The Lion and his Lady

Stable Girl

The only warning I got was the creak of the stable door before a gust of cold air swept away the comfortable smells of hay and horse. Then Hlaefdige gave a soft whinny and strained forward. Annoyed at nearly being bowled over, I straightened up from grooming her, but the words of admonishment died on my lips. There he stood in the doorway: tall and broad, his wet, blond hair plastered to his head. Boots splattered with mud, tunic turned a dark grey with rain, the lamplight from the corridor glancing off a green gem on his sword hilt and piercing the early evening gloom. The Rohirrim had arrived.

Frozen like a fawn whose hiding place had been unexpectedly exposed, I could only stare at him, but he ignored me anyway, his attention focused on the mare. Too late did I remember the commotion I'd heard a little while ago from the visitors' wing, but then guests had been pouring in all week in preparation for the wedding of the daughter of the Prince of Dol Amroth to the King of Rohan. Only the bridegroom's party had not been expected until tomorrow.

Crooning something in Rohirric, he held out a hand and the traitorous animal went to her former master eagerly, nuzzling his hair and making him laugh. The low sound sent a shiver through me and involuntarily I shifted further back into the shadows. Surely he could hear the pounding of my heart? He ran his fingers along the elegant line of Hlaefdige's neck, across her back, and finally bent to check her legs.

"The mare looks well. Is it you who's in charge of her?"

Of course he would have noticed me the moment he entered the horsebox, but no doubt he had dismissed me at once as no possible threat to him. Suddenly realizing I still wore the old, floppy hat I'd borrowed earlier on from one of the grooms as protection against the rain, I simply nodded and pulled the brim lower so it concealed my face even more.

"Yes, my lord," I mumbled and took up my work again, brushing the mare's back with firm strokes. Just let him take me for one of the ubiquitous stable lads.

Silence. When I risked a quick glance, he had stopped stroking Hlaefdige and stood looking at my hand, an arrested expression on his face. I followed his eyes to see shapely fingers, roughened by soap water and with several nails broken, but nevertheless clearly belonging to no man. He drew in his breath, tension running through a body hardened by a lifetime of following the warrior's way. Then he ducked under the mare's neck in a fluid motion, like a lion closing in for the kill. I stepped away from him, only to have my back connect with the wall. No escape that way. With the horseboxes either side empty, we were completely alone.

"Well," he purred, "and what have we here?"

His eyes travelled down my body and I was suddenly acutely conscious of my hair caught up in a dishevelled braid and my thin tunic sticky with sweat. One of his eyebrows rose when he took in the grubby trousers I used for grooming horses, still wet from the rain and clinging to my legs. Not really suitable apparel to wear before a king. Even a barbarian one.

His eyes never leaving mine, he moved closer until I was forced to lift my face to look up at him. With a flick of his wrist he took off my hat, throwing it to the ground where Hlaefdige gave it a curious huff. Nardol will be annoyed if I get his second best hat trampled, I thought distractedly. Whatever he saw on my face seemed to amuse him, for white teeth flashed into a grin. "I've heard that the stable girls of Dol Amroth are famous for their beauty."

Then calloused fingers gripped my chin, tilting it up, and as I drew breath for a protest he kissed me. The world around me melted away, his firm body the only reality. Wet leather. Sweat. The sweet taste of desire. Mine or his, I did not know. The currycomb dropped from my fingers as they scrabbled up his chest to bury themselves in his hair. He gave a laugh then, low and triumphant, and his hand snaked round my back, pulling me closer. Demanding more. Getting it.