Chapter 3

The distant sound of people talking and laughing in the taproom filled Hannah's ears as she tiptoed into the hallway of the inn. Her head was pounding with an ache like a band tightening around her brain. The coach trip to the White Crown had lasted but six hours, but it had worn on her nerves to the point that, if she didn't escape outdoors, she feared that she would lose her wits. Mother hadn't stopped reprimanding her all the way from the house.

Her ruined riding-dress and the scratches on her face and hands were mentioned, as was the fact that she had chosen a white dress to wear for the coach-trip—utterly foolish, Mother said, since it would be travel-stained when they arrived at the inn, and what if someone saw?

Nothing Hannah did was right, from the way she drank her tea to the way she sat in the coach, and the pain of being constantly criticized was like an ache in her heart.

Hannah tiptoed onwards down the dark, winding wooden stairs, sneaking past Mother's room to the entrance. Her head pounded and her heart raced with confusion and fear. She reached the foot of the stairs and leaned back against the wall; head spinning, fingers gripping the door handle for a moment so that she could stay standing. The headache got worse as she recalled the constant reprimanding she'd received from Mother.

I can't be that bad.

If she was to believe her mother, she was the worst creature that ever walked the earth—inconsiderate, cruel, foolish, headstrong and thoughtless. She felt her soul cringe with shame as she remembered the words that her mother had spat at her. Each word made her feel ashamed of herself. Philipa agreed with Mother on everything, as usual, and Edward didn't say anything, but he didn't defend her; just sat there looking annoyed and staring out of the coach window as if they were all a great bother to him.

Footsteps sounded in the hallway behind her, and Hannah shoved the door open in haste and fear. Mother's constant criticism made her feel as though anybody who saw her would hate her on sight. The cold air outdoors hit her, and she leaned back against the front of the building for a moment, taking a breath of cold air. Outside, the sky was low and dark with rain-clouds. The air smelled damp and the dirt path was muddy. She gazed down at her boots, which were white like the dress, and stepped sideways to walk where there was paving, rather than risking walking through the mud. She didn't want to do anything else that would earn Mother's ire.

She stopped again at the gate of the inn yard. The inn was built on slightly higher ground than the surrounding countryside, and she could see out over fields and farms, across to distant woodland. She felt her head pound as she stood there, squinting out at the trees and the rainy landscape, and wished that Margaret was there to offer her some remedy.

And not just medicine for the headache, she thought sadly. Margaret is always at least kind.

She shuddered with cold. She'd walked out of the inn without even thinking of her cloak. She shuddered, drawing a breath of cold, fresh air, but as she breathed in, she smelled a familiar smell.

The smell of a stable.

Something sparkled inside her; some light she had thought that Mother had entirely extinguished, and just for a moment, she remembered that she wasn't unlovable. Sapphire, at least, loved her. Sapphire was stabled at Grassdale Manor, but the coach-horses were in the inn stable, four beautiful gray ones, and Hannah decided to go and find them.

It would do her good to spend time with them.

She hurried across the yard, careful to avoid stepping in the mud in her white boots. The door to the stables was opposite her; a dark opening in the long, low stone building with a high, sloped roof. The smell of horses—a warm mix of sweat and hay—reached her as she ducked inside.

"Shh. Easy," she murmured, hearing the neighing of a horse as soon as she entered. The horses didn't sound panicked, and she felt her lips lift. Probably whoever fed them came in at this time each day.

She looked around, her eyes adjusting to the gloom inside, and spotted a black horse with a white blaze on his brow. He was looking at her with a mix of annoyance and boredom, his nostrils flaring a little as he caught her scent. She liked the look of him instantly.

"Sorry, old chap," she murmured, holding out her hand so he could sniff it. "I didn't bring any food for you. I'm sure whoever feeds you will be along any moment."

The horse laid back his ears as she talked, and she stood very still. She was not afraid of horses, but she knew stallions could be flighty and the chances of him biting her were not impossible.

"Easy, old fellow," she said gently, though the horse didn't look particularly old; he was quite young, not more than four years old, if the fine coat and the sparkle in his eye were anything to judge from. Her eyes became more accustomed to the darkness, and she stared at the stallion, impressed by his beauty. He had a small, fine-boned face and the slight flare of his nostrils suggested an Arab lineage, though he was too big to be pure Arab.

"Whoa," she said softly as he snaked his head forward, but he hadn't meant to bite; rather, he was sniffing her palm. She felt the softness of his nose, a velvet-soft touch on her hand and her own tears fell on her cheek. He didn't think she was disgraceful or disgusting. He accepted her.

"You're so lovely. Look at you," she murmured as he smelled her hand, then lifted his head to look at her. She could see from the set of his ears that he had relaxed, and she smiled warmly.

He huffed again.

"Aren't you a fine fellow?" she asked, feeling more confident. The sound of footsteps on stone made her turn sharply around, but she saw nobody. She shivered, thinking it was Edward coming to find her, but nobody appeared and she ignored it, lifting her hand to scratch the horse's nose.

"Hey, boy. You're a fine fellow, aren't you?" she said softly, reaching to stroke him. As she did, she heard something from the doorway.

"What do you think you're doing? That's my horse!"

Hannah jerked her hand away instantly, pure terror rippling through her. She tried to think of some way to explain she meant no harm, but words wouldn't come. Her vision darkened as the ache in her head pressed in, blinding her. She stumbled and slipped, shrieking in alarm as she plummeted to the floor.

The floor was dirty, just hard-packed earth, and her only thought as she reached out desperately to stop herself falling was that her dress would be filthy, and Mother would never stop shouting at her.

She felt strong arms tighten around her just before she fell full-length on the muddy stable floor.

Hannah cried out in alarm, tense with fear and surprise.

She was held tight to a man's chest. His arms were firm around her, and she could feel his soft shirt against her face. His body was warm, his arms strong, and the chest against which she was held felt muscled through the thin fabric of his shirt. She could smell a strong smell of leather and a musk-like scent that she couldn't identify but that made her senses swoon. She gazed up at the man.

He was taller than her by a head, and he had a thin face with prominent cheekbones, a long nose, and a fine, firm chin. It was a stern, thin-lipped face, with chiseled edges and firm lines, and she wouldn't normally have found such a face handsome, but when she looked into his brown eyes, she almost gasped and had to admit silently that they were the most beautiful eyes she'd ever seen. They were very dark and seemed almost wary like the eyes of a startled creature. They were fringed with thick lashes and bracketed with slight wrinkles from the sunshine. She felt her heart thump as she stared up into them. She wasn't frightened anymore.

"You fell," the man murmured. His brow lowering. He didn't look angry but concerned.

"Yes. You caught me," Hannah whispered back.

She bit her lip, wishing she could think of something eloquent to say, some way to explain how grateful she was that she hadn't landed in the dirt and got stained with mud. She couldn't imagine what might be an appropriate answer, and she was still thinking about it, when she heard a yell from the doorway and the man tensed. Hannah felt her head pound with sheer terror as she recognized the voice.

"What are you doing? That's my daughter you're holding there! Unhand her at once, you scoundrel!"