VIEWED FROM BEHIND the bars of the cage, the world was an endless nightmare of alien smells, frightening noises and scornful prey forever out of reach.
Donal perched on the thick branch of the dead tree in Othello’s cage, breathing in short puffs through his nostrils. He was only half-aware of his own body with its overlong limbs and flat monkey’s face; Othello’s senses filled his mind with their wordless pain and brutal longings, and it was all he could do to remember his purpose on this cold and empty summer morning.
His true life’s work was healing, or so he had always believed. He had come out to the menagerie today as he had done every day during his weeks at Edgecott, opening himself to the animals, seeking a way to ease the bitter hurt of their captivity.
But though the animals accepted him now, let him move about their cages and gave freely of their thoughts and feelings, Donal knew he had failed them. Failed to remedy the malaise that trapped them in bonds of stillness and sorrow; failed to do anything more than share the burden of their grief and keep them alive when they might have simply faded away.
He moaned softly, a sound of despair that no ordinary human throat could shape. The panther crouching beside him blinked golden eyes and took up the chorus, repeating the plea that Donal could never answer.
Let me go.
Donal turned on the branch and pressed his face to the warm, sleek black coat. A great velvet paw came to rest on his shoulder, razor claws barely pricking the linen of his shirt.
Let me go.
Donal drew back, letting the tears coarse unheeded down his face. I cannot, he said. Forgive me.
The panther sighed, exhaling memories that tasted of rich earth and dripping leaves. He laid his head between his paws and closed his eyes. Enduring the unendurable. Retreating into a world that not even one half-Fane could enter.
Donal jumped down from the branch, his muscles still resonant with a leopard’s power. Teeth bared, he stalked to the cage door and opened the latch.
Tod settled lightly on the bench across from the cage, his body almost invisible in his half-materialized state. He studied Donal’s face with a worried frown.
“It’s not my lord’s fault,” he said, his voice rough with emotion. “Do not be sad.”
Donal sat on the bench and massaged his aching temples. “I don’t know what more I can do, Tod. There is only one cure for what ails them.”
Tod sat beside him, kicking his child’s legs. “Freedom,” he said.
“Yes. But even if I had the power to give it to them, it may be too late.”
“Never too late,” Tod said with such vehemence that Donal looked at him with greater attention than he had done in many weeks. He knew he’d neglected the hob, who relied so much on his friendship. Both of them lived suspended between the Fane and mortal worlds, but it was far worse for Tod. He could never be accepted as human.
“I’m sorry, my friend,” Donal said. “I’ve been too caught up in my own concerns of late. What troubles you?”
Tod looked up in extravagant surprise. “Why, nothing, my lord. Nothing troubles Tod.”
All Fane had a gift for deception, but Donal knew Tod too well. “You’ve been lonely here,” he said. “That is my fault. I—”
His words were interrupted by the rhythm of hoofbeats approaching on the gravel path. Tod flitted up from the bench, fading from sight as the horses came near.
“Good morning,” Inglesham said, smiling down from the back of a long-legged gray stallion. “Hard at work, I see.”
Donal looked beyond the viscount to the horse and man who followed him: Boreas, his coat brushed and glossy with health, and the groom Gallagher. Gallagher stood as far from the bay stallion as the lead would allow. Inglesham’s mount sidestepped nervously at the scent of the predators behind the bars, but Boreas stamped with barely contained excitement, his mind filled with memories of wind rushing past his ears and the heady triumph of victory.
Donal shook off his distaste and met the viscount’s hooded eyes. “To what do I owe this singular honor, Lord Inglesham?”
Inglesham dismounted, tossed his horse’s reins over the back of the bench, and ambled closer to Othello’s cage. “Did I just see you inside with that beast?” he asked.
“Yes. If you would care to make a closer acquaintance with my friends, I can certainly arrange it.”
Inglesham glanced at him, an edge of hostility cutting through the veneer of good humor. “Oh, no, Doctor,” he said. “Wild animals are far too unpredictable, particularly when they have ‘friends’ such as yourself.”
Donal raised a brow. “Surely you don’t believe that I have any control over these poor creatures’ behavior.”
“It’s most appropriate that you ask that question, Fleming, because that is precisely what I have come to find out.”
