They rode in stewing silence for a few minutes, the path winding between gorse bushes. Ahead, a small figure walked along the verge, head down, a bundle slung over one shoulder. As they drew nearer, Edward recognized the bandages. The groom. Helooked up at the sound of hooves, blinking as if not quite believing he was being approached.
“You,” Isla said, reining in. “What is your name?”
“Tom, m’lady,” he said, bobbing an awkward half-bow, nearly overbalancing.
Edward took in the raw, red skin glimpsed under the bandages, the way Tom’s fingers trembled even resting at his sides.
“Tom,” Edward said. “You were dismissed just now.”
Tom’s mouth twisted. “Aye, Your Grace. His Lordship says I’m no use. Can’t say as he’s wrong. Hard to muck a stall when you can’t hold a fork.”
“How did you come by those burns?” Edward asked. No preamble. No softening.
Tom swallowed. “At Strathmore, sir.”
Isla drew in a sharp breath.
Edward kept his voice carefully level. “Tell me.”
Tom shifted his bundle, eyes darting between them.
“The night o’ the fire,” he said. “We saw the flames from Glenmore House. His Grace, our Grace, that is, he says fetch me those horses afore the roof comes down on them. We took the back lane. Fire was already licking out o’ the stable roof when we got there. Lord Morlich …” he hesitated, glanced at Isla, “… he says we should throw in some straw, get the blaze up good and hot, so the beasts’ll panic and bolt out. No time to lead ‘em all quiet-like.”
“Lord Morlich was already there?”
“Aye, haven’t seen him for months. He’s been in London I think.”
Isla’s face went white.
“You threw in straw,” Edward said. His stomach turned.
“No, sir,” Tom whispered. “I refused. Went in to save the horses. Slapped them to get them moving. Lord Morlich was already throwing in straw soaked in lamp oil. He brought a can. Said it’d hurry things along. It did. Too quick. I were inside cutting ropes when it went up. Felt the heat on my face like a slap. Horses screaming, roof groaning … I go ‘em out. Nearly didn’t get out m’self.”
He lifted his hands a little, as if in apology for their ruined state.
“Morlich told Glenmore he’d been brave as any soldier,” Tom went on bitterly. “Told ‘im I’d bungled it, let the fire take hold. Said I’d held us up. Today His Grace says I’m too slow, too clumsy. Turns me off like a lame dog.”
Isla’s hands shook on her reins. “He came onto our land,” she said, voice like ice. “He set fire to our stables with oil and straw, to drive out our horses, and calls that bravery.”
Tom flinched atour,as if having forgotten who she was. “I’m sorry, Your Grace,” he blurted. “I thought … thought we were savin’ ‘em. Horses’d be dead now if we’d not gone.”
Edward believed him. Desperation, not malice, in the man’s voice.
“You did save them,” Edward said. “At cost to yourself. Glenmore will never thank you for that. We will.”
Tom blinked, confused.
“Where are you going?” Isla asked.
Tom shrugged, wincing. “Back to my father’s cottage, if he’ll have me. Else, the poorhouse. Ain’t many places want a stable hand can’t hold a brush.”
“There will be a place at Strathmore,” Isla said immediately. “Once your burns are healed, we will find work that does not require you to wield a fork until you can. You will not go to the poorhouse while I draw breath.”
Tom’s mouth opened. Closed. “Your Grace …”
Edward cut in. “First, we will get you to Macrae. She will bully a salve into you. Then we will hear everything you remember. Slowly. Carefully. Names. Times.”
Tom nodded, eyes wide. “Aye, your grace.”
