He settled more solidly on his saddle and smiled. “Aye, I do, ma’am. I’m already very fond of many of the horses.”
Without warning, his mount danced skittishly at a dust devil whirring in the dirt path just ahead of them. The horse snorted, eyes rolling, looking as if it were about to bolt. Beatrice gritted her teeth and tightened her grip on her own reins, afraid the ebony Arabian might spook her mount. But Greg skillfully settled his horse with a firm rein and a subtle motion of his hand along the powerful horse’s neck.
He whispered into the black’s twitching ear, “There now, fella. There now, naught a thing to fear. Tis just the wind singin’ to ye.”
And as if by magic, the animal’s eye lost its panicked look. It snorted once more, snuffled softly then became serene and walked on.
“How did you do that? Beelzebub is the terror of the stables.” For he was aptly named after the devil himself.
“Giving a horse a name like that shows how little you know him. He’s a proud fellow, just misunderstood.”
She studied the young groom, curious to learn more about him and his talents. She’d tell her mother about his masterful handling of the horse. It would impress her. The queen might arrange a quick promotion for the lord’s son.
Beatrice was still lost in thought, focusing on her gloved fingers curled around the leather reins as they ambled pleasantly along the path, when a hand shot out and tightened around her arm. She flinched at the sudden pressure, cried out in shock and looked up into Gregory’s eyes.
The groom’s expression had altered from gentle affection for the animal he rode to a mask of anger—eyes wide, lip curled to reveal a slash of white teeth. Her first instinct was to back Lady Jane as far and quickly away from him as possible.
“Sir!” she cried, trying to wrench her arm free. “Release me!”
But he held tight then shocked her further by dragging her off of her saddle. He swung her up and onto the stallion’s saddle in front of him, her back pressed tight against his chest. Before she could protest, he’d spurred his mount to a wild gallop, carrying her away.
Beatrice screamed for help but dared not continue struggling for fear of falling off the big horse while they were moving so fast. From behind them, she heard shouts.
Good
, she thought,
someone has sent up an alarm
. The police, palace guards, maybe both would hear and come for her.
But when she craned her neck around to look past the groom’s left shoulder, behind the black’s straining flanks, no one was chasing after them. Instead, she saw two men in grimy rags attempting to drag Lady Jane into the trees.
The truth of the situation suddenly dawned on her, all the more horrifying with the realization that she was not the one in jeopardy. “Horsenappers!” she screamed. “They have her. Stop them!”
“I will,” Greg growled, leaning even harder forward and into her, nearly crushing her between his muscled chest and the horse’s neck as he urged Beelzebub to even greater speed. “First, I see you safe, Your Highness.” His breath rasped in her ear. “They would’ve knocked you from the saddle.”
The heat of the man’s body radiated through her. She felt his heart hammering against her shoulder blade, his breath hot and moist on the back of her neck. She gasped for air and clung to the black’s flying mane.
She’d heard of such outrageous assaults, but not here in the most posh part of London. Horses, dogs too, stolen from the wealthy then ransomed for princely sums. Thieves were so brazen they sometimes grabbed a leash right out of a dog walker’s hand and simply outran them, or snatched up small pets by leaning down from the back of a galloping horse. But the thieving of horses was most often done from an unguarded paddock or stall. Few were daring enough to attempt it in a public park.
It took less than two minutes for the groom to race his horse back down Rotten Row, across the cobbled street and on toward Buckingham’s gates. Two guardsmen stood, arms at the ready, staring with obvious concern and confusion at the demon horse and its riders, speeding toward them. They raised their weapons. For a moment, Beatrice feared they might fire on them.
“The princess!” Greg shouted, bringing the animal to a hoof-clattering halt before them. Beelzebub’s chest heaved like immense bellows beneath her, nostrils flaring, snorting. Dust rose up in gritty brown clouds from dancing hooves. The Scot handed Beatrice down to the guards. “See she’s safe.” He gestured with his chin to the yard inside the gate. “Thieves got her horse.”
A soldier gave out a shout of alarm. An ear-piercing whistle blew. Before Beatrice could catch her breath or get out a word of thanks to her rescuer, she was surrounded by crimson-jacketed guardsmen who hustled her back inside the palace gates. She pivoted, trying to peer out through the iron grille then beyond the line of trees. But all she could see was the back of the brave groom, bent low over the glistening black Arabian, mane and tail flying as the pair disappeared back into the park.