A sharp sense of foreboding stopped Donal’s breath. “I’m afraid I don’t understand you.” One again he caught the restless intensity of Boreas’s thoughts. “Why have you brought Boreas here?”
Inglesham strolled alongside the cages, pausing to peer into each one with a semblance of interest. “I am by nature a man who enjoys a good wager, Fleming…and when an intriguing possibility presents itself, I am not one to stand on formality in matters of rank or station.”
“How very egalitarian of you.”
“Indeed. I believe that every man has a right to prove himself, even one who prefers kennels and pig wallows to civilized society.”
“I didn’t realize that you spend so much time among animals, Lord Inglesham,” Donal said.
Inglesham paused in the act of picking up a stick, his muscles tightening beneath his expertly tailored coat. “I didn’t realize you were such a wit, Fleming,” he said. He slapped the stick against his thigh. “I suppose you have a great deal of time to practice with such an undemanding audience.”
Donal longed to snatch the stick from Inglesham’s hand and beat him about the head with it. “I regret that I haven’t the time to engage in ‘civilized’ repartee with you, Lord Inglesham,” he said, “but as you noted earlier, I have work to do.”
Inglesham clucked in disapproval. “A man who devotes all his time to labor has little chance of winning his fair lady,” he said, casually approaching the apes’ cage. The animals shrank back and then cautiously crept up to the bars, drawn by the sight of a new face. “What repulsive creatures. Poor Delia must sometimes wonder if you truly prefer the company of these dumb brutes to hers.”
The sound of Cordelia’s pet name on Inglesham’s lips filled Donal with loathing. “It is not a question of preference, Lord Inglesham,” he said coldly. “Why are you here?”
The viscount recoiled as Heloise pressed her face against the bars. His mouth curled in disgust. “While I may not fully appreciate every aspect of your profession, Doctor,” he said, “I am an admirer of fine horseflesh. I’ve observed with some interest the work you’ve done with Boreas, restoring him from a broken-down nag to a semblance of the competitor he might have been under more fortunate circumstances.”
“I simply brought him back to good health. It was never my intention to make a racer out of him.”
“Perhaps not, but I was with Mrs. Hardcastle when she purchased him, shortly before he was due to be led off by the knackers. I saw what he was then, and you have wrought no less than a miracle.”
Donal shrugged. “It was no miracle. Only patience.”
“You do take pride in your labors, do you not?”
“Easing pain is my job. If I’ve succeeded in that, I am satisfied.”
“Such modesty, Doctor.” Inglesham walked away from the cage, still tapping the stick against his boot. “Surely you must, on occasion, take some satisfaction in displaying the products of your skill for the admiration of others.”
“I see no purpose in such exhibitions.”
“And yet your animals commonly show off their assets in order to attract a mate. Will you ignore the lessons of nature?”
The hair at the back of Donal’s neck prickled in warning. “You are too obscure for my poor understanding, Lord Inglesham. If you will excuse me—”
“I propose a race, Fleming,” Inglesham interrupted. “A private race between my Apollo and your Boreas, with you and me as the riders.”
Donal almost laughed, but then he glanced toward Boreas and was overwhelmed by the horse’s emotions: tension, exhilaration, a near-frenzy of anticipation for the chance to test his strength and speed against a rival. The big gray Apollo, Boreas’s match in size and conformation, was equally aroused, but his mind was full of the complacent hauteur that came with the presumption of superiority. Like master, like mount.
“I’m sorry you’ve gone to so much trouble, Lord Inglesham,” Donal said, “but I am not interested in wagers or races, nor have I a limitless access to funds that can be thrown away on games of chance.” He touched the brim of his hat. “Good day, sir.”
Inglesham stared at him, a half-smile curving his lips. “Do not be so quick to dismiss me, animal doctor. I have my heart quite set on this match, and I know that every man has his price.”
“Oh? Then perhaps you will enlighten me as to mine.”
The viscount hurled his stick at the apes’ cage, striking the bars. Heloise and Abelard shrieked and leaped up into the branches of their tree, upset by this sudden and unexpected cruelty. The wolves raced back and forth across their pen.
Donal took a step toward Inglesham, fists clenched. Inglesham never lost his maddening smile. “Now, now, Doctor,” the viscount said. “I know perfectly well that you would like nothing better than to engage me in a bout of fisticuffs, and I confess I would not be averse to it myself. But such a contest would be not only premature, but also inadvisable given the present state of affairs.”
