One

E'S AT IT AGAIN, my lady." The groom jerked his head toward the stable as he steadied Brien Weston's stirrup and helped her dismount.

Shouts and wails burst from the stable door as she rushed toward it. Inside, down the brick-paved alley, she found a shirtless boy cringing against a mound of straw in an empty stall, begging for mercy from Seaton, the estate's raw-fisted stablemaster.

She froze for a moment at the sight of a dozen bloody streaks across the boy's naked chest and arms. Another blow fell, and the child cried out as the jagged shards of metal on the broken bridle bit into his flesh. Suddenly the bloody stripes on the boy's pale skin were all she could see.

"Stop!"

There was a hitch in the stablemaster's movement. After a glance at her from the corner of his eye, he brushed aside the command and drew back for another stroke. She lunged for his arm and managed to stay it.

"Cease this! Now!" Anger poured strength into her limbs and made a biting rasp of her voice. "Or as God is my witness, Mr. Seaton, I'll see you receive ten blows for every one you deal this boy."

"Outta th' way, lady. Th' wretch needs a taste of th' lash to teach 'im to 'eel to 'is master."

Seaton tried to shake her off, but she threw the force of her weight against his arm and succeeded in immobilizing it. Their glares met as they stood locked in a shockingly physical contest of wills. It apparently took a moment for him to realize that to continue dispensing this punishment, he would have to remove his wealthy employer's daughter from his arm by force. Was he angry enough or brazen enough to set hands to a lady? He lowered his arm and wrenched it free with a growl, then jolted back a step.

"Your cruelty may know no limits, Mr. Seaton, but my sufferance of it does." She rubbed her hands down her skirts as if contact with him had contaminated them. "Your abuse of this boy has been your last act on Weston land. Pack your belongings, draw your wages, and be gone by sunset. Never set foot on Weston land again."

"I'll just wait an' see what 'is lordship 'as to say about that." His mouth twisted into a defiant sneer.

"No, you won't." Deep inside, a fierce calm settled through her, solidifying her resolve. "My father will not return for some time. And if you are found on these lands after sunset, any who find you will have free rein to mete out whatever punishment they see fit." She edged closer, eyes narrowing, her fury focusing, driving home her point. "Your manner has so endeared you to the people who live and work on these lands that you will do well to see the dawn."

A searing moment passed as the stablemaster searched the lady's resolve, sounding the depths of her determination. Abruptly he hurled the blood-flecked bridle against the stall, shoved past the grooms who stood gaping in the alley, and stormed out the doors. The sound of his furious oaths and the pounding of his boots on the packed earth of the stable yard wafted back through the stunned silence.

Brien slowly expelled the breath she had been holding and felt the surge of strength that had flooded her beginning to drain from her limbs. A moan from the nearby stall brought her attention back to the injured boy. She knelt in the straw and gathered his thin form against her, cradling his head, rocking him as she inspected his wounds and made soothing, shushing sounds. The small, thin shoulders quaked with sobs against her. Moments later she looked up and ordered the grooms who now stood at the opening of the stall to carry him into the house.

"His stripes are bloody, but with proper tending will heal well. Tell cook to salve and bind them up and then to put him in one of the empty maids' rooms while he mends. I'll come shortly to check on him." She gave the boy's hair one last stroke and his dark eyes filled with tears of both misery and gratitude as they lifted him from her.

"Thank 'e, my lady," he whispered, watching her as the grooms carried him out.

She sat for a time in the red-stained straw, alone, trembling. Then she closed her eyes against the blood on her hands and clothes, and let the tears come.

SEVERAL DAYS LATER, just at dusk, the earl of Southwold reined up in front of his country house and Brien arrived at an upstairs window overlooking the entry court just in time to see him hand his mount over to a waiting groom. He had barely settled into a chair by the blazing hearth of his study when she saw the housekeeper, Mrs. Herriot, knock on the open door, pause to await permission, then enter and close the door behind her.

At dinner that night, Brien's suspicions were confirmed. Down the long, linen-draped table, between the well-polished silver candlesticks, she could read annoyance in every aspect of her father's posture and expression. Each scrape of silver, each clink of crystal against china caused her to start in expectation. She knew Mrs. Herriot had delivered the news about Seaton that afternoon, and she could tell from the way her father scrutinized her that he was deciding what to do about it.

"Brien." His tone was a command for attention. "Mrs. Herriot says you fired Seaton. I will have an accounting for that, my girl."

Her head snapped up. "I-I was returning from a morning ride when I came across Seaton beating a stableboy with a broken bridle. I ordered him to stop, and when he refused, I fired him."

"It is not your place to fire stablemasters," he said sharply, picking up his wine and rising. "Decent horse masters are hard to come by. Your meddling will cost me dearly."

Meddling? She reddened. As wealthy as he was, there was nothing her father hated more than being "cost." But she reckoned "cost" quite differently. Her heart thudded faster as the sickening image of the boy's wounds flooded back to her. Five days later, the child was only now able to move about without a great deal of pain.

"How can you call the man decent?" She shoved up from her chair so quickly that she had to steady herself against the table edge. "He took a cat's equivalent to a boy of nine. And he was no better with horses. He used cruel bits and whipped some of the carriage horses until they trusted no one."

Weston was clearly taken aback by her response. "Seaton's flaws are not at issue here. You had no right to take such act—"

"No right?" She stepped around the end of the table and moved quickly toward him, halting after only a few steps. "I had every right. I am lady here in your frequent absence, and it has been my lot numerous times to guard the well-being of Byron Place's people. Seaton was a brute. Cruel and callous. Frederick, at just sixteen, knows more about horses than he did."

Copyright © 2004 by Betina Krahn