Moments later, a dozen mounted guardsmen chased after him, leaving her in a billow of dust, surrounded by growing confusion from staff who, having heard the commotion outside, began to spill into the yard as if pouring from the spouts of the castle’s many doors.
Beatrice was only vaguely aware of questions shouted at her. She shook her head, unable to answer, incapable of focusing on anything but the line of trees that screened whatever drama might be happening beyond them. Everything had occurred so very quickly. One minute she’d been enjoying a pleasant ride. The next, Gregory was whisking her away and out of harm’s way, apparently having foreseen menacing signs she’d missed.
“
Mon dieu!
Your Highness, are you hurt?” Marie appeared at her side, wrapped an arm around her trembling shoulders.
Beatrice turned into her lady’s comforting arms. “It was terrifying. My poor horse. And the groom—those terrible men might attack him.”
“In the park? How can this be?”
Beatrice was shaking so hard, her knees going all porridge-y, she could barely stay on her feet. “He was so brave, Marie. And I…I didn’t even realize what was happening. But he
knew
what they were up to, clever boy. He must have seen the men, two evil rogues who meant to steal my Lady Jane.”
“Thank goodness he was with you, Your Highness.”
“If I’d agreed to take a pair of guardsmen, they might have been deterred and not tried.” She felt idiotic now for insisting upon riding alone. London City was
not
Darmstadt! “Perhaps they thought I was without reliable escort.” The stable master had been right. If she had gone alone, she might have been badly hurt…or worse. There was no knowing how desperate or violent her attackers might have been, had Greg not been there to speed her away from danger.
“Come, Princess. We will go to your chamber, and you will lie down and rest. I shall bring chamomile tea and biscuits to calm you.”
“No.” Beatrice resisted, pulling out of the woman’s arms, planting her feet firmly and willing herself to stay upright though she ached to collapse right there on the ground. “No, I must see what has happened to Greg.”
“Greg?”
“Gregory MacAlister, the groom. He was the one escorting me. I can only hope he hasn’t been injured on my behalf. And Lady Jane. Poor thing, she looked terrified. I’ll never forgive myself if they’ve harmed her.”
“At least come and sit out of the sun, away from all this madness.” Marie drew Beatrice protectively out of the crowded center of the yard and into the relative shelter of one of the tacking sheds. More and more guardsmen took to their mounts and rode out at breakneck speed. Now that it was obvious Beatrice was being looked after by her lady-in-waiting, other staff gave them space. The two women sat on a wooden bench, clutching each other’s hands. Waiting.
Beatrice thought her heart would never stop racing even as the yard quieted, the dust settled, and curious members of staff and court retreated back inside the castle at the direction of the Master at Arms.
Beatrice squeezed her eyes closed and recalled how quickly Greg had reacted to the unexpected danger. That fierce expression on his face and the strength with which he’d pulled her from her horse, forcefully but with care enough not to hurt her. He’d somehow sensed it was the animal the thieves were after, and she would be in their way and at risk.
What a brave, brave man.
“Please, please don’t let him be hurt by those wicked men,” she whispered.
“They are coming back!” Marie shouted, pulling her hands free and jumping to her feet.
Indeed, when Beatrice opened her eyes she could see a wave of red jackets and tall fur helmets on horseback. She searched the cluster of men for the ebony stallion and the much more petite Lady Jane, but saw neither. Her heart lurched.
Then, as the troupe approached the spiked palace gates, the outer ranks of guardsmen split, revealing the young Scot on Beelzebub, leading Lady Jane by her reins.
Beatrice shot up off the bench. “He’s done it! Do you see, Marie? He’s rescued her too.” She gasped for breath, feeling weak and dizzy and exhilarated, all at the same moment. “Oh, how gallant! Does the Scot look injured? Is he leaning a bit heavily to the left in his saddle?”
Marie laughed. “Your Highness, I’d say he looks as fit as any man.
Maintenant, tout est bien.
Please. Let me take you inside to a soothing bath.”
“No, I must thank him and see my horse.”
“The stable boys, they will take care of Lady Jane.”
“I must find out what happened.” She pushed away from the woman and strode shakily, but with determination, across the yard. The guardsmen, still on their horses, parted for her. She arrived at Gregory’s side just after he’d dismounted. His expression was solemn, his face flushed and coated with a sheen of sweat and dirt.
“Did you catch them? Have the guardsmen got the two of them?”
