Lord of the Beasts Page 13

  It had not been until he was a young man that Donal learned the full story of his father’s courtship of his mother: how Hern, wild lord of the forest, had taken the shape of a well-bred Englishman and eloped with Lady Eden, getting her with child before their wedding day; how she had fled when she’d learned of his inhuman nature and given birth in secrecy and seclusion; how Hern sought to reclaim his child by taking yet another human form and plotting to carry Donal back to the Fane homeland of Tir-na-Nog.

  Instead, he had fallen in love with Lady Eden, given up his virtual immortality and became a true parent to a lonely six-year-old boy. From him Donal had learned how to shape and control his inherited ability to understand and influence animals of all shapes and sizes. Now he had cause to put those abilities to good use again.

  He sent calming thoughts to the angry horse and walked slowly toward him, ignoring the cursing groom.

  “Stay back,” the man warned in a thick Irish accent. “He’s a bad one, he is.”

  Donal continued to advance, extending his hand so that the stallion could catch his scent. “What is troubling him?” he asked the groom.

  “What’s troublin’ him?” The man laughed, setting off a fresh bout of lashing hooves. “What isn’t? He’s a savage beast fit only for the glue factory.” He ducked nimbly out of the stallion’s way and raised the quirt in his hand as if he would strike, then caught Donal’s eye and thought better of it. “You’re the animal doctor, ain’t you?”

  “I am. And you had best step away and let me deal with him.”

  “And get meself in trouble for lettin’ you get stomped to death?” The groom jerked down on the stallion’s headstall, temporarily bringing him under control. “Ain’t nothin’ you can do to save this son of the devil.”

  Donal shut out the groom’s words and gave himself over to the horse’s violent thoughts. Fear was the predominant emotion…fear of men who had mistreated him, and rage at everything that bore a human scent. The animal might have been handsome in a healthy state, but his ribs projected from his heaving sides, and numerous newly-healed cuts and abrasions made a lacework of scars on his long, runner’s legs.

  “Easy,” Donal murmured. “Easy there.” He projected images of the peaceful stalls and the horses inside, well-groomed and fed and safe.

  The stallion went very still, his ears swivelled toward Donal. Then he lunged, tearing the lead from the groom’s hands, and nuzzled Donal’s pocket like a placid gelding looking for treats.

  “Impossible,” the groom said, like a curse. “That devil can’t be tamed…”

  “That’s right,” Donal said to the stallion. “Don’t listen to him. He doesn’t know.”

  The stallion bobbed his head and stretched his lips to feather over Donal’s face. Donal saw bits and pieces of the animal’s tormented past; once again Cordelia figured powerfully in the stallion’s memories. But before that there had been a place with many other horses, and constant excitement…the rush of preparation, the walk out to the starting line, the jostling of the other horses as they tensed their muscles for action…and then the signal to run, to stretch legs and devour the track with every stride, all the way to the finish and victory.

  But there had not been enough victories for the stallion. He’d been started too young, driven too hard, passed from owner to owner until an injury had forced him to the sidelines; no one had considered him worth the careful nursing required for his recovery. So he had gone to a man who knew nothing of race horses but fancied himself a great sportsman, who believed that beating his new acquisition would force the creature to stop its shamming and become the great champion that would make his fortune….

  Then Cordelia had come. She had seen that he was cared for and exercised just enough to bring strength back to his wasted body. But he could not forget the other men, and whenever one of the grooms approached, he fought as if for his very life.

  “That time is over,” Donal said, stroking the deep brown neck. “You will run again, my friend. Wait and see.”

  “What’re you tellin’ him, Doc?” the groom said, his mouth twisted in scowling amusement. “He may stand still for you now, but in another minute he’ll be fightin’ again. It’s his way. Either lazy and refusin’to move, or kickin’ at anything within reach.”

  Donal met the groom’s blue eyes. “What is your name?”

  The man tugged his forelock in a sarcastic gesture of respect. “Gallagher, Doctor. Head groom at Edgecott.”

  “You call the horse a devil, but his real name is Boreas, for the north wind.”

  “Is it, now. That’s fascinatin’.”

