Captain Wilson wasn’t sure what made her look in just the right direction, at exactly the right moment.
She’d been chatting to Gallagher, the Stable Manager, as both a courtesy and as part of the conclusion of her morning rounds, their conversation relaxed and lasting for about half an hour or so. Their topic wasn’t anything particularly close to her heart (not at the moment anyway, in her current state of mind), but she was beholden to enquire after the progress of the Queen’s mare, which was in foal to one of Lord Dagger’s stallions. The Queen was very fond of her beast – to the point that it had occurred to Lam in more than one thought that it was as if the woman was giving birth, not the horse – and nervous about the mare’s first foaling. She could drop at any time now and the Queen, in all her pampered wisdom, wanted to be there for it.
It was a logistical nightmare coordinating the monarch’s arrival and safe presence at such an open establishment for the Gods-only-knew however many hours it took for a mare to birth a foal, and a headache Wilson could do without. The Queen would have her way, however, and the King would have it no other way. The fact that Dagger would probably want to smarm his way in for a look didn’t help the captain – primary guard of the monarchy - anticipate the moment with any less dread, either.
Thankfully, Gallagher had assured her it would be another week in his humble opinion – and with a flashing smile, exceptionally tall and muscled frame topped by golden curls and huge blue eyes, there was nothing humble about the young man at all – and so she’d relaxed and stayed to chat. She enjoyed speaking with him, jesting and flirting. Both knew it was all in fun (he was at least five years her junior, for a start!) but it certainly made the time discussing where guards would need to be stationed and just how much sawdust would need to be in the foaling manger beforehand pass much more pleasantly.
So at last she was satisfied, had left him with a chuckle and a wink and walked down along the main corridor on the first floor. Her good humour faded in an instant when she’d caught sight of her. Maybe it was the fact that Lord Dagger had been included in the discussion and rampant in her thoughts, that had made her so aware. She wasn’t sure. Whatever it was, on her way out, she happened to glance down an aisle and see the black-haired woman leaning calm-as-you-please against a stall door, gawping around the place like a snot-faced child in a lolly shop.
Lam stiffened, immediately reaching this conclusion of recognition, then doubting herself. She’d only seen the woman a couple of days before, and then only at a glance as Dagger secreted her into the fashion shop, could she really be seeing her again? After a moment of staring and observing the woman in animated conversation with someone unseen – a stable hand emerged not a minute later, leading the horse out of the stall and handing the reins to the dark-haired strumpet while he returned to muck it out – the captain headed down the aisle.
It was her. She was sure of it.
“Hoi! You! What business have you here? Are you an employee to be handling these horses?” Wilson demanded in her most authoritative voice as she stepped up beside the girl, chin held high and gaze directed down her aquiline nose.
And the stranger was a girl, a mere chit of a thing, scrawny and plain looking (in Lam’s determined view at that precise moment, anyway), all of perhaps twenty seasons. Dagger had really sunk to new depths this time; she was unable to keep her lip from curling a fraction at the thought of the two of them together. If this was what he’d passed her up for, he was welcome to rot in… her.