But if he had been alive, why hadn’t he come for her? Her dreams had devolved into nightmares, where her father caught her and dragged her back to the Keep, showing her Noah’s mutilated corpse hanging from the Keep walls. Those dreams had been vivid, with imagery that was hard to shake. She couldn’t forget, not even now.
Swallowing thickly, Senga threw back her blankets and climbed out of bed. There was work to do, and work would keep her mind blank. That was what she needed, a nice, blank mind. She needed not tothink.
And then, just as Senga was splashing icy water on her face, a horse whinnied in terror outside.
Drying off her face with a scrap of cloth, Senga stood on her tiptoes and peered out of the window. There, far below, a scrawny stable lad was hauling on a short rope attached to a horse’s bridle. The horse was rearing, iron-clad hooves striking out at the air, narrowly missing the boy’s head.
The stable lad swore loud enough for it to reach Senga’s ears—she was still getting used to the rougher language that was common outside the convent—and reached to his belt, unhooking a whip. He delivered a snapping blow to the horse’s side, which, of course, only made the creature whinny louder and fight harder to get away. It was obvious the lad had no experience with untamed horses.
But when she got a better look at the horse, Senga’s eyes widened.
Bluebell,she thought, in a rush of panic and anger, and raced towards the door.
For once, foronce, Senga was able to navigate the complex halls of Grahame Keep right away. Dawn had barely arrived, and the Keep was still waking up. Servants moved groggily along the hallways, yawning as they swept up old rushes and laid fresh ones. In the feasting room, the table was already being laid for breakfast.
Senga’s stomach rumbled, reminding her that it was high time for food, but she ignored it, putting on a burst of speed that took her into the courtyard.
There was the stable lad, yanking on the rope as if he could propel the horse along by sheer brute force. Even fromwhere she stood, Senga could see Bluebell’s eyes rolling in fear and pain, bloodied foam around her mouth. The horse seemed reluctant to put her nearside front foot down, which hinted at a more complex cause than mere stubbornness.
However, the stable lad was lifting his whip in the air for yet another crack, and Senga realized with a sinking heart that she wasn’t going to reach him in time.
“Wait!” she cried. “Don’t do it!”
He heard her; she was sure of that. The lad’s gaze flicked over his shoulder towards her, but he tightened his jaw and pretended not to have heard. The whip cracked out a second before Senga thumped into the stable lad’s side. She shoved him, hard, thinking of nothing beyond preventing that whip from landing. Her shove was a good one, and her momentum sent him sprawling onto the cobbles.
Bluebell’s nostrils flared. She reared up with a scream, hooves striking out in random directions, but mainly towards its tormentor.
Except, of course, its tormentor was now lying flat on the cobbles, disoriented and bruised, and Senga stood in his place.
A hoof shot out towards Senga’s face, but before she could throw herself aside or even put her hands to shield herself, a strong arm wrapped around her waist and hauled her away.
The iron-tipped hoof whipped past her head.
The breeze stirred her hair.
Senga landed with a painfulthumpon the cobbles, weighed down with whoever had saved her. Fighting to sit upright, she squinted up into the weak dawn light, and her eyes widened when she saw who was looking down at her.
“Noah,” Senga gasped.
Chapter 6
Ye Don’t Look Dead To Me
Noah cursed himself for being a fool. There was nothing else he could have done, of course. Standing still and watching Senga get struck by a horse was, of course, simply not a choice.
He dragged himself up off her, clambering to his feet. Senga was staring up at him, wide-eyed and open-mouthed, but he wouldn’t allow himself to look at her, not even for an instant.
His ribs throbbed and burned from his mad dash across the courtyard, and there was an alarming wetness around his arm. His wound was no doubt bleeding again.
“Noah…” Senga began, but Noah pointedly turned away, rounding on the stable lad. He knew this boy, and his reputation was not good.
“What are ye about, lad?” Noah roared.
The boy wilted.
“Sir, I?—”
“Do ye not see the cut on that horse’s leg? The poor creature is in pain, and ye try to heave it along with brute force? With awhip?”
