I watch as he rests his hand on Sabina’s arm, a gesture of comfort as she wipes at her cheek. She’s upset, clearly, but why? Sabina and her husband, Haydon’s grandparents, have been managing the royal stables for as long as I can remember. Sabina’s a gentle soul, unassuming and open-minded, and despite her son being relentlessly supportive of my father’s attempts to marry me off to her grandson, Sabina has never pushed the matter with me. It has only made me appreciate her more.
“If there is anything I can do,” my father says, smiling sadly at Sabina. It’s a rare display of compassion and comfort. “Please, just ask. You’ve been so loyal and committed to my family for many years. Maybe you should go home.”
Sabina removes her arm from the King’s touch, leaving his hand falling to his side. “Thank you, Your Majesty. But I would rather keep myself busy.”
My father nods his understanding, pulling on his tweed coat before settling his flat-cap atop his head. “You have always been a fighter.” He motions for one of his footman to come to him, accepting his shotgun and checking the chamber.
“I have,” Sabina says quietly, taking a tissue from the pocket of her Barbour jacket and wiping her nose. I’m sure I detect a flash of resentment as she utters her agreement. “One needs to be in this world, Your Majesty.”
“One does,” my father agrees easily, almost automatically.
I watch as Sabina stares at my father, who is now distracted, inspecting his gun. Yes, that’s resentment, easily detectable on Sabina’s face, whose features are normally so soft and serene. I’ve never seen this hardness in her expression before.
“Princess Adeline.”
I jump and swing around, finding a stoic Davenport looming behind me. I breathe out and roll my eyes. “You don’t have to creep up on me, Major,” I mutter.
“No creeping, ma’am. Perhaps you were too engrossed to hear my approach.” He passes me, and I follow him to my father, aware that my cover is blown. Damn it. The King’s right-hand man never misses a bloody thing, which is undoubtedly why he carries one of the longest records of royal service. He could have retired three years ago, but he has devoted his life to serving the Sovereign. He’ll probably outlive my father, too. I’m told the Major has never taken a sick day in his career, not when serving my father, and not when serving my grandfather either. His commitment is unquestionable, yet I often wonder how lonely he is when he is off duty, albeit rarely. The miserable old goat has never married, and he has no children. Not that I could imagine the cold, stony stickler ever being loving toward a woman and kids. In fact, I can’t imagine the Major being anything less than stiff and impassive with anyone.
“Your Majesty,” Davenport says as he approaches my father. “The Prime Minister has requested an audience.”
“He has? Outside of our usual weekly meet? Whatever for?” My father’s interest in the man who runs the country is, as always, lacking. Not that I’m included in affairs of a political nature, but one thing I do know is that my father believes it’s preposterous that in these modern times, the Sovereign has no say over who runs his country for him.
My father continues to faff with his shotgun while Davenport mentions the Chancellor of the Exchequer and something about this year’s budget. “Shall I confirm four thirty, Your Majesty?”
“Yes, yes. I should have popped a few birds by three.” He points his gun to the sky and mock shoots a real pigeon. “Get the clays loaded.”
“Sir.” Davenport nods and leaves to relay the King’s orders to whoever’s controlling the trap for Father’s shooting session.
“Adeline.” The King finally notices my presence, turning his pot belly toward me and pulling a cigar from the inside of his tweed jacket. A footman is under his nose with a lighter before the fat, brown stick makes it to his mouth. “I didn’t see you on the schedule to ride today.”
“Last-minute plan,” I answer, glancing at my phone when it rings. It’s him again. “Sabina said she is free to spend a few hours with Spearmint and me.” I slip my phone into my pocket as Father sucks on the end of his cigar. “But if it is a bad time, Sabina, I understand.”
“No, no.” She waves off my concern as Father and Davenport head off to the Land Rover, and I sag a little, glad I avoided another earache about Haydon and my obligation to marry him. “Let’s go see that fine beast of yours,” Sabina says. “I haven’t had a chance to saddle him up just yet.”
“No problem. I would actually like to do it myself.” The more time I kill, the better. I will muck out his stables too, and even plough the field for horse shit if I must. Anything to keep me busy. “Are you okay, Sabina?”