  “What Boreas requires is an excess of gentleness, not discipline.” He pressed his nose to the stallion’s muzzle. “Your patience will be well rewarded.”

  Gallagher made a rude noise. “The Missus keeps bringing these nags to us, and we have to fix ’em. Pretty soon there won’t be no room left to—”

  “You do wish to keep your position, don’t you?” Donal said softly.

  Gallagher stiffened. “Now what d’you mean by that, Doctor? You after gettin’ me discharged for doin’ me job?”

  “I have no influence with the lady of the house,” Donal said, “but you will take better care of this animal, will you not?”

  “I don’t take kindly to threats.”

  “Then perhaps this will encourage you.” He bent Boreas’s ear and whispered into it. The stallion quivered. He lifted his head and gazed across the park, seeing not a rolling meadow but a curving track and a crowd cheering him on.

  Donal stepped away. Boreas stood still a moment longer, and then he leaped into a dead gallop, tail and mane streaming out behind him. The other grooms paused in their work to stare in disbelief. No one who saw Boreas run could doubt that he was born to race, and that nothing in the world could hold him back.

  Gallagher swore an Irish oath and threw his cap on the ground. “Damn me. He can run!”

  Donal smiled. Sir Reginald, who had been observing the drama from the safety of the stable doors, rejoined him. They watched as Boreas galloped a wide circle around the park and returned, slowing his pace to a canter, a trot and finally a walk. His coat was darkened with sweat, but his neck arched with pride and joy shone in his eyes. He butted his head against Donal’s chest and swung his head to regard Gallagher with lips peeled back from his teeth in unmistakable mockery.

  “Now you see what Boreas is capable of,” Donal said. “I suggest you treat him with the respect he deserves.”

  Gallagher was obviously lost in thought, and took Boreas’s lead without argument. The other grooms went back to work, muttering among themselves. Donal scooped Sir Reginald up in his arms.

  “It’s been a long day, hasn’t it?” he asked the spaniel. “Even if the ladies aren’t back from town, I’d best freshen up before I present myself at the house. Mrs. Jelbert would surely turn up her nose and refuse to feed us at all.”

  Sir Reginald gave a bark of agreement, and together they made their way back to the cottage. Donal had no sooner stepped over the threshold when Sir Reginald went rigid in his arms and began to growl deep in his throat.

  “What is it, my lad?” Donal asked. “Scented a rabbit? I don’t feel any—” He stopped, listened, and broke into a grin. “That’s one fox you won’t want to chase, Reggie. He’s likely to lead you into an embarrassing trap.”

  The spaniel whined and wriggled to get free. Donal laughed.

  “You’d best come out, Tod, and set this poor dog’s mind at rest.”

  The fox glided into the doorway and sat on its haunches, yawning widely. Sir Reginald’s ears rolled so far forward that their elegant red fringe nearly hung over his eyes. He whimpered in confusion. The fox turned round and round like a dervish, and when he came to a stop he was a fox no longer.

  “Good day to my lord,” Tod said, bobbing a bow, “and to my lord’s friend.”

  Donal chuckled. “Of course. You and Reggie were never properly introduced in Yorkshire. To
d, meet Sir Reginald. Sir Reginald…” He set Sir Reginald down, and the spaniel cautiously advanced on the hob. In a breath they were fast friends. Tod plopped down on the floor and accepted Reggie’s enthusiastic kisses.

  Donal sat on the edge of the bed, watching Tod with a knot of sadness in his chest. “It took you a long time to come down,” he said. “I thought you’d changed your mind.”

  “Oh, no, my lord,” Tod said, scratching behind Reggie’s ears. He glanced about the cottage. “This is where my lord sleeps?”

  “Yes. Have you seen the big house?”

  Tod shuddered. “My lord is wise to stay away.”

  “That was my opinion as well. As long as you’re at Edgecott, you’ll stay close to me. Avoid the house and the humans inside it.”

  “Mortals cannot see Tod.”

  He was right, and yet Donal couldn’t shake the feeling that Tod should be extraordinarily careful while they remained at Edgecott.

  And after that…

  Donal shook his head. Tod was entirely too sensitive to his moods, and there was no point in upsetting the hob prematurely.

