It didn't take Charlie long to realize that traveling with a lofty male companion, especially one such as the earl, was significantly different than traveling by oneself.
In the first, Claymore set a steady pace - one that reduced the miles into the blink of her eye. The sun didn't feel nearly so hot, her clothes so damp. The bumps of the road nearly so rough. The earl also offered a peaceful presence - a sense of security, of protection, that she had yet to feel in her short journey thus far. She hadn't found herself glancing over her shoulder, frightened that her Uncle Henry would be seen in the distance, his body stiff as he lugged Mr. Simpton alongside him.
And, if Charlie were to be honest, she had quite forgotten the silent assurance of having a traveling companion - someone to converse with if she so chose. Even if, Charlie thought wryly, they hadn't spoken more than a few words in passing with each other since leaving the crofter's cottage.
Her eyes fell upon the man in question, his form straight and true, as he led his thoroughbred stallion with skill. She watched his thighs clenching, offering the slightest command needed to direct his horse from his perch. Charlie would have known he was a most avid rider by the way he held his seat securely, his eyes scanning the road for any obstacle that might waylay them.
Not to mention, the beauty of his horse.
The stallion was muscled with a blue-black color that shone through the dusty clouds beneath the soft rays of the sun. It had the makings of a fine race horse: long neck in proportion to its back, well-formed legs built for galloping, hindquarters that were thick and round leading to defined fetlocks.
Charlie knew enough of horses to admire all the qualities her own stable master, Mr. Higgins, would have. Charlie smiled sadly, a pang of homesickness washing over her.
But, she knew, it wasn't worth thinking of.
Not yet.
Charlie was determined in her course.
After their hasty retreat from the cottage, they had traveled in awkward silence. Charlie, now in a thoroughly sour mood - lost in thought of what Claymore's attraction meant - would mean - and how best to extricate herself from the mess she had unwittingly created. Claymore, all the while, had been in high spirits, practically gloating with some tidbit she had been unaware of.
And that was before the bloody man had begun whistling after their last stop. Another Inn - the Black Hen - had offered a quick respite. A chance at the chamber pot followed by bread, cheese and water. It wasn't more than twenty minutes before they continued onward.
Then the blasted itching had started.
Charlie sighed, trying to relieve the deplorable state of the binding cloth over her breasts. The material had loosened in one place, the binding coming undone to sweep along her ribs. Tickling her skin. After the hasty rain shower, the damp material clung to her chest and an itch had settled quite securely into the middle of her bosom. An impossible place to find relief with the earl's presence in her periphery.
That wasn't the worse part, however. It was the returning sunlight on their half-damp clothing and hair that had left a stale scent wafting upwards from her person. Charlie crinkled her nose, feeling the coat of dust that had settled upon her cheekbones. A pinch had settled between her shoulder blades, and her shirt twisted - half damp, half dry - to cling about her chest.
Her breeches had bunched as well, the creases digging into her upper thighs.
Blast and damn! How she missed her skirts...
Charlie couldn't imagine how Claymore was dealing with his own dress - a multitude of layers more extensive that her own. His great coat flapped behind him, the damp ends lashing the wind. His top hat was settled firmly atop his head, his hair flattening obscenely to his neck and curling about his collar. His neckcloth hung limply against his shirt and waistcoat and overcoat. The humidity that must be building within his own layers, had her own predicament escalating.
If only she could itch her breasts!
His whistle reached her ear once more and Charlie realized it was too much to bear! While Charlie couldn't fault the man for his good humor - the reclusive earl had to be glad, indeed, to be reaching home - it irked her to no end how comfortable he seemed with everything thus far.
Where had the brash man of yesterday gone? Where had the foul-mouthed - and yes, she thought sullenly - caterwauling Earl of this morning gotten off to? What did he have to be so bloody cheerful about?
Charlie glanced over her shoulder at him, narrowing her eyes. "I say this with utmost respect, my lord. But could you please," Charlie waited until those gray eyes met hers, "cease that ungodly awful racket?"
The earl stiffened on his horse, his jaw dropping in shock. A rumbling chuckle began a second later, quickly turning into gasping laughter, his big body shaking atop his horse.
Charlie resisted the urge to stick out her tongue at the bloody man.
What, she wondered, was so damned funny?
"My apologies, dear sir," Claymore said, wiping tears from the corners of his eyes. "I will do everything in my power to make your journey more palatable."
The sarcasm inherent in his tone had Charlie prickling. He must have seen it, for he offered a smile.
"Look there," The earl pointed ahead of him, towards the Northeast. Charlie looked in that direction, her breath lodged in her lungs.
Was that...?
"That would be Huntington, my estate, on the horizon."
Charlie could only gape. It looked so...
Picturesque?
"You...you live there, my lord?"
He laughed, "No need to sound so surprised, lad. It is a fine piece of property, and it's nothing compared to the stables. They are quite grand, I assure you."
Charlie barely heard him. Her eyes were trained on the beautiful stone manor before her. Floral vines lingered over the outer stone, trailing across latticed windows and draping over pillars and intricate framework. From what she could see, it was three stories tall, a balcony on one side, overlooking fields of green so far and wide and luscious that Charlie could barely find her breath.
This, she thought. This was where the earl lived?
It looked like a lone cottage lost in the fairy wood, a place visited by spirits of yore.
"It's not as big as my primary estate in Warwicksire, but it has been in my family for generations - one that has enough land for breeding our horses and managing our stables."
Charlie looked to the earl.
A grin had stretched across his face, his eyes charged as they met hers.
"You take pleasure, then, in what you do?" Charlie asked, smiling in return.