“I’m fine.” She smiles and links arms with me, and we start to wander to the north stable block. “It’s Colin. He was admitted into the hospital last night with a suspected heart attack.”
“Oh my goodness,” I gasp. Sabina’s husband, like Sabina, is so active, his racehorse training skills making sure of it. A heart attack? I suddenly feel rotten, not only for Sabina, who I’m so fond of, but for Haydon, too. I was so short with him last night. Did he know his grandfather was unwell when I dismissed him from my suite? “Sabina, you shouldn’t be here. Please, I can see to things myself.”
“Like I said to His Majesty, distraction is better. Besides, Colin’s sleeping mostly. I’m of no use fussing over him when there are an army of nurses to do that. In fact, he dismissed me himself.”
“Does David know? And Haydon?”
The mention of her grandson and son brightens her smile. “David escorted me to the hospital late last night. We didn’t want to worry Haydon unnecessarily so delayed advising him of his grandfather’s condition until this morning.”
“And how is his condition?”
“He’s stable. Tough as old boots, my husband.” She chuckles a little. “Anyway, enough of that. How did you enjoy your birthday?”
“It was lovely, thank you.”
Sabina glances at my hand, and then back to me, a semblance of a knowing smile gracing her lips. “You’re not wearing Haydon’s ring.”
I, too, look at my hand. “Oh, I didn’t want to damage it while riding.” I scan my mind for the last time I saw it. In the bathroom. I took it off to shower this morning and forgot to put it back on.
“Understandable,” Sabina muses, “that you would forget to put it back on, since it doesn’t hold the sentiment that Haydon would hope.”
I flame red and glance away from her knowing eyes. “That’s not the case,” I murmur pitifully.
Sabina stops and turns me into her, taking me by the tops of my arms. There’s no escape, and strangely, I don’t want to. I am so fond of Haydon’s grandmother, hold her in high regard, and only a small reason for that is because she doesn’t push me toward her grandson like everyone else does. “Adeline, you know my thoughts on the King and my David’s persistence in trying to bring you and Haydon together. You can’t manufacture love.”
I sag a little, so relieved to hear her say that. “They won’t listen to me, Sabina. I adore Haydon, I do. We grew up together, but—”
“You don’t need to explain yourself to me, Adeline.” She laughs. “Lord, you’d eat my grandson alive.”
I laugh too, because she’s right. I can’t promise if my father and Haydon’s father ever succeeded in wrestling me down the aisle, I would not take out my bitterness and resentment on Haydon. He doesn’t deserve that. He deserves someone who will love him truly and deeply. That someone is not me. “How can I make them see?”
“You can’t.” Sabina starts walking again. “No one can challenge the Monarchy when it comes to their public image. The smokescreen is too thick to penetrate.” There is that hard edge to her features again, and I frown. I know she’s right, but why do I sense there is a personal tinge to that statement? “I’m speaking hypothetically, of course.”
“Of course,” I reply quietly, falling into thought, desperate to ask if there is something specific she is referring to. But one thing I know is
that asking questions will get you nowhere with the royals and their close aides.
We enter the block, and I spot Spearmint in the second stable. “There he is.” His beauty wipes all questions from my mind. I slide the bolt across and coax him back as I enter. “God, you are so handsome.”
“His grandsire won countless races,” Sabina says, looking over her shoulder when someone approaches. “Doctor Goodridge,” she murmurs, her face noticeably dropping.
The old man nods, his face somewhat solemn. “Your Highness.”
I smile my hello. “You go,” I say to Sabina, not wanting to keep her. Doctor Goodridge obviously wants to talk about her husband, and I feel somewhat grateful that he’s on hand to care for Colin Sampson. The old doctor has served as the King’s private physician for decades, serving my grandfather before that. He’s way past retirement, but like most people who serve the Royals, he doesn’t seem to want to break free. I run a palm down Spearmint’s muscled neck. “I can see to Spearmint myself.”
“You sure you don’t want me to saddle him up?”
“No, I’ll do it. I should get to know him.”
