Lord of the Beasts Page 21

  “Eccentric, to be sure,” Inglesham said, “but hardly inexplicable.”

  Gallagher stubbed out the cigar with an angry jerk. “I couldn’t get near Boreas, but he tamed him like the beast was a newborn lamb. And today, after you left…” He wet his lips. “He talked to the horses again. He was talking about you, your lordship.”

  “He was gossiping with the horses about me? How very mortifying.”

  “He was…he was casting spells on them, to make them do whatever he commands.” He met Inglesham’s eyes with half-cringing defiance. “He ain’t human, me lord. He’s born of the Fair Folk, or my name ain’t Brian Gallagher.”

  “Are you telling me that he is a fairy? Is that the word?”

  “The Tuatha Dé Danann, we call ’em. They say there ain’t many left, even in Ireland. But some can take on any shape, even that of a man, and—”

  Inglesham shook his head. “I’ve no time for children’s stories, Gallagher. If this is all you have…”

  “No, your lordship.” The Irishman’s face twisted with cunning. “If you’ll come with me….”

  He set off for the stable block, and with a sense of keen disappointment Inglesham followed. Fairies, indeed. That was what he got for listening to the ravings of a superstitious Irishman.

  He waited impatiently while Gallagher entered one of the stalls and came out with a chestnut gelding Inglesham often rode when he visited Edgecott. The groom quickly saddled the beast and stood near its head.

  “Try it, your lordship,” he said softly.

  “What are you playing at now?” Inglesham snapped.

  “You’ve ridden Bumblebee a hundred times,” Gallagher said. “You should have no problem now.”

  Scowling in annoyance, Inglesham approached the gelding. It shied away, ears flattened. Inglesham snatched at the reins and tried again. Bumblebee jerked up his head and lashed out with his hind legs, narrowly missing Inglesham’s arm.

  Inglesham swore. “Give me a crop,” he said. “I’ll teach the cursed nag its manners—”

  Before he finished speaking, Gallagher was up on the gelding’s back, neat as you please. The horse didn’t so much as twitch, but when Inglesham came near it bared its teeth in pure malice.

  “Shall we try another mount, your lordship?” Gallagher asked, sliding to the ground. “Betsy is our gentlest. Even a child in leading strings could ride her.”

  Without waiting for Inglesham’s reply, the groom took Bumblebee back to his stall and returned with a sleepy dun cob. The instant she saw Inglesham, she lifted her head, rolled her eyes and began fighting Gallagher’s grip on her lead like an unbroken filly.

  “You see?” Gallagher said, breathless from the struggle. “Visit the stalls, Lord Inglesham. None of the horses will let you near. Fleming did this.”

  Snorting with disgust, Inglesham did as the groom suggested. Gallagher was right. Whenever he drew near a stall, its occupant shied and reared as if its very life was threatened. His fingers were nearly bitten off by the fat little pony in the loose box, and even the stable cats hissed and arched their backs.

  “He’s fey, Fleming is,” Gallagher muttered when they returned to the yard. “If he can bespell animals, your lordship, why not people?”

  Inglesham hardly heard him. “It shouldn’t be possible,” he murmured. “But if it is…” He grabbed Gallagher’s arm. “Fleming made Boreas run again. He made these horses turn against me.”

  “Aye, your lordship.”

  “What else could such a man do, Gallagher? If animals listen to him, can he understand them?”

  Gallagher cast another glance about the yard. “He knew how Rajah had that bad case of colic last month. He knew that Molly’s colt was turned in the womb before it was born. The beasts…whisper to him, your lordship.”

  Gallagher fell silent, and all at once the clutter of facts and thoughts that had been spinning about in Inglesham’s head coalesced into a single, incredible idea.

  “You’re a gambling man, Gallagher,” Inglesham said, “and so am I. I think it’s time to put this notion of yours to a real test.”

  “And what would that be, your lordship?” Gallagher asked warily.

  Inglesham only laughed.

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  VIEWED FROM BEHIND the bars of the cage, the world was an endless nightmare of alien smells, frightening noises and scornful prey forever out of reach.

