WILLIAM glared at Jinson, who stood beside the stall gate, his head hanging.
“Why the devil did you bring her here?” William roared. “Why didn’t you just dispatch her out there in the woods?”
In the stall behind Jinson, the oc-hound whimpered. William glanced over the gate, where the dog lay limp and exhausted in the straw. “You half strangled her anyway, you damned fool,” he snapped. “Why not finish it?”
Jinson’s shoulders appeared to contract, as if he were shrinking. “M’lord,” he whispered. “I couldn’t do it. Such a great dog, she is.”
“Erd’s teeth,” William grated. “I should have left you in the stables where you belonged, you misbegotten fool! What do I care about her? She’s vicious.”
“Oh, no, m’lord,” Jinson said, lifting his head a little. He glanced at William’s face, then shifted his gaze hastily, down to his chest, then away to the blank wall behind him. “Oh, no,” he repeated, weakly. “Not a bit vicious. She—she—”
“Stop whining, man,” William said. He felt his temper fray like a broken rope, and it gave him a murderous energy. He shoved Jinson aside, and the smaller man stumbled. “Give me your knife. I’ll do it now if you haven’t the nerve.”
Jinson fumbled at his belt and drew a short blade from a leather sheath. William snatched at it, catching the side of his forefinger on the blade and bringing a drop of blood to his skin. He cursed, and sucked at the finger.
The oc-hound bitch struggled to her feet, and she stood glaring at him, her hackles up, her silvery fur marked with dirt and straw. She growled and lifted her lip to show her teeth.
The sound gave William a thrill of pleasure. “Growl at me, will you?” he murmured. “We’ll see about that.”
He shot the bolt of the gate and threw it back. Jinson groaned, “M’lord—just consider—”
William shot him a furious glance. “You damned coward! Either be quiet, or get out of my sight!”
Jinson fell back a step. The oc-hound’s growl grew, a loud sound that echoed through the stables, causing the horses to whicker uneasily and stamp their feet. William, brandishing the knife, stepped into the stall.
The dog barked, once, and leaped past him, aiming for the open gate.
William swore, and slashed at her with the knife.
He felt the blade catch in the long coat, dig into flesh, grate against bone. She yelped, and fell her full body length in the sawdust of the aisle. He raised the knife high above his head to slash at her again.
And Jinson—Jinson, choosing this odd moment to show some backbone—seized his arm and jerked at it.
A heartbeat later the dog was up and running, silent now, disappearing out of the stable and into the night like a gray ghost.
William spun about and pointed the bloody knife straight at his Master Breeder. “How dare you?” he roared.
For once, the man stood his ground, though he trembled so William thought he might fall right over. “I—I’m sorry, m’lord, I—I don’t know what came over me.”
“Give me one reason I shouldn’t run you through with your own knife, man!”
Jinson took a step back, and his face went white as a sheet. “You’ve killed her, anyway, m’lord, for sure. Look at the blood.” He pointed to the sawdust.
William looked down. A thick stream of blood stained the clean sawdust, trailed down the aisle and out into the darkness beyond. Slowly, he lowered the knife. He fixed Jinson with a hard gaze as he reversed the knife, and held it out, hilt first. “Never again,” he grated. “Never, ever, interfere with me again. I promise you, I will put an end to you with no more qualms than I felt over that oc-hound bitch.”
“Yes, m’lord,” Jinson quavered. He kept a wary eye on the blade as it approached him, and seized the hilt with shaking fingers. The dog’s blood was already turning dark on the steel.
“Go after her,” William ordered. “Find her body and bury it. I don’t want any complaints from those damned horsemistresses.”
“Yes, m’lord.” Jinson bowed, looking like a badly strung puppet as he jerked his body upright and staggered away.
William wiped his fingers on his trouser leg and tugged down his vest. He felt a sense of satisfaction, of satiety. It was almost, he thought, as good as having a girl.
But not quite.
He spun about, and strode out of the stable and toward the Palace. He would call for Slater. The night was yet young.