‘M’ lady, m’ lady...’
Sitting up, she bade Lily come in and the woman, clad in her nightdress with a shawl over her shoulders, crept into the room.
‘Sorry to disturb you, ma’am,’ Lily said, ‘but young Peter’s downstairs. Millie’s foaling and it isn’t going well. Thompson thought you would want to know.’
Isabel swung her legs out of the bed as she ran her hands over her face in an effort to wake herself up.
‘Of course I do. Quick, Lily, find me some warm clothes.’
Clad in an old dress of blue wool with a tartan shawl wrapped around her, her hair still tied in a loose braid down her back, Isabel hurried from the room, letting the door slam behind her.
‘What’s going on?’
She had reached the stairs and turned to see Sebastian standing in the doorway of his bedchamber, his green banyan pulled haphazardly over his nightshirt. His hair stuck up in spikes.
‘I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to wake you,’ Isabel said.
‘I wasn’t asleep,’ Sebastian growled, although his dishevelledhair and heavy eyes gave a lie to his words. ‘I’m a light sleeper,’ he added.
‘It’s Millie,’ Isabel said. ‘She’s having difficulty with the foal.’
‘Wait there. I’ll just find some clothes.’ Sebastian turned back into his room.
‘Really, my lord, there is no need,’ Isabel said, but the door had already shut behind him.
She joined the boy in the hallway. Peter shifted from foot to foot with impatience until Sebastian, looking like he had grabbed the nearest clothes he could find, joined them.
They hurried out of the house to the stables. The little piebald mare lay on the clean straw bedding of her stall, lathered in sweat and clearly in distress. Her terrified eyes rolled towards her mistress, and she uttered a faint nicker.
Thompson, his sleeves rolled up over his elbows, knelt on the straw at her rear. He looked up as they entered the stall and shook his head, his mouth a grim line. Isabel sank to the floor, holding the mare’s head in her lap and whispering in her ear while Sebastian ran a hand over her heaving flank. One tiny hoof protruded from the birth canal.
‘This is not good,’ Sebastian said.
Thompson nodded. ‘I reckon he’s stuck.’
‘The foal will have to be repositioned,’ Sebastian said.
Thompson looked up at him. ‘I’ll have to get the boy to try, sir. I cut my hand this morning.’ He held up a bandaged right hand.
‘I’ve done this before,’ Sebastian said, stripping off his jacket and shirt, and when Thompson looked doubtful, he added. ‘I’ve been around horses all my life, Thompson. Isabel, can you get her to stand?’
Isabel tried not to let her eyes linger on the impressive expanse of chest above the heavy strapping. Not for the first time did it warrant favourable comparison with her late husband whose pampered lifestyle showed in his physique. This man had obviouslylived a vigorous outdoor life. The years of soldiering were written on that hard, muscular body. The tan did not stop at his neckline but extended down his powerful chest and shoulders, contrasting with the white bandage that still bound his recent wound.
Her heartbeat quickened in a way she had not experienced.Damn the man!The unexpected reaction to the sight of Sebastian’s torso astonished her, as if a part of herself she had kept shut away tapped at the door to her consciousness.
‘Isabel? Lady Somerton?’
Realising he had asked her to get the mare to stand, she nodded and rose, urging the mare to come with her. Millie did not want to cooperate. It took the strength of both men and a great deal of coaxing from Isabel to get the little pony to her feet. The mare stood on shaking legs while Sebastian washed his right arm thoroughly before covering it with a foul-smelling grease Thompson had produced.
Isabel watched, the unspoken words forming on her lips to stop him, conscious, even if he was not, that he was in no physical shape for this sort of exertion. She held her peace. Millie needed help and he was the only person who could provide it, so she held the pony’s head while Sebastian slid his arm inside the mare.
He grimaced and then smiled. ‘Come on little fellow,’ he said. ‘Out you come. Thompson, tie that bootlace to the hoof and pull down—gently.’
Thompson complied.
‘Isabel, let her go,’ Sebastian ordered.
Isabel released her hold on the halter and the mare went down on her knees, rolling over on her side. The pony groaned and shuddered.
