Free Hinterlands Book II: The Stables by Isha Dehaven

 
    The stars burst overhead, shattered and brilliant, firing
their silver light across the black canvas sky.   Amelia glanced up at them, and then back
at the dark shadow of the massive house as it fell away behind them. They had
exited through the same service-door she had entered on that first day at
Hinterlands, and she found it quite odd now that her arrival now seemed like
the distant past.   Shocked
momentarily by the cool autumn night, Amelia had been ushered into the back of
an open air wagon where to her surprise there were a number of other
house-servants waiting there in the darkness, most of them in their bedclothes
shivering. She was surprised to see the small oriental girl from the dining
room there, and beside her the skinny red-haired one from yesterday’s breakfast
sitting mutely, and somberly, their arms crossed and their small breasts and
dark nipples visible beneath the thin fabric of their nightgowns. She took her
place on the firm wooden bench and noticed that there were also many young men
she had never seen before, even while walking about the house. Perhaps footmen
or stable boys in training?  
    “Why aren’t we going yet? I’m freezing!”   It was the red haired girl and she was whispering.   Her hair was wet and hung heavily about
her shoulders. She was shivering and clutching her arms tightly about her
skinny frame. Mr. Stephen had obviously retrieved her directly from the
bath.  
    As if on cue they heard a violent commotion from the
side-door of the house and the sound of a feet kicking and being dragged
through the small pea-gravel.   Three
young men this time were pulling and pushing someone through the darkness.   As he came into the moonlight all on
board the carriage could see it was another young man that was being forced on
board.   He was lean and powerfully
built, wearing a white house-shirt that was torn and hanging from his finely defined
frame.   The look on his face was
wild, and his dark blonde hair hung loosely over his eyes.
    “Let me walk I say!   Let me walk!”   The man
screamed defiantly.   Yet as soon as
the men relinquished their hold on his arms, the young man immediately began to
sprint away, forcing the others to give chase.   He ran directly to the waiting group in
the wagon, his bare feet crunching in the gravel, and then proceeded to scamper
in tight circles around them, juking to and fro in order to keep the wagon
directly between himself and his angry pursuers.   Mr. Stephen, creeping quietly, made a
pathetic attempt to grab him from behind and was surreptitiously knocked to the
ground and trodden over, eliciting a burst of laughter from everyone on
board.   A dark-haired young man who
had been sitting next to Amelia, silently raised himself and moved to perch on
the side of the wagon.   As the man
in the white shirt came running around for another circuit, this dark haired
man leapt cat-like onto his back and knocked him to the ground.   For a moment they both struggled and it
seemed as if there would be a fight, but it was only for a moment, as the other
men quickly pinned him down, binding his hands with a tight cord.   He was placed into the wagon breathing
hard and angry, his knees already bruised through his torn breeches. A small
drop of blood colored the corner of his mouth.
    His face was youthful and confident and he stared ahead
blankly, seemingly at nothing. It struck Amelia that this face was so lovely it
could have been carved, much like a statue, or the fine wooden carvings outside
the Duchessa’s door.   He was someone
who had strength and surety, much like Lord Dunmoor, and she could also see
imperiousness in those blue eyes.   Who in the world was this young man?   She noticed the others too felt his
power, and they stared fixedly at his body and face, deeply attracted to his
wildness and ferocity.   As she
observed him sitting there on the bench, his face changed.   He had softened, the spirit of
resistance, the