“What state of affairs?” Donal growled.
“Why, your ridiculous notion that you are my equal…and that you are in love with Mrs. Hardcastle.”
Shock stabbed under Donal’s breastbone and seized his lungs. After a frozen spell of stunned silence he found his voice again. “I have no wish to be your equal, Inglesham,” he said. “And as for your second assertion—”
Inglesham laughed. “You should see your face, Fleming. One would think I had suggested that your mother had enjoyed an intimate relationship with one of those apes.” He leaned forward, making a tempting target of his noble chin. “Can it be that you haven’t yet acknowledged your true feelings?”
Donal didn’t move. If he did, he would flatten Inglesham with a single blow. “You speak nonsense,” he said. “Mrs. Hardcastle is my employer—”
“Who also fancies herself in love with you.”
Arjuna the sun bear, who almost never stirred from his nest in the shady part of his cage, gave a low grunt and heaved to his feet. Abelard found a melon rind and threw it at the bars. Boreas nearly jerked the lead rein from Gallagher’s hand.
“Viscount Inglesham,” Donal said, “I strongly advise that you put yourself under the care of a physician as soon as possible. You have apparently taken a fever that’s addled your brain.”
“I’m not the one who’s addled.” Inglesham sat down on the bench and stretched his long legs. “Whether or not either one of you admits it, Cordelia has contracted an infatuation with you, doubtless due to her unconventional upbringing, and you are not making much of an effort to discourage her.”
“What proof—”
“An emotion as delicate as love requires nothing so vulgar as proof. I’ve heard you speak of Cordelia, and her of you. I’ve seen you together. You may be a keen observer of animal life, Doctor, but I am a practiced student of human passions.”
“Mrs. Hardcastle has spoken of marrying you.”
“Of course. Her father desires the match, and she finds it difficult to flout his wishes.”
Donal’s heart surged into his throat. “You, too, wish to marry her, even though you don’t love her.”
“Don’t I?” Inglesham crossed one leg over the other and inspected the heel of his boot. “I am certainly fond of her. We grew up together, as she’s doubtless mentioned. We would be a…comfortable couple.”
Donal turned his back on Inglesham, afraid his face might reveal too much. “If you cared at all for her happiness, you would abandon your suit.”
“Spoken like a true lover.”
Donal let several minutes of silence elapse before he risked speaking again. “Since you are obviously convinced of this remarkable fantasy,” he said, “and it is your intention to marry Mrs. Hardcastle, I presume you’ve come here to either bribe or threaten me into leaving Edgecott.”
Inglesham chuckled. “Nothing of the kind, my good fellow. Nothing of the kind. As I said earlier, I intend to let you prove yourself worthy of Cordelia, here and now.”
Donal snorted in disbelief. “With a race?”
“Admit it, Doctor. As much as you attempt to remain detached and above the fray, there is nothing you would like better than to test yourself against me, man to man.” He got to his feet. “Apollo has never been beaten in any match race in which I’ve entered him. He is the superb product of impeccable breeding and the best training wealth and influence can obtain. Your beast, on the other hand…” He cast a disdainful look at Boreas, who continued to dance with impatience. “He is rather like you, is he not? A creature who aspires to heights he will surely never reach.”
Anger such as Donal generally reserved for the abusers of animals and children took hold of him like a storm, drawing his muscles so tight that they vibrated with the strain. He opened his mind again to Boreas, felt the stallion’s desperate yearning for the ultimate freedom, the need to strive against all rationality or hope. Only when he ran was he truly loosed from the bonds of his captivity. Only then did he become one with the ancient ancestors who had ruled the plains before the coming of man with his ropes and whips.
Boreas cared nothing for the very real possibility that he might be defeated. He didn’t think of the future. The present was all, and the present demanded that he run as if his life depended upon it.
Donal closed his eyes, no longer able to separate himself from his patient’s primal desires. No longer wishing to do so.
“Where will we have this race?” he said through clenched teeth.
Inglesham nodded with smug satisfaction. “Just over that rise is a long meadow bounded by stands of wych elms on either side. We shall start at one end and finish at the other.”
“And what are the stakes?”
