Beauty and the Spy (16 page)

"Perhaps I have a family after all," she said to Aunt Frances.

"You do in me, Susannah. One can be an aunt in spirit you know."

Susannah was moved, too overwhelmed with impressions and revelations to speak. She hadn't done a thing to warrant such kindness, such warmth or acceptance, from Aunt Frances. She hadn't charmed her way into Aunt Frances's graces, or earned them with her status or money. She simply had to
be
, and Aunt Frances had taken her in, without question.

"Thank you, Aunt Frances." It was really all she could say. She quietly vowed to endeavor to live up to such acceptance. "One can be a niece in spirit, too."

Aunt Frances chuckled, her shoulder shifting up and down with it.

But maybe that was the point of acceptance: one didn't have to live up to it, or earn it. Susannah sensed that her entire life, she had tried a little too hard, no matter what she did.

Possibly because she hadn't a family, she'd needed everyone else to love her.

Perhaps you needn't try so hard
, Kit had said to her. He'd seen it in her from the very beginning, her need to dazzle. And so, it seemed, had the denizens of Barnstable.

"Well, the Bennett girls went through their trials, didn't they dear, but it ended well for all of them, didn't it? Even, in a way, for that Lydia chit, isn't that so?"

"It did, at that," Susannah smiled a little. Miss Jane Austen certainly knew how to end a story.

The next morning, Susannah arrived at the stables to find the viscount stroking and murmuring to the pregnant mare.

The mare jerked her head away from him, tossing it high. And then a low moan came from her, a sound so very nearly human the breath froze in Susannah's lungs.

Kit turned and saw Susannah. His face was granite-colored with a terrifyingly contained anger. She took an unconscious step back.

"Go home." He bit the words off, turned back to the mare.

Susannah's hand flew up to cover her stomach with shock; his words had entered there, two swift darts.

"Something's wrong with the mare… she's… tell me what is wrong." Her voice was a shred of sound; it had taken all of her courage to speak to the cold wall of his back.

The mare groaned again and jerked her head high then her eyes rolled whitely in pain. And then the horse shifted and leaned into Kit, who pushed back, attempting to keep her upright, murmuring soothing words that contrasted starkly with his expression.

He finally looked again at Susannah.

"She's in foal, but she should have dropped it by now, which means the foal is presenting wrong. She's in tremendous pain. And the stable boys who should be caring for her are…" He stopped. "Nowhere to be seen."

He drawled these last words, and the hairs rose on Susannah's neck. Kit's fury was nearly acrid; she could feel it in her own throat. She imagined it blackening and curling the leaves on the trees black for miles around. The stable boys would be hung, drawn, and quartered when they returned, she was certain. If they dared return.

"What will happen to her?"

"She will die. And the foal will certainly die. Painfully and slowly, unless I shoot her." He tossed the words out casually, hard as little rocks.

"But… can't you do something?" Helplessness swelled in her, and oh
God
, she was tired of feeling helpless.

The mare's legs began to fold; Kit threw his body against her again. He seemed determined to keep her upright.

And then be turned again and something he saw in Susannah's face made his angry mask slip.

"It's… it's my arm… I can't turn the foal and brace the mare with just one arm. She could crash me, or the foal. I need to keep her upright."

Susannah understood now: His own helplessness in this circumstance was killing him.

"I'll help. Let me do it Please." The words sprung from some place deep and instinctive; she was just as astonished that she meant them.

Kit made a short disdainful sound. "You'll thrust your hand into me womb of a horse and turn a foal, Miss Makepeace? Because that's what's required. And we might not save her, even men."

His fury was contagious; she'd caught it now. She yanked the sleeve of her riding habit up and held her arm out, glared at him, breathing hard now. "Tell me what to do."

He began to turn away from her again.

"Tell. Me. What. To.
Do
. Damn you," she added, fervently.

His head went back at that, as though she'd struck him with a glove. A mere instant later, the hard white mask was gone, and the Kit she knew glimmered through. "Hold out your arm," he demanded.

She did, as her reflexes always seemed to obey him unquestioningly. He scooped a handful of lanolin from a bucket, vigorously rubbed it up past her elbow and guided her arm toward the mare's uplifted tail. His voice was even, clipped, the voice of someone accustomed to issuing orders and hearing them unquestionably obeyed.

"You'll need to insert your arm into the mare. I'll steady her, and tell you what to do. And she might kick, and I'll try to protect you from it But mind yourself."

She pushed her hand, slowly, tentatively, into the darkness of the mare, felt the straining muscles close around her arm as the mare shifted her legs, saw her elbow vanish. Somewhere above her, Kit murmured reassurances to the mare, leaned his body against her when she moved her haunches and tossed her head again, with a sound that was half-groan, half-whicker.

And then for Susannah the sounds of the mare faded, and the stable around her faded, and her world was the wet heat of the horse and Kit's calm voice from above. Her fingers, with scant room to maneuver, fumbled, carefully fanned out, attempting to translate what she felt Her breath caught.

"A muzzle," she breathed. "I feel a muzzle." She moved her fingers over the dip of a nostril, a pointed ear, a lip.

The foal
nipped at her finger
.

"Oh! It's trying to bite me!" She half-laughed, half-gasped.

"It's alive, then." Kit's voice came to her, even, nearly emotionless. "Do you feel the legs?"

Susannah moved her hand up around the face of the little foal, felt knobby little legs pushed up there, too.

"Yes. I feel a leg… near the foal's face."

"Now feel carefully… is it a foreleg, or a back leg? Is the joint above the ankle a knee, or a hock?"

Susannah felt a knobby knee, not a hock. "Foreleg."