“Thank you, ma’am.” Sabina gives my arm a soft pat. “Go easy on him. He’s been out cantering already this morning.”
“We’ll do no more than an hour.”
“Okay. And then we need to discuss his routine. If you want to run him in the mornings, that’s fine. Just give me notice so I don’t send him out before you arrive. He’ll need a rest day, too.”
“That’s fine. I can ride Stan if Spearmint needs to rest.”
“Call if you need anything.” Sabina heads off with Dr. Goodridge, leaving me and Spearmint to get to know each other.
“So then, Spearmint. What is your guilty pleasure?” I pull my fingers though his silky mane, laughing when he snorts. I reach into my pocket and pull out a sugar lump. “You look like a sugar kind of guy to me.” Spearmint chomps down the cube, giving me a chance to inspect his teeth. They are about as perfect as a horse’s teeth could be. “Let’s get you saddled up, boy. Back in a moment.” I let myself out of the stable, but before I head for the tack room, I wander down to the far end of the block to see Stan, my pride and joy. “Stan,” I sing as I approach his stable, smiling when I hear his hooves clip-clop across the concrete floor. His grey speckled head pokes out, and, I swear, the big burly beast smiles. “Hey, boy.” I make a huge fuss of him to be sure he doesn’t feel left out, and I don’t just give him the one sugar lump. I indulge him with two. “I’ll be back later. We’ll go for a hack, what do you say?”
My friend nuzzles at my pocket in search of more treats, making me laugh. “You only want me for my sugar lumps.” I slip him one more and then head for the tack room, scanning the rows of bridle hooks and saddle pegs, spotting Spearmint’s name on the very end. I heave his giant saddle up and grab his tack, heading back to the stable. Every time I come here, Stan is always ready for me to jump on and trot off. I had forgotten how much I’ve missed saddling up.
I’m in my element as I get Spearmint ready for our first outing together, my hands working fast and expertly. He fights me a little as I slip the bit into his mouth, flinging his head in protest, but a stern word and firm handle soon has him complying. After a quick check that the leg reins are even and his girth belt not too tight, I lead him out to the courtyard.
“Fine beast you have there, Your Highness,” Burt calls from the piles of hay, his fork breaking up the bales. The old farmer has supplied the stables stock of horse feed and bedding for decades, rumbling down the lane in his tractor twice a day.
“Thanks, Burt.” I put on my riding hat and fasten it before working my hands into my leather gloves. Then I slip my left foot into the stirrup and grab the pommel, hauling myself into the saddle. “Easy, boy,” I soothe when Spearmint shifts on his hooves.
I try to get comfortable in the seat, wincing and hissing as I do. Holy good Lord. Riding after a night with Josh Jameson is a terrible idea. My backside and thighs hurt in places they’ve never hurt before. But I persevere, and on a few more winces and grimaces, I click Spearmint on, walking to the training arena. His stride is different to what I’m used to after years of riding Stan, but my body soon falls into his rhythm and as soon as we are in the large square enclosure, I work him up to a trot and do a few laps, feeling him just as much as he needs to feel me. “I think you and I are going to get on just fine, Spearmint.” He rides like a dream, gracefully and confidently, as if there is no weight upon his back, as if he is wild and free. It’s exactly how I feel every time I ride Stan through the fields, and though my horse is different and our cantering space is limited to the safety of the royal land, it is still the best feeling. My mind clears and I focus on being at one with Spearmint, taking him through the motions, getting to know him. I feel no discord, no need to defy. I’m alive, more myself. This is what freedom feels like for me. I won’t allow any negative thoughts to intrude on this moment, because this is where my heart feels full. This is where my heart knows peace. This is where I can imagine my life beyond the constraints of my royal life. Where I may pursue dreams and live a life I choose. Where I can be myself and not what I am expected to be.
This is the real me.
AN HOUR HAS PASSED BEFORE I realize it, and Spearmint has worked up a good sweat. “I think that is enough exercise for you today, boy. Sabina will be scolding me.” I slow him to a steady walk, shifting myself in the saddle on a hiss of discomfort. “And my backside can’t take much more friction,” I tell him as we head back to the stables, stopping at the water trough where I swing my leg over his saddle and jump down.