  Donal perched on the thick branch of the dead tree in Othello’s cage, breathing in short puffs through his nostrils. He was only half-aware of his own body with its overlong limbs and flat monkey’s face; Othello’s senses filled his mind with their wordless pain and brutal longings, and it was all he could do to remember his purpose on this cold and empty summer morning.

  His true life’s work was healing, or so he had always believed. He had come out to the menagerie today as he had done every day during his weeks at Edgecott, opening himself to the animals, seeking a way to ease the bitter hurt of their captivity.

  But though the animals accepted him now, let him move about their cages and gave freely of their thoughts and feelings, Donal knew he had failed them. Failed to remedy the malaise that trapped them in bonds of stillness and sorrow; failed to do anything more than share the burden of their grief and keep them alive when they might have simply faded away.

  He moaned softly, a sound of despair that no ordinary human throat could shape. The panther crouching beside him blinked golden eyes and took up the chorus, repeating the plea that Donal could never answer.

  Let me go.

  Donal turned on the branch and pressed his face to the warm, sleek black coat. A great velvet paw came to rest on his shoulder, razor claws barely pricking the linen of his shirt.

  Let me go.

  Donal drew back, letting the tears coarse unheeded down his face. I cannot, he said. Forgive me.

  The panther sighed, exhaling memories that tasted of rich earth and dripping leaves. He laid his head between his paws and closed his eyes. Enduring the unendurable. Retreating into a world that not even one half-Fane could enter.

  Donal jumped down from the branch, his muscles still resonant with a leopard’s power. Teeth bared, he stalked to the cage door and opened the latch.

  Tod settled lightly on the bench across from the cage, his body almost invisible in his half-materialized state. He studied Donal’s face with a worried frown.

  “It’s not my lord’s fault,” he said, his voice rough with emotion. “Do not be sad.”

  Donal sat on the bench and massaged his aching temples. “I don’t know what more I can do, Tod. There is only one cure for what ails them.”

  Tod sat beside him, kicking his child’s legs. “Freedom,” he said.

  “Yes. But even if I had the power to give it to them, it may be too late.”

  “Never too late,” Tod said with such vehemence that Donal looked at him with greater attention than he had done in many weeks. He knew he’d neglected the hob, who relied so much on his friendship. Both of them lived suspended between the Fane and mortal worlds, but it was far worse for Tod. He could never be accepted as human.

  “I’m sorry, my friend,” Donal said. “I’ve been too caught up in my own concerns of late. What troubles you?”

  Tod looked up in extravagant surprise. “Why, nothing, my lord. Nothing troubles Tod.”

  All Fane had a gift for deception, but Donal knew Tod too well. “You’ve been lonely here,” he said. “That is my fault. I—”

  His words were interrupted by the rhythm of hoofbeats approaching on the gravel path. Tod flitted up from the bench, fading from sight as the horses came near.

  “Good morning,” Inglesham said, smiling down from the back of a long-legged gray stallion. “Hard at work, I see.”

  Donal looked beyond the viscount to the horse and man who followed him: Boreas, his coat brushed and glossy with health, and the groom Gallagher. Gallagher stood as far from the bay stallion as the lead would allow. Inglesham’s mount s
idestepped nervously at the scent of the predators behind the bars, but Boreas stamped with barely contained excitement, his mind filled with memories of wind rushing past his ears and the heady triumph of victory.

  Donal shook off his distaste and met the viscount’s hooded eyes. “To what do I owe this singular honor, Lord Inglesham?”

  Inglesham dismounted, tossed his horse’s reins over the back of the bench, and ambled closer to Othello’s cage. “Did I just see you inside with that beast?” he asked.

  “Yes. If you would care to make a closer acquaintance with my friends, I can certainly arrange it.”

  Inglesham glanced at him, an edge of hostility cutting through the veneer of good humor. “Oh, no, Doctor,” he said. “Wild animals are far too unpredictable, particularly when they have ‘friends’ such as yourself.”

  Donal raised a brow. “Surely you don’t believe that I have any control over these poor creatures’ behavior.”

  “It’s most appropriate that you ask that question, Fleming, because that is precisely what I have come to find out.”