“Given your limited funds, Doctor, I shall not strain your purse. If I win, you will formulate a convincing excuse, pack your bags and leave Edgecott within the week.”
Donal’s blood seethed in his veins. “And if Boreas wins?”
“I shall not speak to Sir Geoffrey about your inappropriate affection for his daughter.” His face sagged in a parody of regret. “How unpleasant it would be if she is forced to choose between placating her fragile father and keeping you…employed.”
Donal knew exactly how he should reply to such an outrageous threat, but his mouth refused to form the words. He had become as mute as Boreas, capable of showing his emotions only through the actions of his body and the resolution in his heart.
He turned and strode past Apollo to Boreas and snatched the lead from Gallagher. The groom stepped back as Donal swung onto the stallion’s back. Man and beast became one in that moment, perfectly attuned and intent on only one goal.
Boreas set off for the meadow at a trot. Tod flickered over the stallion’s neck, his face split in a devilish grin.
“Shall Tod knock that man off, my lord?” he asked. “There are nettles in the meadow.”
Boreas tossed his head. Donal shook his. “No, Tod. No magic.”
Tod shrugged and settled in for the ride. Inglesham and Apollo soon overtook them, Gallagher trailing at a breathless jog. Within minutes they were gathered beneath the elms at the south end of the meadow, gazing across the smooth expanse of sheep-cropped grass.
“Are you ready?” Inglesham asked Donal with a supercilious grin.
Donal nodded, his attention absorbed by the irresistible force of Boreas’s need. He hardly noticed when Gallagher took up the starter’s position and raised his cap. He gave no command when the cap fell. Boreas plunged forward like an eagle stooping after its prey, and Apollo was only a hand’s-breadth behind him.
The working of legs like powerful pistons, the thrust of hooves that tore the sod and sent it flying, the flare of nostrils sucking in air to fuel lungs and heart and blood and bone…all these sensations became Donal’s world. He bent low over Boreas’s back, exulting in the sheer love of the race, the single thing this brave soul had cherished in an existence of abuse and neglect.
But the glory couldn’t last. A pale blur appeared at Boreas’s right side, its elegant form marred by the figure who clung to its back. Donal bared his teeth and whispered a rhythmic chant of encouragement, even as he recognized that Boreas’s courage was not enough. Even as he felt the pull of tendons and the grinding of bones as an old injury dragged the stallion back to earth.
The horse began to labor, his breaths coming short with pain and determination. Apollo surged ahead. Despair washed through Boreas…despair so terrible that tears of grief welled in Donal’s eyes.
And then, as he passed, Inglesham twisted in the saddle and looked into Donal’s eyes. He grinned and waved with a jaunty toss of his hand.
That was when Donal forgot every rule of human honor and fair play that had been drummed into his head as a boy. He severed his union with Boreas and bent his thoughts on Apollo. Not to coerce; that he would never do, no matter how sorely tempted. But he asked, he begged, he pleaded as humbly as he knew how. And Apollo chose to listen. His gallop slowed. Boreas drew level with him and gradually pulled ahead.
Tod laughed from his invisible perch atop Boreas’s forelock. The hiss of Inglesham’s curse cut through the rumble of hoofbeats. A crop appeared in his hand. He lashed at Apollo’s flank.
With a flick of his finely sculpted ears, Apollo stopped short. Inglesham flew over his head and crashed to the ground, rolling out of the horses’ path. Boreas crossed the last stretch of meadow and pulled up among the trees. He favored his right foreleg and his chest heaved with exertion, but his joy encompassed Donal in a warm glow of triumph. Tod peppered the stallion’s damp nose with jubilant kisses.
Donal dismounted and bent to examine the injured limb as Inglesham scrambled to his feet. Apollo stood some distance off, regarding his owner with a look of disdain. The viscount started toward his mount. Apollo backed away. Inglesham circled the stallion. Apollo trotted in the opposite direction.
“Fool,” Tod crowed. “Fool, fool, foolish human!”
Donal smiled and ran his hands over Boreas’s fetlock. “I’ll put a poultice on this at the stable,” he said. “But no more racing for a while, my friend. I fear we both lost our heads…”
“But not the race.”
Donal straightened to meet Inglesham’s gaze, expecting a scowl of rage and insinuations of cheating that the viscount could not possibly defend with any rational explanation. But Inglesham was not frowning. To the contrary, there was a peculiar glitter in his eyes that Donal would almost have called satisfaction. Or vindication.
