Anne Bishop - Shadows and Light

Liam swallowed hard to keep down the whiskey that threatened to rise up in his throat. “He did that to you? He did that?” He suddenly understood the days, a few months ago, when his mother had barely spoken, had moved so carefully, had denied there was anything wrong. The whiskey glass slipped from his fingers, hit the carpet, but didn’t break. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

“If I’d said anything, he would have hurt Brooke.”

Liam looked at the second, smaller bridle. “Did he—? Did he ever—?”

“No,” Elinore said. “If he had, he wouldn’t have lived long enough to choke at his mistress’s table. I would have cut the bastard’s heart out before then.”

A long, uneasy silence hung between them.

“You have a choice to make, Liam. You can give me your word that you’ll do whatever you can to protect the witches in the Old Place.”

“And if I don’t give you my word?” he asked hoarsely.

“Then I will pack my things, take my daughter, and go live with my kinswomen.”

If she’d pulled a bow and arrow from beneath the sofa and aimed it at his heart, she couldn’t have shocked—or hurt— him more.

“You’d leave me? You’d walk away from your son to live with them ?”

“I wouldn’t be walking away from my son since I would already have lost him. I’d be walking away from the Baron of Willowsbrook and any control he might have over my life.”

“Mother...” Liam rubbed his hands over his face. “If you left like that, everyone in the village would know inside of a week. We’d be laughingstocks.”

“I don’t have the luxury of considering hurt feelings,” Elinore replied quietly. “Not when my daughter’s life is at stake.”

Anger burned through him. “Do you truly think I’m capable of hurting Brooke? She’s my little sister.”

“I know what my son would, and wouldn’t, do. I don’t know what the new baron is capable of when he doesn’t get his own way.”

He looked at her pale face and clenched hands. Pain lanced through him when he admitted to himself that she meant every word.

“You make your choice, Liam. Then I’ll make mine,” Elinore said.

“I can’t give you an answer. I—I can’t think. I need to think.”

He strode out of the room, slamming the door behind him. He left the house and headed for the stables. A hard ride. That’s what he needed. A horse that required his attention and energy as a rider. Maybe fresh air and speed would help clear his head so that he could think again. But, right now, he needed a little time not to think at all.

When Liam reached the stables, Flint, the stable master, gave him a sour look. Nothing new about that. Flint had been the old baron’s man and had always resented taking orders from anyone else—including the baron’s heir.

“You’ll be wanting the gelding again?” Flint asked, his tone implying that unsaddling the gelding had wasted the time of one of his men.

“Yes,” Liam said curtly. He turned away to wait for the horse, then turned back. “No. Have Arthur saddle Oakdancer.”

Flint’s expression soured even more, but he turned his head to call out, “Boy! Saddle the stallion for Baron Liam.”

One of these days, he’s going to use that tone with me and find himself looking for a new position, Liam thought as he took a few steps away from the stable. His feelings were too raw, and butting heads with Flint now would only add to the resentment most of the men felt toward the boy for being the only person besides Liam who could handle the big bay stallion.

“So you want to buy a stallion from me?” Ahern said, scowling at his guest.

Wondering if his father had been right about this being a fool’s errand, Liam set the small glass of ale on the scrubbed kitchen table without tasting it. “Yes, sir.”

Ahern was silent for a long moment. Then, looking at the woman who kept house for him, he said, “The lad will be staying for supper.”

“Good for the lad,” the woman replied tartly. “He — and the rest of you—just might find some supper to be had if you take your business out of my kitchen and back to the stables where it belongs.”

Ahern flashed the woman a quick grin before draining his glass. “Come on then,” he told Liam as he walked to the kitchen door. “Let’s see if you’ll suit one of the youngsters.”

Liam offered the woman a weak smile of apology for intruding on her domain — an effort that was wasted since she’d already turned her back on him to fuss with something near the sink. He eyed the sugar bowl on the table. Not finely ground, as it was in many of the gentry houses these days, but broken up into small lumps. After another quick glance to make sure the woman wasn’t watching him, and keeping his back to the kitchen door, he snitched a couple of lumps of sugar and stuffed them into his coat pocket as he turned to follow Ahern back to the stables.

“It’s been said that you raise the finest horses in Sylvalan,” Liam said, stretching his legs to keep pace with the older man.

“There’s truth to the saying,” Ahem replied.

Well, so much for flattery, Liam thought. Not that he’d actually thought it would help. The other things that were said about Ahern being gruff and difficult to deal with were equally true. The old man sold horses when he chose, to whom he chose. And no amount of money could seal the bargain if Ahern decided against a man for some reason.

They walked silently for several minutes until they reached a fenced pasture where a dozen young stallions grazed. Heads came up. Ears pricked. Then they all returned to their grazing.

Ahern climbed over the fence. Liam followed.

“Stand there,” Ahern said, pointing to a spot on the ground before walking a few feet away.

“But—”

“Stand.”

Liam stood. And waited.

Nothing happened.

“How can you keep them pastured together?” Liam asked.

“I don’t tolerate bad manners.”

From man or horse, Liam concluded, biting his tongue to keep from saying anything else to fill the silence.

Then the wind shifted just enough for the horses to catch the scent of the two men. Suddenly they were all in motion, cantering in a large circle as if to show off their paces. Two of them veered away from the rest, headed toward the men, wheeled, and galloped to the far end of the pasture. Two more broke away from the circle, moved off a ways and began grazing. One by one, the young stallions lost interest in the men until only one, a bay, trotted toward Liam.

Slipping his hand in his pocket, Liam brought out one of the lumps of sugar, loosely clasped in his fist.

The stallion came forward more slowly now.

Hoping to hide the sugar from Ahern, Liam cupped his hand and held it out. “Hello, lad,” he said quietly. “Come to make friends?”

The stallion was quite willing to make friends with a man who offered sugar. While the horse took the treat, then licked Liam’s palm to get the loose grains of sugar, Liam petted him and kept talking.

“You’re a fine-looking lad, aren’t you?” Liam said. “A very fine lad.”

The stallion nodded, then nipped at the pocket of Liam’s coat.

Liam gently pushed the horse’s muzzle away from the pocket. The horse gave him a shove that was less than gentle.

“You’d best give him the other lump of sugar before he knocks you down,” Ahern said, walking toward them.

Feeling his face heat, Liam gave the horse the other lump of sugar.