"Good. Very good. Now we need to turn its head so that it faces us, and its legs need to be toward us, too, which is how a foal is normally presented in the womb. Feel up around its head, if you can, and… guide it toward you."

"Will it hurt the mare?" Stupid question. Everything was hurting the mare now. Susannah shook her head once abruptly, as if to retract the words, and Kit didn't respond.

She did as told, tumbled up over the length and curves of the foal's head, felt bristly little eyelashes, a short coarse mane. Gently, gently, she pulled it toward her.

It wouldn't budge.

"Try harder, Susannah," Kit said from above, his voice a little taut "You won't hurt it."

Susannah drew in a deep breath, closed her eyes, prayed, and gave a harder pull, put her muscle into it.

"Kit, she—he—oh, it's
moving
... "

"All right" She felt Kit's voice as surely as a steadying hand on her back. "She'll push, Susannah—you'll feel her push—and when she does, we hope to see the foal's forelegs."

Susannah waited, and then the mare pushed.

A small hoof emerged. And then another… and then the forelegs, up to the knees.

The mare pushed again: most miraculously of all, the small muzzle began to emerge.

"Kit—"

Kit dropped his control as if it scalded him.

"Bloody fantastic, yes,
yes
, you've done it Susannah, that's exactly right, we have it now… we need to grasp the legs, and tug now… I'll tell you when…"

Susannah slowly, carefully withdrew her arm, and gently seized a hoof scarcely larger than a teacup. When the mare heaved again, she pulled, along with Kit, inexorably, guiding, guiding—another heave—

An entire little foal fell into her arms, wet and warm, all legs and nose and wriggling life, and Susannah tumbled back with it into the straw.

"By
God
, Susannah!" Kit sounded ecstatically.

It was only then that Susannah became fully aware of her body and her surroundings again, the tang of straw, the powerful earthy smell of blood and horse, her aching arm and shoulder and back. Sweat glued her hair to her face, her riding habit to her spine. She released the little foal gently, it struggled to its feet, collapsed again, wobbled up onto its four new legs. The mare turned around to nose it, welcoming her baby into the world.

Susannah felt wobbly herself; she straightened with some effort to her feet, feeling Kit's arm beneath her elbow guiding her.

Kit knelt to do a quick examination, the little foal tripped and righted itself a few more times, getting accustomed to the fact that the world was hard and flat and large, not close and warm and wet.

"She's sound… a beautiful little filly." And then Kit rose to his feet, too, and turned to Susannah. The corner of his mouth tilted.

Susannah rubbed her sleeve against her cheek. She felt dazed and light and unaccountably happy. A peaceful sort of happiness, as though she'd finally momentarily satisfied an appetite she hadn't known existed.

They heard voices then, boy voices laughing and swearing, the sounds of scuffling feet.

The stable boys had returned.

When they saw Kit they froze, turned into stone as surely if he were Medusa.

Kit regarded them for a time, expressionless, terrifyingly expressionless, and Susannah felt her own heart knot.

"You
did
know this mare was due to give birth any day?" Kit asked almost pleasantly.

Eyes bugging with fear, they remained silent One of them darted a look toward the bonnie little foal.

"Answer me."

Susannah risked a sideways glance at Kit How could one person imbue so much menace into two little words?

"Y-y-es, sir." One of them was brave enough to get the words out.

There was another long silence, broken by the slap of the mare's tail against her rump, the rustle of little hooves in the straw.

"They could have died," Kit said, almost musingly, "while you were gone. This mare, and her foal. Alone. And it's your responsibility to care for the horses, is it not?"

Susannah was certain the expressions the two boys wore were similar to those turned up to the executioner's ax. They said nothing; no doubt their vocal cords had turned to stone.

"Go," Kit finally said, his voice low and contemptuous. "And don't come back."

They spun on their heels and ran.

Behind Susannah, the mare nudged the little filly, a twin of her mother down to the star between her eyes. She was twitching her miniature tail, learning all about balancing on four legs, and breathing air, and her mother's teats.

Kit stared after the stable boys for a moment silently, then turned back to the mare and foal. He watched them, quietly, and Susannah watched him.

"I'll have to keep an eye on them for a few days." Kit ran his hand thoughtfully along the sweat-darkened flank of the mare. "But I think they'll do well enough." She could hear the relief in his voice. The warmth.

He turned back toward her and his expression was… tentative, almost awkward. As though he couldn't decide what to say.

Susannah doubted
that
happened very often.

"It was a brave thing you did, Susannah."

Something unfamiliar in his eyes warmed Susannah clear through, and at the same time made her feel strangely bare. "I wasn't trying to be brave."

Kit's lovely mouth lifted at the corner. "Which is what
makes
it brave." His expression was still difficult to read. He seemed so somber, almost shy, if she didn't know better. Humble? No,
that
couldn't be. But the warmth in it was unmistakable. "You'll be a little sore tomorrow." He absently reached out and kneaded her upper arm.

Susannah closed her eyes to slits; the kneading felt wonderful. It was almost more intimate than a kiss, but then again, almost nothing seemed intimate in comparison to having one one's hand thrust up a horse, and Susannah, at the moment, didn't care.

Kit abruptly dropped his hand. She opened her eyes fully again.

And they stood again quietly together for a moment, simply looking at each other. A peculiar peace stole over Susannah, a lovely, dreamy sort of fullness.

He cleared his throat. "Well, I think we can forego riding and drawing today, Miss Makepeace.
Again
. I'd like to watch these two"—he gestured with his chin at the horses�"for a time. I'm afraid your riding habit is quite ruined."

Susannah looked down; it most certainly was. "I've more of them at home."

For some reason this made him smile and shake his head slowly back and forth.