“If it will save even one of these creatures from harm, I’ll do it. You have my word,” Marjorie answered firmly. “But how will you know which horse is Valiant if I am not with you?”
“Is he not the horse you were riding when I rescued you from the woods?” Evan asked, his eyes twinkling softly.
“But of course he is!” Marjorie replied. “But you cannot possibly have seen him enough to remember him or recognize him.”
Evan came closer, nearly reaching for her. He seemed to struggle against the desire to take her hands in his. Marjorie was both thrilled and terrified at the way he looked at her, the nearness of him.
“I remember everything about that day,” he said softly, looking deeply into her eyes. “I remember how your hair had escaped from its tie and trailed around your face. I can still see the simple garments you wore, the garments of a true horse rider rather than a fine lady putting herself on display. Most of all, I remember the look of pure joy on your face as you rode, as if there was nowhere else on earth that could compare.”
Marjorie swallowed, unsure of how to answer and uncertain that her voice would even form the words. Finally recovered, she said breathlessly, “That is pure poetry, My Lord. But you did not mention Valiant!”
Evan threw back his head and laughed, a musical sound that was almost as enticing to Marjorie as his stirring speech. “Never fear, I remember what your horse looked like, too! Now I must be off if I’m to seek him out before the selling begins.”
Marjorie smiled gratefully and waited for Evan to leave the tack room with Cavalier’s harness before making her way out to the pens. She began to look around at once for anywhere that someone might seek to cause harm.
Throughout the morning, she discovered a number of strange circumstances. Iron nails that had fallen into a sack of feed, a fence enclosure whose hinges were intentionally in disrepair, and worst of all, the ground in front of a set of jumping gates that had been dug away and covered over with straw. Any rider who attempted to go over it would have fallen into the hole, leaving the rider with perhaps a broken neck and the horse in need of being shot.
“This will not do,” Marjorie muttered after finding countless small but dangerous instances. She returned to the stables and called out to Donohue, but stopped herself. What if he was behind these tactics, or any of the riders? Any of the stable hands could have been paid handsomely to take part, or at least serve as lookout.
“Mr. Donohue,” Marjorie began when he came around the corner. “His Lordship has ordered that no one is to ride today.”
“Aye? Why’s that, Mr. Gregg?” Donohue frowned as if uncertain of this statement.
“I know not, sir. I did not think to question him. Only that I assured him I would let you know and inform the other riders. He said none of the horses are to be put through their paces until he returns, and none should be left unattended in the paddocks either.”
“I see, ‘tis very strange, but an order’s an order! Very well then. Go tell the others and I will let all the hands know.”
After Donohue left, Marjorie crept around the side of the stable to continue her search, only to notice a door that was not open before. She opened it wide and found a man crouched inside, a burning oil lamp in one hand despite the bright sunshine and the hour of the day. Her eyes followed to his other hand where he was piling rags and cloth against the bales of hay.
“Stop! What are you doing?” she shouted, remembering to disguise her voice to match her appearance. The man whipped around in fear, his eyes wide. Seeing only what appeared to be a young man, he dropped his things and dove for Marjorie, his hands outstretched towards her neck.
Marjorie stumbled backwards but regained her footing before she could fall. Scrambling to get her feet beneath her, she sprinted away, shouting for Donohue or anyone who was nearby.
“Come quick! Mr. Donohue, where are you?” she shouted as she hurried through the corridor.
Several stable hands appeared from various stalls and adjacent rooms, and Marjorie shouted at them to hurry to the farthest end of the barn. Still shouting for Donohue, she hurried out into the courtyard in front of the stable where several horses were being led to the closest paddock.
“Mr. Donohue! Come quickly!” she shouted, waving her arms frantically.
By the time the older man arrived with several stable hands in his wake, the men she’d seen earlier were dragging a bloody-faced stranger out into the yard. They held him by the arms, supporting his weight because he was unable to stand on his own. His head slung forward as they jerked him up to standing.
“What’s all this then?” Donohue demanded, but Marjorie couldn’t answer for fear of giving herself away. Her heart raced frantically and her breath came in gasps.
“This man,” she finally managed, pointing behind her at the now-injured person. “I saw him, he was… He was tampering in the stock room. I think… I think he was going to…”
Suddenly, one of the boys pointed to the roof of the stable and shouted. The others turned to look where he pointed and their faces became identical masks of fear.
“Fire!”
Chaos broke out. The stable hands dropped the stranger, who fell in the dirt as if stuffed with straw. One of the men dragged him towards the fence and sat on him, meaning to prevent his escape, while the others hurried to save the stable.
Inside the great stone barn, the terrified screams of horses echoed forth as the roof burned over their heads. Stable hands and riders alike raced inside, determined to free the frightened creatures and save them from certain death.
Marjorie moved to follow the crowd of men and rescue the horses, but she was pulled backwards by the collar of her shirt. Nearly losing her footing at the surprising move, she turned to question who was preventing her.
“Oh no, My Lady. You’re not going in there,” Donohue said. “Tis much too dangerous and His Lordship would have me strung up for allowing it. You go fetch all of the water pails from the paddocks and bring them here! Quickly now!”
Marjorie turned to obey the order, her mind reeling. How could he have known? Worse, how long had he known? Had Donohue perhaps told anyone else?