  He rose from the bed, stretching his arms above his head. “Come with me, my friend. There are a few things I’d like to show you.”

  CHAPTER TEN

  DONAL WAS NOT HIMSELF. Tod had known every one of the lad’s moods since Donal had come to Hartsmere as a child, shy and withdrawn and not yet ready to trust. In some ways he was very like his father, wary of humans and more vulnerable than he would admit, for all that he had chosen to live on the earth of Men.

  He took Tod to see the animals in their cages, and Tod saw at once that their state distressed him. But he knew it was not this alone that troubled Donal. His judgment was confirmed when he and Tod and Sir Reginald crossed the wooded park and climbed the low wold overlooking the great house.

  A carriage rattled up the drive, its open canopy revealing three human females in all their silly, billowing skirts and ruffles. Their faces were concealed by bonnets that encased their heads like ancient helmets, but Tod saw at once how Donal stiffened, heard how his heart began to beat too fast as he watched the passengers alight from the vehicle.

  Tod plopped into the grass and hugged Sir Reginald to his side. This was not good. This was not good at all. Tod had delayed his trip south because he was afraid of what he might find; now, it seemed, matters were far worse than he’d imagined.

  Donal started down the hill toward the house. Sir Reginald gave a yip of excitement, scrambled out of Tod’s arms and dashed past Donal, aiming for the girl in the yellow dress. Tod made himself invisible and flew after him, keeping his distance from the humans clustered by the door.

  He did not hear the first part of the conversation as Donal greeted the females, or the brief and meaningless exchange that followed. But he noticed when the two older females went into the house, leaving Donal alone with the youngest.

  “How was your shopping trip, Ivy?” Donal asked her.

  The girl jerked at the ribbons of her bonnet, tugged it off and dangled the ugly thing just above the ground. “Oh…it was all very well, I suppose. I wish you had come.”

  “I would have been entirely useless, I assure you.”

  “You would have been dreadfully bored,” she declared, bending to take Sir Reginald in her arms. “You and Reggie were lucky this time. You won’t always escape so easily.”

  Donal smiled faintly. “Escape from what?”

  “From me, of course.” She laughed and performed a little skipping dance, setting her bell-like skirts to swaying as if a hundred winged sprites pulled it to and fro at her behest.

  Tod hovered closer, risking Donal’s anger. The girl had changed from the rough, wild creature he had seen at Stenwater Farm. It was more than just the finely-cut clothing, the glowing skin or the dark hair shimmering with health. The way she looked at Donal told Tod that she had become even more of a danger than she had been in the North.

  You shall not have him, Tod thought, glaring at the top of her dark head. I shall make you—

  The girl glanced up with a faint frown, and Tod looked into her eyes. Blue eyes, brilliant as the skies in Tir-na-Nog.

  Tod so forgot himself that he nearly became visible again. He shivered as if with some repulsive human illness. His heart beat as fast as a bumblebee’s wings.

  It must be hate, he thought. Hatred such as he had never felt, as alien to him as mortal love. Hatred of this girl and what she might do to his master. How she might take Donal away….

  “…buy many dresses?” Donal was saying, his words slowly taking shape in Tod’s befuddled mind.

  “Of course,” Ivy said, feigning nonchalance while her gaze eagerly searched Donal’s. “At least a dozen. Most must still be made, but we brought two back with us. I will show them to you this evening, if you like.”

  “I look forward to it,” Donal said with a courtly bow.

  Ivy beamed. “You shall see that I am already becoming a lady.”

  “I’ve no doubt of it. Mrs. Hardcastle is clearly an excellent teacher.”

  “Yes.” Ivy set Sir Reginald down and linked her arm through Donal’s. “Of course I should never change myself at all unless I knew you wanted me to.”

  Donal paused, gazing down into her eyes. “It isn’t only what I wish, Ivy. We agreed that this was the best course for your future.”

  Ivy sighed and turned her face away. “I know,” she said. “I will make you proud of me, Donal.”