  A sharp sense of foreboding stopped Donal’s breath. “I’m afraid I don’t understand you.” One again he caught the restless intensity of Boreas’s thoughts. “Why have you brought Boreas here?”

  Inglesham strolled alongside the cages, pausing to peer into each one with a semblance of interest. “I am by nature a man who enjoys a good wager, Fleming…and when an intriguing possibility presents itself, I am not one to stand on formality in matters of rank or station.”

  “How very egalitarian of you.”

  “Indeed. I believe that every man has a right to prove himself, even one who prefers kennels and pig wallows to civilized society.”

  “I didn’t realize that you spend so much time among animals, Lord Inglesham,” Donal said.

  Inglesham paused in the act of picking up a stick, his muscles tightening beneath his expertly tailored coat. “I didn’t realize you were such a wit, Fleming,” he said. He slapped the stick against his thigh. “I suppose you have a great deal of time to practice with such an undemanding audience.”

  Donal longed to snatch the stick from Inglesham’s hand and beat him about the head with it. “I regret that I haven’t the time to engage in ‘civilized’ repartee with you, Lord Inglesham,” he said, “but as you noted earlier, I have work to do.”

  Inglesham clucked in disapproval. “A man who devotes all his time to labor has little chance of winning his fair lady,” he said, casually approaching the apes’ cage. The animals shrank back and then cautiously crept up to the bars, drawn by the sight of a new face. “What repulsive creatures. Poor Delia must sometimes wonder if you truly prefer the company of these dumb brutes to hers.”

  The sound of Cordelia’s pet name on Inglesham’s lips filled Donal with loathing. “It is not a question of preference, Lord Inglesham,” he said coldly. “Why are you here?”

  The viscount recoiled as Heloise pressed her face against the bars. His mouth curled in disgust. “While I may not fully appreciate every aspect of your profession, Doctor,” he said, “I am an admirer of fine horseflesh. I’ve observed with some interest the work you’ve done with Boreas, restoring him from a broken-down nag to a semblance of the competitor he might have been under more fortunate circumstances.”

  “I simply brought him back to good health. It was never my intention to make a racer out of him.”

  “Perhaps not, but I was with Mrs. Hardcastle when she purchased him, shortly before he was due to be led off by the knackers. I saw what he was then, and you have wrought no less than a miracle.”

  Donal shrugged. “It was no miracle. Only patience.”

  “You do take pride in your labors, do you not?”

  “Easing pain is my job. If I’ve succeeded in that, I am satisfied.”

  “Such modesty, Doctor.” Inglesham walked away from the cage, still tapping the stick against his boot. “Surely you must, on occasion, take some satisfaction in displaying the products of your skill for the admiration of others.”

  “I see no purpose in such exhibitions.”

  “And yet your animals commonly show off their assets in order to attract a mate. Will you ignore the lessons of nature?”

  The hair at the back of Donal’s neck prickled in warning. “You are too obscure for my poor understanding, Lord Inglesham. If you will excuse me—”

  “I propose a race, Fleming,” Inglesham interrupted. “A private race between my Apollo and your Boreas, with you and me as the riders.”

  Donal almost laughed, but then he glanced toward Boreas and was overwhelmed by the horse’s emotions: tension, exhilaration, a near-frenzy of anticipation for the chance to test his strength and speed against a rival. The big gray Apollo, Boreas’s match in size and conformation, was equally aroused, but his mind was full of the complacent hauteur that came with the presumption of superiority. Like master, like mount.

  “I’m sorry you’ve gone to so much trouble, Lord Inglesham,” Donal said, “but I am not interested in wagers or races, nor have I a limitless access to funds that can be thrown away on games of chance.” He touched the brim of his hat. “Good day, sir.”

  Inglesham stared at him, a half-smile curving his lips. “Do not be so quick to dismiss me, animal doctor. I have my heart quite set on this match, and I know that every man has his price.”

  “Oh? Then perhaps you will enlighten me as to mine.”

  The viscount hurled his stick at the apes’ cage, striking the bars. Heloise and Abelard shrieked and leaped up into the branches of their tree, upset by this sudden and unexpected cruelty. The wolves raced back and forth across their pen.