“You did it,” Inglesham said.
Donal looked out at the meadow, where Gallagher had finally managed to catch Apollo. “Boreas deserves full credit, not I.”
“You made Apollo…do what he did.”
So much for conceding gracefully. This inevitable argument was no less than Donal deserved for his lapse in judgment.
“That is hardly possible,” he said. “I didn’t touch him, and I certainly had no access to him before you arrived.”
“Of course not. You didn’t have to.” Inglesham pointed toward Gallagher. “He told me, and I didn’t believe it. Why should I? But I saw your face just before Apollo threw me.” To Donal’s amazement, he smiled. “I’ve ridden in a hundred match races, and won most. Apollo has never disobeyed me before. He is a born competitor. There is no logical reason why he should suddenly misbehave…unless you spoke to him.”
Donal concealed his wariness beneath a blandly inquiring mask. “Spoke to him, Lord Inglesham?”
“Ah, you play the innocent so well. But I know your secret, Fleming.”
“We all have our secrets, and you have had your race.” Donal took Boreas’s lead and brushed past Inglesham. “If there is nothing more…”
Inglesham grabbed his arm. “But there is. Did you think this was the end of it?”
Donal stared at the viscount’s hand and slowly met his gaze. “Go to Sir Geoffrey if you wish, Inglesham. I am through with your games.”
Inglesham released him and stepped back to lean against the nearest tree, one leg crossed over the other. “How fond are you of little Ivy, Dr. Fleming?” he asked.
Donal dropped the lead. “What?”
“A straightforward enough question, I believe.” Inglesham stifled a yawn behind his hand. “Cordelia told me all about your dramatic rescue of the child from the rookeries in London. I was quite surprised to learn that Delia’s pretty new protégée is one and the same as the ragged waif who robbed me in Covent Garden.”
A breath of wind circled Donal’s head, reminding him of Tod’s presence. The hob’s agitation seemed to match his own. Thoughts of stinging insects and an avalanche of bird droppings filled Donal’s mind.
“I understand that Ivy lived with you for a time, before Delia so graciously gave her a home here at Edgecott,” Inglesham purred. “Of course you could not have realized that she was in fact a young woman….”
“I did not,” Donal said. “Not until Mrs. Hardcastle came to offer me employment and saw her again.” He gritted his teeth. “Naturally, once I learned the truth, I agreed that it would be best for Ivy to reside elsewhere.”
“Naturally.” Inglesham gouged the tree trunk with his bootheel. “I am most impressed with your benevolence toward one so much less fortunate. I expect such liberality from Cordelia, but in a man of your station…what motivated such largesse, I wonder?”
Boreas snapped at the air with broad yellow teeth. Donal retrieved the lead and started in the direction of the stables. He had gone only a few feet before Inglesham fell into step beside him. “How much do you know of the girl’s years on the streets of London?” the viscount asked.
Donal felt the toothed jaws of a trap waiting to be sprung. “Only what she remembers of them,” he said in a flat voice.
“The poor child must have found it difficult to maintain her innocence, especially as she grew to womanhood.”
“She disguised herself very well, as you noted.”
“Indeed. But perhaps she didn’t always maintain the masquerade. Perhaps she was occasionally driven to…desperate acts.”
Donal refused to grant Inglesham the satisfaction of a response. Inglesham sighed. “Cordelia has such high hopes for the girl,” he said. “It would be a great pity if she were to be disillusioned, don’t you agree?”
“And you plan to create this disillusionment,” Donal said.
“That will hardly be necessary. Ivy will do it herself. The question is whether it will take a mild or painful form.” He stroked his riding crop. “You care too much for Cordelia to wish her pain, just as you care for Ivy. Doubtless you would do anything to protect them.”
Donal stopped. The grass under his feet began to boil with the movements of hundreds of tiny creatures. He sent them away with an effort. “Protect them from you?” he asked.
Inglesham placed his hand on his chest in a mockery of affront. “From me? Not at all. From Ivy’s unfortunate past. You see, your innocent little ward is a murderess as well as a thief, and if you do not do exactly as I tell you, I shall see that she spends the rest of her life in a cage from which she will never escape.”