Gregory spun around to face her. “No. I’m sorry; they were too late. I had one of the villains down on the ground, but the other was making off with your horse. I had to choose. By the time I caught up with him and retrieved Lady Jane, the first man was off and running. His partner slipped away when he saw the guardsmen coming across the track.”
“Oh,” she said. “I’m sorry.” He glared at the ground, looking disgusted with himself. “I should have had them. I should have—”
“Oh, no, it’s not your fault!” she cried. “You did all you could. And what is most important, you kept me from harm and my horse from injury, or from being sold to some cruel costermonger for a dray nag.”
She stepped forward, wanting to fling her arms around his neck in gratitude but stopped herself, suddenly aware of Marie and a flock of stable lads watching. Stepping back, she lifted a hand in a gesture of gratitude. “Thank you.”
Elton Jackson approached and thumped Greg on the back. “Well done, lad. I heard what happened. Nasty business.” He seemed not to want to look Beatrice in the eye, as if he might be tempted to say:
Told you so, didn’t I?
“Boys, take the princess’s horse back to her stall and clean her up good. Oats for her. She needs a bit of pampering after her fright.”
Before they took her away, Beatrice stepped up and rested her forehead against Lady Jane’s velvety muzzle, hoping that would somehow convey how grateful she was to have her safe. When she lifted her head, the stable master was ordering her brave rescuer back to his chores.
She sighed. Greg was the one who could use a hot bath and a reward of some kind. But then, maybe he thought he’d just been doing his job.
Well, he’d done it just fine.
She finally let Marie guide her away from the mews. Her mind circled round the excitement of the morning. The day had started out so well, with such hope—but might have ended in tragedy. She would write to Henry and tell him of her adventure. He might still find her life interesting. She hoped he’d write back. Even if they couldn’t marry, she still wanted to be his friend. His very closest friend.
Gregory kept an eye out for a chance to speak with Beatrice again. And to let her see him as something more elegant than a stable groom. But he found few acceptable excuses for a man from the mews to enter the palace proper. In the end, he was forced to wait for the princess’s daily rides.
When she did come, sometimes it was at an unexpected hour, and he was raking out stalls or brushing one of the queen’s prized Windsor greys. Then Jackson called up the captain of the guard and asked for two men to be assigned to accompany Beatrice. After the incident in the park, she didn’t object to an armed escort.
Several weeks later, Gregory’s patience was at an end. He had to establish a special relationship with the princess, something more intimate than the trust he’d earned after the horse napping incident. Already Wilhelm had sent two terse messages, demanding an update on his progress. Gregory had little to report to the prince. He was at a loss for what to do when, without any effort from him, the problem was handily resolved.
He heard Beatrice talking with Elton Jackson after she returned from a ride with her military guard.
“I feel so much safer with your new groom MacAlister. He acted so swiftly the day of the attack, and I daresay those two men are still on the loose. From now on, please free him of his duties to ride with me.”
And, of course, what else could Jackson do but acquiesce to the princess’s wishes?
The next day Gregory had Beelzebub saddled before Beatrice appeared. While taking down his choice of bridles, one of the youngest boys came to him, wearing an impudent grin. “Another letter for ye. From yer sweetie, no doubt. Stinks a perfume it do.” The boy thrust it at him then ran off laughing before Gregory could cuff him on the ear.
Gregory swore then stuffed the note, unread, into his vest pocket and went to saddle the princess’s mount. Meg had written him every few days since he’d come to London. He’d only once returned a brief letter to her, assuring her that he was well but far too busy with his duties to correspond regularly.
Her message was always the same. She fretted about his health. She missed him. She needed to see him. Girlish romantic nonsense. But the last few letters had taken on a more worrisome tone. She insisted he return to Aberdeenshire, saying she had news for him she couldn’t deliver by post.
Meg was being a bother, and ignoring her didn’t seem to be working. If she kept up this harping at him, she’d become a true liability and might even ruin everything. He didn’t know what to do.
After some thought, Gregory decided he had no choice but to make the journey home, on excuse of someone in his family being ill. He needed to impress upon the girl how important it was that he pay attention to what he was doing in London. “Can’t always be dashing off silly love letters to you,” he’d tell her. He’d not compromise on this point. After all, his future depended upon this escapade on behalf of Wilhelm. If he pleased the young prince by successfully wooing Beatrice, he’d be set for life.
At first Gregory had thought Willy’s plan a very long shot indeed. But now that he’d met Beatrice and saw for his own eyes how vulnerable she was, and how open to his influence she could be, he’d begun to believe the prince’s plot might actually work.