  Donal took a step toward Inglesham, fists clenched. Inglesham never lost his maddening smile. “Now, now, Doctor,” the viscount said. “I know perfectly well that you would like nothing better than to engage me in a bout of fisticuffs, and I confess I would not be averse to it myself. But such a contest would be not only premature, but also inadvisable given the present state of affairs.”

  “What state of affairs?” Donal growled.

  “Why, your ridiculous notion that you are my equal…and that you are in love with Mrs. Hardcastle.”

  Shock stabbed under Donal’s breastbone and seized his lungs. After a frozen spell of stunned silence he found his voice again. “I have no wish to be your equal, Inglesham,” he said. “And as for your second assertion—”

  Inglesham laughed. “You should see your face, Fleming. One would think I had suggested that your mother had enjoyed an intimate relationship with one of those apes.” He leaned forward, making a tempting target of his noble chin. “Can it be that you haven’t yet acknowledged your true feelings?”

  Donal didn’t move. If he did, he would flatten Inglesham with a single blow. “You speak nonsense,” he said. “Mrs. Hardcastle is my employer—”

  “Who also fancies herself in love with you.”

  Arjuna the sun bear, who almost never stirred from his nest in the shady part of his cage, gave a low grunt and heaved to his feet. Abelard found a melon rind and threw it at the bars. Boreas nearly jerked the lead rein from Gallagher’s hand.

  “Viscount Inglesham,” Donal said, “I strongly advise that you put yourself under the care of a physician as soon as possible. You have apparently taken a fever that’s addled your brain.”

  “I’m not the one who’s addled.” Inglesham sat down on the bench and stretched his long legs. “Whether or not either one of you admits it, Cordelia has contracted an infatuation with you, doubtless due to her unconventional upbringing, and you are not making much of an effort to discourage her.”

  “What proof—”

  “An emotion as delicate as love requires nothing so vulgar as proof. I’ve heard you speak of Cordelia, and her of you. I’ve seen you together. You may be a keen observer of animal life, Doctor, but I am a practiced student of human passions.”

  “Mrs. Hardcastle has spoken of marrying you.”

  “Of cou
rse. Her father desires the match, and she finds it difficult to flout his wishes.”

  Donal’s heart surged into his throat. “You, too, wish to marry her, even though you don’t love her.”

  “Don’t I?” Inglesham crossed one leg over the other and inspected the heel of his boot. “I am certainly fond of her. We grew up together, as she’s doubtless mentioned. We would be a…comfortable couple.”

  Donal turned his back on Inglesham, afraid his face might reveal too much. “If you cared at all for her happiness, you would abandon your suit.”

  “Spoken like a true lover.”

  Donal let several minutes of silence elapse before he risked speaking again. “Since you are obviously convinced of this remarkable fantasy,” he said, “and it is your intention to marry Mrs. Hardcastle, I presume you’ve come here to either bribe or threaten me into leaving Edgecott.”

  Inglesham chuckled. “Nothing of the kind, my good fellow. Nothing of the kind. As I said earlier, I intend to let you prove yourself worthy of Cordelia, here and now.”

  Donal snorted in disbelief. “With a race?”

  “Admit it, Doctor. As much as you attempt to remain detached and above the fray, there is nothing you would like better than to test yourself against me, man to man.” He got to his feet. “Apollo has never been beaten in any match race in which I’ve entered him. He is the superb product of impeccable breeding and the best training wealth and influence can obtain. Your beast, on the other hand…” He cast a disdainful look at Boreas, who continued to dance with impatience. “He is rather like you, is he not? A creature who aspires to heights he will surely never reach.”

  Anger such as Donal generally reserved for the abusers of animals and children took hold of him like a storm, drawing his muscles so tight that they vibrated with the strain. He opened his mind again to Boreas, felt the stallion’s desperate yearning for the ultimate freedom, the need to strive against all rationality or hope. Only when he ran was he truly loosed from the bonds of his captivity. Only then did he become one with the ancient ancestors who had ruled the plains before the coming of man with his ropes and whips.