Pinnacle (ONGOING)

Chapter Six

     I was out in the garden drawing flowers when I happened to look up from my work and noticed the sky was plump with water. Its large bodies appeared within minutes as if by magic, and their shade was an ominous grey, Boiling with darkness.

     I felt the first unmerciful pelt of rain then, right down the back of my chemise.

     "Ah!" I cried, caught off guard, and soon I was attacked by the lot of them as they assaulted me like a stinging ice bath.

     I looked around for shelter then and saw the stables up ahead. Large and grandiose like a house of its own right; the bricks painted cream, and the roof thatched quaintly against the pregnant sky.

     Being, of course, my father's prized beasts, I envied the creatures at times. them being the cause of papa's constant absence in times of great importance. On one occasion, mama was left to her own devices as I lay sick with the measles. Leaving me to this day with few scars dotting the sides of my cheeks. Sometimes I wondered if he loved them more than he loved his own daughter.

     I opened the door with a rush of fetid air which surrounded my face in a toxic cloud of wet dung and horse.

     The smell brought back memories of papa making me work on tending to the creatures, telling me I was not trying, and getting frustrated when I did not work fast enough.

     "Who is there?" An unfamiliar voice echoed.

     A dash of raven black hair shot out from one of the far stalls, and a man sat straight and stark against the muddy wall. I wondered immediately if he was the intruder and not I.

     "Who are _you_ more importantly?" I retorted, not recognizing him.

     "I asked you first." The deep voice reverberated, and it sent a chill down my back.

     "I think you should find I am more concerned about a stranger amongst my father's prized horses," I said, wearily.

     With that, he stood. Wiping large heavily knuckled hands on his trousers with a series of rough pats as he approached. I froze, stiff and unmoving. One with the door whose handle jammed uncomfortably into my ribs.

     "I am the groom for the Windle estate." He said with a tone, guarded.

     He was nothing like the gentlemen at functions. Not like Michael nor Mr. Wells. And even the large form of Alan could not compare to this man's commanding presence.

     He was raw. It was the best word I could use to describe him.

     "I am Ms. Windle. Have we met?" I echoed, and he crossed his arms across a powerful chest. Won only by hard manual labor and in turn a hard life, I imagined. The russet tan dusting his cheeks confirmed it.

     "Aye." He replied raising his brow and busied himself with brushing straw through Gold Mine's snow-colored coat at my side.

     I approached and a spark of recognition hit me as noticed the deep dark eyes.

     "Ah, you were our coachman from that night," I said and jolted as he turned to shoot me a cold look.

     "I am your father's partner, William." He replied, defensively. His tone raised the hair on my arms. I noticed he did not offer a last name. How odd. 

     "Wiggins was ill, so your father asked me to drive you."

     This was a man, something in the back of my mind confirmed. Robust and hands-on, I immediately felt the urge to sketch him. Hunched and hulking like the powerful mountain spirit he was, as he bent to continue his administrations.