He was bound to hurt himself if he kept it up much longer. Michael waved the men back. “Close all the gates but the one into the paddock, then go inside the tack room and wait until I’ve let them out.”
“Should ye do that, Your Grace? She’s a might young ‘un, she is. Reckon she may not be ready for breeding.”
“She’s four years.” He gave the older man a wry smile. “Besides, what choice do we have, both of them unapproachable as they are? We could isolate them, perhaps, but we’ve only the one paddock.”
Benjamin nodded. “Righto, then. Boys, get out of the way.” They backed up and disappeared while Benjamin went to close the gates. When he was done, he followed the grooms.
Michael opened Grendel’s stall door and she bolted out, hurried to the arched entry, then stopped, raised her head and whinnied.
Pendragon redoubled his efforts, unable to see her now, but still awash in her scent. Powerful indeed, Michael thought. He felt sorry for the beast, so determined to get to her, so frustrated. “There’s a good man,” he murmured. “Your wait is over.”
Reaching for the latch, he stood to the side away from where the stallion was most likely to run, slammed it loose and allowed the stall door to swing back on its hinges. Pendragon was out like a shot, rushing toward Grendel, who urinated once more, then kicked out at the stallion when he moved close to catch her scent.
He watched them move outside, into the paddock behind the stable, clearly visible by the light of the full moon. Pendragon began to court her, raising his head, curling his lips, attempting to rub his nose along her flanks. Grendel wouldn’t go easy, however. Unimpressed, she continued to elude him, kicking when he got too close to her rump.
Benjamin and the grooms came to see, and the old stable master clucked his tongue. “Ain’t it jus’ like a woman? Get all gussied up, get ye with a hankerin’, then shut ye down, right fast-like. Poor Pendragon. He’s a long road ahead of him tonight.”
As one, they all nodded, male hearts sympathetic to the stallion’s plight.
“Reckon he’ll coax her along soon enough,” one of the grooms said. “For all he’s determined, he’s a gentle soul, ain’t that right, Your Grace?”
“Yes, he is. I expect Grendel could do a lot worse.”
That appeared to be funny to them. They all laughed. Michael turned to face the first of the grooms. “What’s your name?”
The lad tugged his forelock and said, “Wyler, Your Grace. Tom Wyler.”
He looked to the next in line, a tall, lanky boy with hair the color of straw. He bobbed his head and smiled. “Faskin, Your Grace. Bob Faskin.”
The third boy was stocky and not so tall, with freckles across his nose and a head of bright red hair. “I’d be Thomson, Your Grace. Harry Thomson.”
“Well, then, lads, I trust you will keep an eye on the horses as things progress?”
They heartily agreed, all at once, and Michael nodded his approval before he looked to Benjamin. “In future, if circumstances are alarming, you are to alert me, regardless of the time of day or night.”
“That I will, Yer Grace, that I will. You don’t worry none about the horses, nor the busted stall. We’ll watch ‘em close, and first light, we’ll send ‘em out to the north pasture. Harry’s good with carpentry and he’ll work on gettin’ them boards replaced.”
He clasped the older man’s shoulder by way of thanks. “Good night, then.” Turning, he walked back to the other end of the stable block and made his way outside. He struck out for the house, but paused as he took a turn through the garden and glanced up toward their bedchamber window. Jane waved and smiled and had no idea she was backlit by the fire, revealing her shapely curves beneath the thin silk of her gown. He stood and stared for some time, until she opened the sash again and called down, “Blixford, you must come inside before you catch your death of cold.”
He moved away then and into the house. Back upstairs, he told her how it was and she nodded, accepting. “Thank you for looking after things. I vow I’m not certain which of them I pity more, Grendel, who is a novice, or Pendragon, who must insist, even if she dislikes him. She will not be docile.” She moved toward him. “You must be chilled, going about in only your shirtsleeves.”
Michael was about to assure her he was not that cold, but she appeared intent upon getting his clothes off to warm him, and so he said nothing.
Within minutes, he was, indeed, very warm and cozy, Jane nestled next to him in the bed with her arm curled about his middle and her head tucked into his neck. He watched shadows dance across the ceiling, cast by the flickering light of the fire.