Debra Brown - The Virgin Spring

A white mare—her mare.

“Glenna,” she whispered.

The stable master stopped in midstroke and spun on his heel. His expression was all interest and mild surprise. “Glenna? Is that her name, then?”

She moved closer and began to stroke the mare’s snowy coat. “Aye.” Glenna nudged her hand and softly nickered in response. The simple gesture brought the sting of salt tears to Rachel’s eyes. She quickly wiped them away.

“Glenna,” Peg repeated. “’Tis a bonny name for a mare.”

Rachel smiled and threw her arms suddenly around Glenna’s neck. The mare knew her. ’Twas a small thing, but it was the only tangible evidence she had of her former life. She clung to it and it buoyed her strength.

“Her saddle, and the leather bags attached to it,” she said. “Where are they?”

“In the shed yonder.” Jamie nodded at a small cottage on the perimeter of the stable yard. “The clothes and things that was in ’em have already been taken away.”

“Who took them?”

“Alex.”

Alex. He’d shown her much kindness, yet there was something about him that unsettled her, something in his eyes. “Why would Alex take my things?”

Peg stumbled forward, blushing hotly, trying for all the world not to look at Jamie. “Perhaps to keep them safe?”

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