“You do not hit him do you?” Marguerite could not hold the question back.
At the question the kitchen erupted in laughter. “No,” Cook began, “the lad just needs reminding that I am stirring up a big batch of batter for apple cake and there’s a spoon to be licked. A boy that age will do anything for his stomach, even give his boots to a girl.”
Will returned a moment later and Marguerite slipped off her slippers and tried the boots. They were still big, but she could manage. She sent one of the maids for her cloak and slipped out the kitchen door.
She tromped into the muddy gardens with quiet delight. The cool air bit at her cheeks and she smiled. A harsh wind whipped at her skirts and she laughed with glee. The fresh air filled her. Life was what you made it.
She’d spent enough years caught beneath her mother’s thumb to know how easily joy and life could be sucked away. Until she’d visited Rose and met Tristan over a year ago she’d never known you didn’t have to follow every rule – rise at the same time each day, read the correct Bible passage, practice the pianoforte for the proscribed number of hours. She never even realized how wonderful a gray mist felt against one’s face.
A hand dropped to her belly. She would make sure her child knew these secrets from infancy.
A sharp whinny filled the air and she turned towards the stables with a shiver. She’d always been afraid of horses. They were so large and powerful – and they had teeth, big ones. Still, this morning the sound drew her.
She paused, and then step-by-step made her way back through the garden and around to the stables.
A mare – at least she thought it was a mare – stood, reins tied to a post. The horse twisted and turned as it tried to reach Will who stood trying to lift the behemoth’s feet.
“Be a good girl now, Buttercup. Just be still for me a moment and you’ll get your reward,” Will said to his willful charge.
The horse whinnied in return and reached for him again, teeth bared.
“Oh look out. It will bite you.” Marguerite darted forward and then stepped hurriedly back.
The boy looked up. He stared at her for a moment, his eyes growing wide.
“Oh, it’s you. When can I have my boots back?”
Marguerite ignored the question, her interest held by huge beast. It grinned at her and chomped loudly. Oh, she wanted to turn and run.
But, Will. He didn’t realize his danger.
“Come away from there. I don’t want you hurt.” Her voice shook with the effort to remain calm. She inched forward again and then jumped back when the horse reached out. Her hands jerked up to shield her face from the huge teeth.
Oh, the poor boy. He would surely be trampled. Marguerite dared a peek through her fingers.
He was grinning. His fine fingered hand caressed the mammoth neck and he was grinning, almost chortling – at her.
“Don’t mind Buttercup, she knows I’ve a lump of sugar in my pocket. She wouldn’t hurt a fly.”
The horse, Buttercup, turned back to the boy and nipped at him.
Marguerite’s hands tightened into fists as she prepared to step towards the horse one more time. To save Will she would be brave. She would grab him and run.
Keeping her eyes focused on the beast, she took the step. The horse jerked towards her. She stepped back, only the too large boots didn’t. Her toes sank into the cold mud of the yard. She jumped at the sensation, lost her balance, and pitched forward towards the beast.
Her knees hit first, pain shooting up her back. Her eyes focused in horror on the huge feet that would squash her with one step. She hoped the boy had made it to safety. She closed her eyes and prepared to meet her maker.
Nothing happened. Then she felt a sharp tug at her hair, followed by the softest caress of her forehead, and then slobber. If this was death it was not what she had expected.
She opened one eye. The horse loomed above her staring down. Its mouth opened. Its teeth approached. And then . . . it pulled her hair. It clamped its mouth around her loose curls and tugged. Its lips were soft. Marguerite wasn’t sure she’d ever felt anything as velvety, not even the soft down of the new baby she’d held once after services.