when he’d acquainted her with his least attractive bodily fluids. He was paying the price now. Only, some part of him wondered if this felt less like a punishment and more like an awakening.
Rush moved to a back stall and Ethan raised his brows as Rush jumped up, grabbing a bar, and began to do pull-ups. When he finished, taking ages to complete no less than fifty of them, Ethan followed suit. Grabbing the bar in his hands, he noted that it had a rougher texture to help with grip. Though he still struggled to maintain it as he attempted to pull himself up.
How had Rush managed fifty of these? By sheer force of will he did fifteen and then dropped himself to the floor, only to turn around and find Rush lifting a large wooden box over his head. He’d shucked off his shirt and his muscles rippled as he moved, his face barely registering the heavy weight.
Ethan grunted, realizing what poor condition he’d descended into. Squaring his shoulders, he watched Rush drop the box, and then he crossed over to where the box now sat on the floor.
Rush’s brows lifted but he said nothing as Ethan hefted the damn thing over his head. It was heavier than it looked; his body strained to lift it five times.
On and on this went, Ethan struggling to complete a quarter of the work Rush managed, and when they were finally done, Ethan sagged against a large wooden post, relieved and wondering how much he’d hurt tomorrow.
That’s when Rush began climbing toward the loft. “What are you doing?”
Rush kept climbing as he answered. “I’m throwing down some hay.”
Ethan groaned. Damn the man and his stamina and damn Red for throwing out that wager that had turned his whole world upside down. He preferred the oblivion of alcohol and its aftereffects.
So why did thinking of her prompt him to his feet to start up the ladder after Rush?
“What’s gotten into you, anyway?” Rush asked as he tossed a bale down.
“Nothing.” He groaned inwardly and tossed one too.
“First you come here talking of marriage, and now you’re up and exercising in the morning.”
He shrugged, or he attempted to with a bale of hay in his arms. “Nothing has gotten into me. I’m just…” Did he tell Rush that his uncle was insisting he wed? Or that this morning had underscored that he might need to make a few changes? Or did he say that he was tired of even the people closest to him finding him incapable?
