“Someone loosed that bugger in here.”
Maximilian stopped dead. “Are you sure?”
“Course I am,” Fergus said, quite close to anger himself. He stopped just short of snapping at his master. “We found his head collar and lead shank near the doors at that end.” He pointed across the building to the opposite side from where they stood. “He was a proper bugger to catch, too, Your Grace. Kicked my lads something awful. One got bitten badly.”
Maximilian set his hands on his hips and blew out a short gust of breath. “The meanest and rankest stud I own,” he muttered. “I should have that bloody beast gelded.”
“If he did not throw such incredible offspring,” Fergus said, “I might agree with you.”
“Show me where Miss Betham got hurt.”
As Fergus pointed out the corner where they found Eugenia unconscious, Maximilian gazed around, perplexed. “No one saw who brought that stallion in here?”
“No. There are no mares and foals in stalls near those doors where we found his head collar,” Fergus explained as they walked on. “Busy with their work as they were, then the mares knew the big bugger had come in. That set them off, kicking and yelling, and the lads ran to quiet them.”
“I see.”
Maximilian reached the doors, gazed out at the rectangular structures and pointed toward the stallions’ stable. “Dead easy,” he said. “The young horse building blocks anyone’s view of seeing someone walk a horse to this door.”
Fergus nodded. “I agree, Your Grace. If our culprit walked the stallion from his stall straight here, no one is the wiser.”
Maximilian glanced at him. “Did you speak with the stallions’ grooms?”
“Indeed, I did, Your Grace. Gave them a very large piece of my mind at the top of my lungs. But they did not see anyone take the black bugger out.”
“They might not, as his stall is at the end.” Maximilian smiled grimly. “My need to keep that stallion away from the others made it easy for someone to set him loose in here. Damn it.”
“And while we were trying to catch him,” Fergus added, his tone grim, “the little weasel got away.”
“Unfortunately, too,” Maximilian added, scowling, “everyone in the district knows that stud’s reputation. Thus, we cannot eliminate suspects on the basis of who knows about him. Everyone knows he is a killer.”
Fergus went still, carefully watching Maximilian. “Are you saying that someone did not set him loose in here for a lark? That he was set in here tokill?”
“That is exactly what I am saying.”
“To harm Miss Betham?”
Maximilian merely stared at him, his jaw set. Fergus shook his head in incredulity.
“But why? How? The chances of him truly hurting anyone in his rampage are slim. He would have had to have known Miss Betham was in here.”
“Obviously.”
“But what if she had been safely in a stall and not in the open?”
“Would she have been truly safe in a stall with an outraged mare protecting her baby when that idiot bolted through here?”
Cursing invectives Maximilian himself had never heard before, Fergus stomped a few heavy paces away and came back. “You better hope you catch him first, Your Grace,” he snarled. “Because if I catch him first – there will not be much left of him.”
* * *
Opening the door to the solar, Maximilian found only Lady Helena inside waiting for him. He glanced around, seeking Augusta and perhaps Countess Whitington, also, but they were not there. Lady Helena curtseyed, her pale features stricken, and he noticed she had not yet changed from her traveling gown.
“I fear Miss Betham has had an unfortunate accident,” He walked to a sideboard to pour himself a glass of sherry. He glanced at her. “Care for a drink?”
“Yes … and thank you. Will she be all right?”
He poured the drinks from the decanter and took one to her. “Yes. She was trampled by a horse in one of my stables. But she will recover fully. In the meantime, I will assign a maid to attend you.”