  Tod did a somersault of frustration. It was clear that Donal still did not know what he faced. This girl had wiles more potent than that of the average female, and Donal possessed all too few defenses against females of any sort. Yet to tell him the full truth would surely not aid Tod’s cause…not when it was to his advantage for Ivy to remain with the woman Hardcastle.

  Donal cast a suspicious glance in Tod’s direction and led Ivy toward the house. “You’ll make Cordelia proud as well,” he said. “I know she greatly enjoys your company.”

  Ivy kicked at the ground with the toe of her shoe. “I don’t know if I will ever please her.”

  Donal stopped. “What are you saying, Ivy?”

  “Nothing. It’s just…” She hunched her shoulders. “Cordelia wants to make everything perfect. What if I can never be good enough?”

  “Nonsense.” Donal cupped her chin in his hand. “Would you like me to speak to Mrs. Hardcastle? Is there something you would have me tell her?”

  “No, Donal.”

  He studied her face a moment longer and then led her to the door. “Remember that you may come to me at any time if something troubles you,” he said, “just as I’m certain you may speak freely to Mrs. Hardcastle. We—” He broke off as Ivy whirled about and wrapped her arms around him, pressing her cheek to his coat. His skin turned red, and he tugged one-handed at the tight cloth around his neck.

  “Ivy…” he began.

  She stretched on her toes, kissed his cheek and fled into the house. Sir Reginald slipped in the door at her heels. Donal stared after her, jerked again at his neckcloth and turned to stride up the hill.

  “I know you’re here, Tod,” he said, strain thinning his voice.

  Tod made himself visible and hung in the air just out of Donal’s reach. “The girl,” he said, his own voice unsteady. “She gives my lord much trouble.”

  Donal gave Tod a quizzical glance. “What makes you say that, Tod?”

  “She is female.”

  Donal laughed softly. “That she is, and she knows it.”

  Tod flew alongside his master, gathering his courage. “My lord brought the girl here to give her to the woman Hardcastle.”

  “To make a good home for Ivy at Edgecott, yes.”

  “And has that not been done?”

  Donal stopped at the crest of the hill and met Tod’s gaze. “I have had the feeling since Ivy’s arrival at Stenwater that you don’t like her, Tod. You usually pay little enough attention to humans or their affairs. What has she
done to earn your disfavor?”

  Tod squirmed, turning so that Donal could no longer see his eyes. “She makes my lord unhappy.”

  “Whatever put such an idea into your head?”

  “My lord finds no pleasure in this place. Let us go home.”

  Donal raked his hand through his hair. “Sometimes I don’t understand you, Tod. You’ve just arrived, and my work is far from finished. The animals…” He stripped the noose of cloth from around his neck and balled it in his fist. “I can’t leave just yet, even if I wished to do so. I have responsibilities.”

  He continued down the hill, but Tod lagged behind. Donal noticed Tod’s absence and stopped. “What is it, my friend? Why Ivy? Why now?”

  Tod dropped to the earth, his magic no longer strong enough to hold him aloft. “She will change my lord, like the other one did.”

  “Like the other…” Comprehension lit Donal’s face. “Like Mrs. Stainthorpe, you mean?” He closed his eyes. “That will never happen again, Tod. You may trust my word.”

  He strode on ahead. Tod didn’t follow. It was almost too late; Donal had fallen under Ivy’s spell. If something were not done very soon, Donal might never leave this place at all.

  With an effort Tod lifted himself up again and flew toward the thick patch of woodland that stood in the center of Edgecott’s park. A grandfather oak reigned over the lesser trees; it reminded Tod of the ancient oak in the forest of Hartsmere, where Donal’s father had once held court among the birds and beasts.

  He settled down at the base of the trunk, letting his weariness engulf him. It was not the way of Fane to worry; he had been too long apart from his own kind. If he slept for a time, surely an answer would come to him.

  He had just begun to doze when a dozen falling leaves fluttered against his face, waking him with a start. Laughter erupted all around him. He sprang up, spinning about on his toes.

  “Tod is not deceived,” he cried. “Show yourselves!”

  The laughter stopped, and out of the air emerged a winged sprite, hardly bigger than a human’s hand. Five of her sisters materialized in her wake, hovering on gossamer wings.