And if it did? Never again would he have to worry about money. Crown Prince Wilhelm’s assets were astounding even now. But once he became emperor, unlimited riches would be at his disposal. Wealth with which to reward those loyal to him. In addition, Gregory would receive an annual allowance from the Crown, as husband to Victoria’s youngest daughter.
The elder MacAlister sons might never have enough money to hold on to the family estate. But if he, Gregory, was able to support the family and their lands—his father, brothers and everyone else in the shire would respect him.
Bolstered by that thought, Gregory led the two horses into the sunshine-bright yard. Beatrice had arrived and was waiting beside the exercise ring. She turned and smiled at him. “Good. Then we’re off.” Her eyes drifted down to his belt and the gun holster at his hip. “I hadn’t noticed you wearing that before.”
He tugged the bottom of his jacket around to hide the pistol. “After our little adventure, I thought it best. Mr. Jackson made it a rule that whoever accompanies a member of the royal family, they will be armed. A sword is only good close up.”
She nodded. “Hopefully word has already gotten round to the undesirable elements of London that I have competent defenders, and we won’t be assaulted again. But I thank you for your caution.” And with that she turned her horse toward the gate and they began their ride.
He followed her into the park. As soon as they were on the raked path, the horses moving at a relaxed walk, he brought the black up alongside her mare, a casual move toward intimacy she no longer objected to. She normally talked very little. Today, as on many others, he had to remind himself to keep to his place by not speaking to the princess unless she first addressed him. It would not do to be too forward, break with protocol and make her suspicious.
After they had ridden for twenty minutes in silence she turned her head toward him and asked, “May I impose upon you for your opinion, Mr. MacAlister?” Her eyes sparkled shyly at him.
“You may ask anything of me, Your Highness. I am happily at your service.”
She cleared her throat and looked away into the distance, as if uncomfortable meeting his gaze while she posed her question. “You see, I have no living father to ask for his advice. And my brothers would never give me a straight answer. They think me silly and naïve. But you treat me as a real and thinking person. I feel secure in asking your opinion.”
“I’m glad of that, Princess.”
“You see, I need a male perspective. And I am going to be quite frank so that you may be the same in your answers.” He gave her a nod of agreement. She continued. “While in Germany, I met a very special young man. We had an understanding and have written to each other ever since.”
“I see.”
He, of course, knew she was speaking of Henry Battenberg. Court gossip extended not just to the royal mews but throughout London. Everyone had heard, by now, that the princess was infatuated with a dashing young prince from the Continent. But most of the gossip came down to this: A marriage would never happen, if for no other reason than Victoria was set against attaching yet another of her daughters to a German. Her ministers had long advised against such a match, because they, not to mention the English people, feared losing their monarchy to foreigners.
“My mother,” Beatrice was saying as they rode on, “has discouraged our correspondence. But a friend is a very precious thing, don’t you think? And I don’t wish to lose Henry’s friendship.” She nibbled her bottom lip. “I will, of course, discourage intimacy that isn’t proper between a man and woman who are not married. But I wonder if you could tell me, Gregory—” She turned to him with wide, innocent eyes. “—is it possible for a man to have a purely platonic relationship with a woman? A friendship that is warm and close, such as two men have.” She blinked, looking flustered when he didn’t immediately answer. “What I mean is, can he still
like
her and not expect more than she can reasonably give without damaging her reputation and hurting her family?”
It was a better opening than he ever could have hoped for.
He put on a solemn face. “I do think friendships of that sort exist, between a man and a woman. But,” he said, measuring his words carefully, “they are rare. It would depend upon what the woman expected from the man. What degree of loyalty does she require?” He paused to let her mull over his meaning.
“Yes, loyalty,” she said as if tasting the word for hidden flavors. “But I think the word you are really searching for is honesty or perhaps even fidelity. What you are trying to say, in a delicate way, has to do with jealousy perhaps?” She glanced at him. “Are you saying that if a woman is unwilling, or unable, to give herself physically to a man, she must then accept that he will find satisfaction in the arms of another woman? Or women.”
He lowered his eyes to the gravel passing beneath their horses’ hooves. He had to be careful not to venture into territory that would offend her or make her wary of him.