Claymore looked away, glancing at the view in silence. "The stud farm has been one of the most prominent in all of England. Legendary, in fact," he added quietly. A soft smile curled his lips. "My great, great grandfather started it in 1630. He began with one Arabian stud. From there he added another. And then another." His grin was now a living thing, proud and happy all at once, making her heart pang for her own home.
"My grandfather built it from the ground up, working with his own two hands. Handled the corrals and fencing, the stabling. How the horses were to be fed and exercised. He worked damned near day and night to make it into something he could be proud of."
He scanned his property, his eyes shifting restlessly in his face. He turned to Charlie abruptly. The motion caused Charlie to tighten her grip on Sir Rupert who whinnied at the pulling.
"It was unheard of, you are aware. An earl working." Claymore shook his head, one of those locks blown into the corner of his mouth from a gust of wind. His hand came up, holding his top hat on his head. "Still is, in fact. Not that it's ever mattered much to me. What, I ask you, is the harm of working with your own hands? Creating something good and worthwhile? Something that gives my tenants steady jobs. Puts blunt in their pockets and food on their tables."
Charlie swallowed hard, imaginging the truth of society - its frames gilded in gold, but lacking in any substance, empty shells of people and gossip and powdered wigs. She felt pain for this man. The sadness that churned in his eyes.
Claymore glanced up, meeting her eyes. "This has been my life's work, Charlie. I work with these hands," he lifted his callused hands, ones which only a day ago had clasped her hips tightly, a hand that had cupped her chin, "until they are bleeding and raw. My staff does the same."
A warning, she realized. Charlie worried her lower lip. She knew she could handle the work, had secluded herself with Mr. Higgins enough times to know how they ran, what would be required of her. She owed him a least a part truth, a measure of certainty that his legacy would not crumble within her hands. "I have only...known one stable, my lord. But I know my way around one."
For some reason, her answer had Claymore tensing atop his horse. The stallion - sensing the change in his master's mood - shifted uncomfortably, chuffing quietly.
"You worked in the stables? How impoverished were you?"
"It was my family's stables," Charlie said slowly, brows furrowed at his stiff tone. "I wasn't exactly employed there." Claymore seemed to ease upon learning this, his brows crinkling. "I helped with the horses sometimes. It was a favorite place of mine."
Truth.
Charlie glanced down, lacing her fingers together. She didn't know why she kept sharing such things about her life. Why she felt so comfortable doing so.
"So your family owned a stables, then?"
Charlie smiled softly, thinking of life before her parents had passed. Her fingers went unerringly to her hip pocket, the chess piece bringing her a measure of comfort. "Hmmm," she said noncommittingly. "I grew up quite lucky, actually." Her smile fell. Kicking Sir Rupert into a walk, she waited until the earl fell into place beside her before she continued. "But fate, it seems, can take everything from you rather quickly. The most we can do is move on. Even if our security falters and we found ourselves...quite alone."
She finished softly, her eyes on the horizon. The sun blinded her, the dust kicking into her eyes with Sir Rupert's steady pace.
His dark head nodded in the corner of her vision. "I see." Claymore glanced in her direction, but Charlie didn't make eye contact. Instead, she watched as Huntington came into view, lush and beautiful, a vision draped in lavender and tan stone. "Had it become such a bad situation, then?"
Charlie swallowed roughly, clearing her throat. "There were bad days. But there were also good ones." She smiled, averting her eyes. Grassy knolls rolled like green waves in her vision - endless. Free."But I had a lot to be thankful for. The manager of our stables, Mr. Higgins, taught me how to ride when I was about five or six." Charlie couldn't stop the grin from dancing over her features. "I was quite scared that day, actually. I went to set myself upon Sir Rupert and -" Charlie laughed softly, "I swung up with so much force I nearly slid right back off the other side."
Claymore chuckled next to her, and Charlie delighted in the sound. Their eyes met, and she swore her breath caught in her lungs. He was breathtaking like this, she decided. His dark hair ruffled, shimmering with strands of chestnut brown and hints of red. His teeth flashing, starkly outlined against his tanned skin.
He looked half-wild, a wolf in a gentleman's cloth.
Was it wise to speak so freely with him? She wondered. A gentleman who had no idea a female was in his midst. A woman - a lady, she corrected - that would soon be mucking his stables and grooming his legendary horses.. She hadn't felt so happy, so carefree, in years, and the fact that she felt so now, here, with this man, unsettled her.
"Is something wrong?"
The earl's concerned voice brought her eyes back up. She shook her head mutely. The telltale prickle of tears burned her eyes, but she choked them back, knowing the weakness for what it was. Charlie needed to remember that she was a stable hand, now. A lowly gentleman, nothing more. In a few weeks, Charlie could go back to her life, her safety secured. But until then, getting close - sharing secrets and memories with the earl - would only mean trouble.
"No, my lord." Charlie mumbled, spurring her horse into a trot.
Silence reigned, only the quickening steps of the horses intruding. Charlie shut her eyes, feeling the cool wind on her heated skin. She licked her dry lips, shifting against the uncomfortable dampness of her back.
Her reins were pulled on, and Charlie opened her eyes as Sir Rupert came to a stop. She looked over to Claymore, his eyes trained on something in the distance.
Charlie followed his gaze and froze. Was that...?
Shouting could be heard and Charlie squinted, seeing a lone figure running full speed down the road towards them. Claymore urged his mount forward, and he flew past her, his form becoming a black speck in her vision.
Charlie could only stare in horror as a billow of gray and black smoke rose from the west of Huntington. It turned the sky into a dark canvas, ink smudged with rivulets of water and dirt intermixing. She kicked Sir Rupert into motion, her body jolting with each heavy step. She could hear the panicked cries ahead of her, the muffling of sobs and the direction to bale more water.
For the earl's stables were on fire.