I decided to steer the conversation quickly away from him. “How’s she doing?”
Lance looked at Bessie’s hoof and then back to me. “It’s getting better. She should be fine soon.”
“Well, I...” I wasn’t sure how to approach this. “I apologise for injuring your horse.” I disliked every word that left my mouth. I wouldn’t want to apologise to him for anything if I could help it. But I did feel bad for Bessie.
“It’s not your fault.” Lance shrugged. “Just getting a new farrier.”
I took a step back with my walking stick. “I’d better get going.” I didn’t know what was going on with Lance but he was acting weird.
“Your Highness!” the stable boy called out, running towards us.There you are, you little rat, I thought. He stopped in front of Bessie’s stall, out of breath. “It’s happening, Your Highness.”
“All right, I’ll be there in a moment.”
The boy gave a small bow, running back in the direction he’d come from.
Lance opened Bessie’s stall door and stepped out.
“What’s happening?” I asked, not being able to curb my curiosity.
“One of the mares is having a foal.”
“Really?”
Lance seemed to ponder for a moment before he asked, “Do you want to see?”
“Uhm.” I hesitated. I’d never seen a foal being born before. “Uhm, okay.”
I hobbled on after him, trying not to take note of the fact that his lean chest was visible through the thin material of his shirt.
We reached one of the stalls at the end and I looked over the door to see a light bay mare lying in the straw.
Lance went in, then looked back and held the door for me. “Come on.”
“Oh, I don’t know.”
“It’ll be fine.”
I didn’t want to come across as some kind of coward, so I stepped inside.
He knelt down next to the horse and stroked her head. “Hey, girl,” Lance said in a voice that was almost gentle, and I once again contemplated who this man was and what had happened to the real Lance. His hand moved to her big belly and lingered there.
“Everything all right?” I asked, nervously.
“Think so.”
“Do you deliver baby horses often, then?”
Lance met my gaze with an expression I couldn’t quite read. “Not really.”
Well, okay then.
“Here you go, Your Highness.” The stable boy entered and handed Lance a bucket of water and a sponge.
“Thanks, lad.” The boy scurried off to whatever duty he had to perform next, and I watched as Lance soaked the sponge and patted it on the horse’s neck, which glistened with sweat.
“How do you know what to do?” I made myself comfortable, leaning back against the stable wall.
“I don’t really,” Lance replied honestly, and my worry grew for the poor mare, who appeared to be in pain. I wondered if we should call someone who might actually know what they were supposed to do. But then I had to remind myself that horses probably didn’t require all the help that humans tend to.