“He looked good,” Sabina calls across the courtyard, her arms full of tack.
“He did beautifully.” I assure her as she nears. “Is everything okay, Sabina? With Colin, I mean.”
“Yes. Doctor Goodridge was giving me an update.” She gives me one of her famous soft smiles and carries on her way.
I let Spearmint get his fill of water before I lead him to his stable and strip him down. Slipping his saddle over the stable door, I pull off his cloth and spend some time brushing him. I need to do this more often. It’s so therapeutic. I reluctantly finish on his mane, stopping before I brush him until he disappears. “You’ll do,” I say, smacking him lightly on his muscled rump.
“Is it my turn for a rubdown?”
I swing around and find Josh with his forearms resting on Spearmint’s saddle where it hangs over the half-height stable door. “Oh bloody hell,” I mumble, not nearly as quietly as intended. My relaxed, serene state quickly changes to tense and shaky, and my bucking heart does not assist in helping me fix that. Josh’s grin is almost angelic, contradicting the devilish intentions in his eyes. And just like that, I am ambushed, not only by countless flashbacks, but by a formidable desire I really don’t want to feel.
Shit.
Shit, shit, shit.
“How did you get in here?” I ask, taking my brush back to Spearmint, ignoring the fact that his skin is probably numb from being groomed so much already.
“Why are you ignoring my calls?”
“Maybe because I don’t want to speak with you. Again, what are you doing here?”
“The King offered my dad the use of one of his horses.”
His rough accent drips over me in the most infuriatingly pleasing way. “That was very kind of him.”
“I thought so, too.”
I hear the bolt of the stable door slide. Oh no. My hand falters in its sweeping motion across Spearmint’s coat. “You shouldn’t come in here.” It is way too cozy already.
Of course, he completely ignores me. “You don’t sound happy to see me.”
“I’m not.”
“Why?”
I breathe in and force myself to face him, except now I have the full length of him, and the sight, in addition to his stunning face, is all too lovely. His cream chinos are a perfect fit, and with his shirt hanging out, he looks all relaxed and yummy. And his hair
. . .
I drag myself back from the brink of pathetic and level Josh with a cool expression. “I am rather busy.”
“Is that an answer to my question? Because if so, I won’t get in your way.”
“You are already in my way,” I retort as he steps forward and I step back. He stops and smiles, and then takes one more step forward. Instinctively, I move back. My only escape is around the back of Spearmint, and being behind a horse should be avoided at all costs. And it seems now the cost is my dignity, because if I remain here a moment longer, there is a huge chance I may grab Josh Jameson and tackle him to the hay. I can’t seem to control myself around this man. It’s dangerous. Possibly more dangerous than escaping him around the back of Spearmint. Damn it!
“You won’t even know I’m here.” He pulls an imaginary zip across his mouth.
“Not likely,” I mutter to myself, facing my fear and walking forward. I stop before him when he doesn’t move, cocking my head and fighting back the want consuming me. I knew this would happen. I just knew I would wind up wanting him again. It doesn’t make much sense to me. “Excuse me,” I say politely.
Josh steps back, opening up my path, and I make quick work of collecting Spearmint’s tack before escaping the stable. The huge horse isn’t the only thing taking up all the space. It is also the thick chemistry, and it’s overpowering. I scuttle to the tack room, holding everything in my arms tightly to avoid revealing my trembles. Christ, why him? Why does his mere presence have my heart racing like a pathetic little school girl with a crush?
“You look fuckin’ awesome in your riding gear, by the way,” Josh says casually.
I dump the saddle on the saddle horse with far less care than I should, and loop the tack over a hook hanging from the ceiling. “Thank you.” I wander over to the sink and fill it with warm water.
“Want some help?” Josh appears next to me, brushing my arm with his, forcing me to put some space between our close bodies.
“You want to help me clean tack?” I ask, amused, grabbing a sponge and plunging it into the water. I squeeze it out and make my way to the saddle horse, Josh on my tail.