“It’s such a sensitive topic, Princess. I don’t know how to put it to you. But yes, the man would undoubtedly be tempted to look for satisfaction elsewhere.” He immediately added, “I’m sorry, I have no right speaking to you like th—”
“No, no. You put it just right. I’m not in the least affronted. This is what I needed to hear. The
truth
about how men think. I’m grateful for your candor, Gregory.” She drew a breath and looked around her, and he could see how hard she was thinking about this. “Men need physical relationships. Yes. I understand from my mother that women are not the same and do not require similar experiences or maybe—” She brought her horse to a stop as if by running out of words she’d also run out of path.
He angled his mount up alongside her. “If you’ll pardon my boldness,” he said, keeping his voice low so that others moving past them along Rotten Row wouldn’t hear, “but I think that people are people. Although a man’s needs may, at times, seem more urgent to him, women also have needs.” Her eyes widened at this, and he wondered if it was the first time she’d heard anything but her mother’s version of sex education. “However, Princess, it’s my experience that men far more often fail to control their desires, and therefore their fidelity is less often sure.”
There, the seed of doubt is planted.
“Oh,” she said, her eyes beginning to glisten with emotion. “Then if a woman wants to continue a friendship on a purely platonic level with a gentleman, she must be prepared to release him of the obligation to remain as pure as she. That’s what you’re saying? Or at least she must accept that he will eventually…wander?”
“If he truly cares for her,” Gregory said, trying to catch her eye, “he will abstain from affairs with other women. But it is the nature of the male animal to seek a mate.” He noticed with pleasure that she blushed at this. Before she could react further, he hastily tacked on another apology, “Your Highness, I really shouldn’t be talking to you like this. I’ve overstepped the bounds of decency.”
“You are not at fault.” She rested a gloved hand over his. “Please don’t blame yourself when I asked for the truth. It is good to know someone in London will speak honestly to me.” Tears threatened, but she blinked them away. “You can’t imagine how frustrating it is, to be a grown woman and treated as a child, or an imbecile.”
“If I may be so bold as to speak my mind one more time?”
“Oh, please do.” She sniffled but managed to hold back her tears.
He finally caught her soft blue eyes with his. HH"Your Highness is not just an adult. She is a beautiful and intelligent woman. Any man would be a fool not to—” he shook his head and looked away, as if disgusted with himself. “No. This is totally inappropriate. I beg your pardon. I can say no more.”
He was aware of her studying him, her gaze fixed on his face as she puzzled over his compliment.
Another seed planted. Good.
She now knew he found her attractive. And a moment earlier she’d, no doubt, imagined Henry Battenberg humping away atop another woman. It didn’t matter whether or not Battenberg had been faithful to her up until this point. It was the future she would fear.
Silence cloaked the rest of their ride.
Perfect
, he thought. He’d accomplished a great deal in less than an hour, on horseback no less. Now all he had to do was start a few well-worded rumors to feed off of the princess’s doubts about her would-be lover.
Back in the royal mews, after Gregory had helped Beatrice dismount, escorted her across the busy yard and through one of the doors leading into Buckingham Palace, he whistled his way back to the stables. “You lads, take up these horses and brush them down.”
As official escort to the princess he’d acquired a sheen of respectability and jumped to a higher pecking order. He was now a Senior Groom, no longer expected to perform the same drudgery as the younger boys.
Gregory strolled back toward the groom’s equipment room to exchange his good riding boots for working clogs. He unstrapped the pistol from around his hip to return it to the armory. In doing so he felt the crackle of paper in his pocket. He pulled it out. His mistress’s latest letter.
Might as well read it now as later. He leaned against a post in the shade of the stables.
Me Dearest Greg,
I didden wish to bring you this news x-sep for when I could hold your brawny self in me arms and kiss you and show you how happy I am. But you been so busy as to not answer me letters or to come home as I begged you. So now I can wate no longer.
I carry your child, my darling. Even though you been gone for near two months, I know it is your babe as I have no other man in me life, nor ever will, my love. I know what you is doing in London is portant for our future. So I do not now ask you to come home as it will be at least four months before our child is born. I just want you to know that he (or she) is yours, just as I shall always be. There will be no prouder day in my life than the one we’re free to proclaim our love by marrying before God and our frends and family, at St. Edmonds in the village.
I long for the day you come home to me. But, if you cannot come away from the job you are doing, cood you send for me? All I need is mony for a train ticket and a little more for room and bord in London, and I will run to your side. Please tell me that you want me to come.
Yours everlasting,
Margaret
Gregory crumpled the letter in his fist. He stifled the rage building inside his chest. Silenced the scream of frustration working its way up through his throat. Swore, and swore again. She was going to spoil everything.