Stare, yes. Lubonne knew better than to contradict Honoria aloud. But I don’t expect them to carry off my bride. He shook his head at his own concern. I love her; she loves me. I won’t let the antics of a poorly trained servant distract me from our own party. He took Honoria’s arm, reveling in the silken touch of her skin. “You smell lovely.”
“Not like horse sweat?” Honoria pulled at the back of her gown.
“Nothing like horse sweat.” Lubonne took a deliberate sniff. “A nose like mine never lies. You carry the delightful scent of Honoria, freshly laundered lace, wind, and that fragrance your younger sister spilled on your head.” And even if you did smell like Rinny, I love the smell of sweet old Rinny.
Servants met them at the door, fussing with collars, brushing off bits of twig, leaf, and horse hair. One stepped forward to announce loudly through the din of conversation, “Presenting Master Lubonne and his lady, Honoria.”
The talking ceased, as if choked; and silence fell over the ballroom. The clapping began in one corner, where Lubonne’s parents stood and swiftly spread in a wave that morphed into thunderous applause. Honoria curtsied gracefully, then started up the marble staircase that arched over a balcony and into the ballroom below. Head high, grinning at his bride-to-be, Lubonne climbed proudly at her side.
A noise behind him caught Lubonne’s attention, and it took force of will to remain focused on Honoria and the crowd below them. Then, suddenly, someone cursed, and the hollow sound of hoof falls on marble clattered through the chamber. Grin wilting, Lubonne whirled. Carthea marched up the steps at their heels, looking for all the world as if she belonged there.
“What are you doing?” Lubonne shouted before he could think to hold his tongue. “What the hell are you doing?!” Only then, he thought of Mindspeak. :Mother throws a fit when Father’s dogs come in the house!:
The light of every torch and candle seemed drawn to Carthea, and her burnished white coat gleamed so brightly that Lubonne found himself squinting again. Someone had combed the burrs from her mane and forelock, and it fell around her neck in glossy waves. Her pale eyes looked as gentle and innocent as an infant’s.
Murmurs rose from the crowd. Then, before Lubonne could think to stop her, Honoria gasped in utter delight and hurled herself at him. “Oh, thank you, thank you, my darling Hawk. She’s beautiful!”
Honoria’s warmth stunned him. They had embraced before, but she had always felt woodenly reluctant, shy and demure.
“No woman has ever had a more wonderful engagement gift.” Releasing him, Honoria caught Carthea around the neck.
Carthea took two careful backward steps, teetering on stairs designed for human paces. :Get her off me!:
Honoria’s grip tightened, and she buried her face in the smooth white fur.
“No, Honoria. You don’t understand.” Lubonne lunged for his betrothed as Carthea’s balance wavered. “You know I’d give you the moon and stars, if they were mine to give. But they’re not, and neither is—”
Honoria was not listening. Lubonne could see Carthea’s delicate hooves slipping. The sounds of the crowd grew louder.
“Honoria!” Lubonne grabbed her as Carthea wheeled. She struck Honoria’s a glancing blow and sending her staggering breathlessly into Lubonne’s arms. Carthea sprang the length of the stairs, toward the door. For an instant, she hovered in midair, a massive yet strangely agile bird in flight. Then, she landed on the parquet, scrambled helplessly for a moment, somehow caught her footing, then raced for the still-open door. She disappeared through it in a flash of snowy white, leaving the attendants ashenfaced and slackjawed.
“My horse!” Honoria wailed, loud enough for the whole assemblage to hear her. “My magnificent, perfect engagement present.” She buried her face in Lubonne’s coat.
Lubonne could do nothing but hold her and curse the Companion who seemed hellbent on ruining his life. “Honoria, please. If you want a horse, I’ll find you the finest my money can buy. But that one does not belong to me. Do you hear? She’s not mine to give you.”
“I . . . don’t . . . want . . .” she sobbed. “ . . . any horse. I . . . want . . . that one.”
Lubonne had never seen his beloved like this. “Honoria, please. We’ll talk about this after the party.”
“No, no!” Honoria refused consolation. She pulled away from Lubbone, rubbing tenderly beneath her bosom where the hoof had grazed her. “Is no one in this hall man enough to catch her for me?” Her gaze roved over the gathering to land directly on the servant who had helped her from Rinny’s back.
Now impeccably dressed in caterer’s livery, balancing a loaded silver tray, Haralt looked tall, lean, and remarkably muscled. Fine blond curls swept from chiseled features: his forehead uncreased, his chin heroically squared, and his nose flawless. Placing his burden on a nearby table, he bowed prettily and gazed up at Honoria. “I’d be honored to assist, my lady.” Without another word, he headed up the stairs, edged around the bridal pair, and strode through the open door.
Scattered and hesitant applause followed Haralt’s action. Honoria clamped her hands together and watched him leave. “Isn’t he wonderful?” She continued to rub absently beneath her breasts, oblivious to a smudge the hoof had left there.
Lubonne could think of no appropriate reply. “Sure. Wonderful.” He placed his hand on hers, stopping it. “Are you all right? Do you need to see a healer?”
Honoria let her hand fall into Lubonne’s. “I’m fine. She barely hit me.”
Lubonne wanted to drop the whole matter but needed to say one more thing. “You know, even if he finds her, he’ll have to let her go. She doesn’t belong to him or to us.”
Honoria straightened her dress and plastered a smile back on her face. “For now, let’s just enjoy our party.”
And enjoy they did. Lubonne did not awaken until nearly midday, and he did not attempt to visit Honoria until the following day. He found her out, though no one could say where. And though she returned that night after his visit, when he came for her the next morning, she had gone away again.
Preparing for the wedding, Lubonne tried to convince himself, but doubts plagued him. He could not forget the way his betrothed had sought assistance from the selfsame servant who had swept her so majestically off of Rinny’s back. He could see any woman falling prey to Haralt’s striking appearance. A beautiful woman like Honoria deserved a beautiful man; yet Lubonne knew she loved him. No mere servant, no random pretty face, could steal her away from him, and Honoria deserved a better life than Haralt could possibly give her.
Alone with his thoughts, Lubonne walked the edge of the forest, headed for his favorite river bank. There, he could lose himself in the bird calls, the rustling of the wind through reeds, and the occasional plop of fish and frogs in the water. Whenever he paused there to skip stones and revel in the sunlight, happy boyhood memories invariably swept away his adult worries.
A faint call touched Lubonne’s mind. :Help me!:
Lubonne stiffened, turning. Only one creature could communicate with him in this way. “Carthea?” He had not seen her since the party, either. “Where are you?”
He received no direct reply, just a repeat of the indistinct, soft call. :Help me, Chosen. I need you.:
Lubonne focused on mental words, this time deliberately shouting. :WHERE . . . ARE . . . YOU?:
A flood of relief accompanied the next communication, apparently over finally reaching him. He wondered for how long she had been calling him. :The clearing where we first met. Hurry!: