Outlander aka Cross Stitch - Gabaldon Diana - Страница 109
- Предыдущая
- 109/207
- Следующая
The stables of Castle Leoch were better built than many of the cottages I had seen on our journey with Dougal. Stone floored and stone walled, the only openings were the narrow windows at one end, the door at the other, and the narrow slits under the thick thatched roof, intended for the convenience of the owls who kept down the mice in the hay. They let in plenty of air, though, and enough light that the stables were pleasantly dim rather than gloomy.
Up in the hayloft, just under the roof, the light was even better, striping the piled hay with yellow bars and lighting the drifting dust motes like showers of gold dust. The air came in through the chinks in warm drafts, scented with stock and sweet william and garlic from the gardens outside, and the pleasant animal smell of the horses wafted up from below.
Jamie stirred under my hand and sat up, the movement bringing his head from the shadow into a blaze of sunlight like the lighting of a candle.
“What is it?” I asked sleepily, turning my head in the direction he was looking.
“Wee Hamish,” he said softly, peering over the edge of the loft into the stable below. “Wants his pony, I expect.”
I rolled awkwardly onto my stomach beside him, dragging the folds of my shift over me for modesty’s sake; a silly thought, as no one below could see more than the top of my head.
Colum’s son Hamish was walking slowly down the aisle of the stable between the stalls. He seemed to hesitate near some stalls, though he ignored the curious heads of chestnut and sorrel poking out to inspect him. Clearly he was looking for something, and it wasn’t his fat brown pony, placidly munching straw in its stall near the stable door.
“Holy God, he’s going for Donas!” Jamie seized his kilt and wrapped it hurriedly about himself before swinging down from the edge of the loft. Not bothering with the ladder, he hung by his hands and then dropped to the floor. He landed lightly on the straw-scattered stones, but with enough of a thud to make Hamish whirl around with a startled gasp.
The small freckled face relaxed somewhat as he realized who it was, but the blue eyes stayed wary.
“Needing a bit of help, coz?” Jamie inquired pleasantly. He moved toward the stalls and leaned against one of the uprights, managing to insert himself between Hamish and the stall the boy had been heading for.
Hamish hesitated, but then drew himself up, small chin thrust out.
“I’m going to ride Donas,” he said, in a tone that tried for determination, but fell somewhat short.
Donas – his name meant “demon,” and was in no way meant as flattery – was in a horse-box to himself at the far end of the stable, safely separated by an empty stall from the nearest neighboring horses. A huge, evil-tempered sorrel stallion, he was ridable by no one, and only Old Alec and Jamie dared go near him. There was an irritable squeal from the shadows of his stall, and an enormous copper head shot suddenly out, huge yellow teeth clacking together as the horse made a vain attempt to bite the bare shoulder so temptingly displayed.
Jamie stayed motionless, knowing that the stallion couldn’t reach him. Hamish jumped back with a squeak, clearly scared speechless by the sudden appearance of that monstrous shimmering head, with its rolling, bloodshot eyes and flaring nostrils.
“I dinna think so,” observed Jamie mildly. He reached down and took his small cousin by the shoulder, steering him away from the horse, who kicked his stall in protest. Hamish shuddered in concert with the boards of the stall as the lethal hooves crashed against the wood.
Jamie turned the boy around to face him and stood looking down at him, hands on his kilted hips.
“Now then,” he said firmly. “What’s this all about? Why are ye wanting aught to do wi’ Donas?”
Hamish’s jaw was set stubbornly, but Jamie’s face was both encouraging and adamant. He punched the boy gently on the shoulder, getting a tiny smile response.
“Come on, duine,” Jamie said, softly. “Ye know I wilna tell anyone. Have ye done something foolish?”
A faint flush came up on the boy’s fair skin.
“No. At least… no. Well, maybe a bit foolish.”
After a bit more encouragement, the story came out, reluctantly at first, then in a tumbling flood of confession.
He had been out on his pony, riding with some of the other boys the day before. Several of the older lads had started competing, to see who could jump his horse over a higher obstacle. Jealously admiring them, Hamish’s better judgment was finally overcome by bravado, and he had tried to force his fat little pony over a stone fence. Lacking both ability and interest, the pony had come to a dead stop at the fence, tossing young Hamish over his head, over the fence, and ignominiously into a nettle patch on the other side. Stung both by nettles and by the hoots of his comrades, Hamish was determined to come out today on “a proper horse,” as he put it.
“They wouldna laugh if I came out on Donas,” he said, envisioning the scene with grim relish.
“No, they wouldna laugh,” Jamie agreed. “They’d be too busy picking up the pieces.”
He eyed his cousin, shaking his head slowly. “I’ll tell ye, lad. It takes courage and sense to make a good rider. You’ve the courage, but the sense is a wee bit lacking, yet.” He put a consoling arm round Hamish’s shoulders, drawing him down toward the end of the stable.
“Come along, man. Help me fork the hay, and we’ll get ye acquainted wi’ Cobhar. You’re right; ye should have a better horse if you’re ready, but it isna necessary to kill yourself to prove it.”
Glancing up into the loft as he passed, he raised his eyebrows and shrugged helplessly. I smiled and waved down at him, telling him to go ahead, it was all right. I watched them as Jamie took an apple from the basket of windfalls kept near the door. Fetching a pitchfork from the corner, he led Hamish back to one of the center stalls.
“Here, coz,” he said, pausing. He whistled softly through his teeth and a wide-browed bay horse put its head out, blowing through its nostrils. The dark eyes were large and kind, and the ears had a slight forward cock that gave the horse an expression of friendly alertness.
“Now then, Cobhar, ciamar a tha thu?” Jamie patted the sleek neck firmly, and scratched the cocked ears.
“Come on up,” he said, motioning to his small cousin. “That’s it, next to me. Near enough he can smell ye. Horses like to smell ye.”
“I know.” Hamish’s high voice was scornful. He barely reached the horse’s nose, but reached up and patted. He stood his ground as the big head came down and sniffed interestedly around his ear, whuffling in his hair.
“Give me an apple,” he said to Jamie, who obliged. The soft velvet lips plucked the fruit delicately out of Hamish’s palm, and flicked it back between the huge molars, where it vanished with a juicy crunch. Jamie watched approvingly.
“Aye. You’ll get on fine. Go on and make friends, then, while I finish feeding the others, then ye can take him out to ride.”
“By myself?” Hamish asked eagerly. Cobhar, whose name meant “Foam,” was good-tempered, but a sound, spirited 14-hand gelding, nonetheless, and a far cry from the brown pony.
“Twice round the paddock wi’ me watchin’ ye, and if ye dinna fall off or jerk his mouth, ye can take him by yourself. No jumping him ’til I say, though.” The long back bent, gleaming in the warm dusk of the stable, as Jamie caught up a forkful of hay from the pile in one corner and carried it to one of the stalls.
He straightened and smiled at his cousin. “Gi’ me one of those, will ye?” He leaned the fork against a stall and bit into the proffered fruit. The two stood companionably eating, leaning side by side against the stable wall. When he finished, Jamie handed the core to a nuzzling sorrel and fetched his fork again. Hamish followed him down the aisle, chewing slowly.
- Предыдущая
- 109/207
- Следующая
