Stepsister(86)

“Let go of him!” Isabelle shouted. She ran to the man and snatched the lead from his hands.

The soldier hadn’t seen her coming. He stumbled backward, startled, and fell on his rear end. There were others with him. They hooted and laughed. Tantine, Avara, and Maman were standing together nearby, worried expressions on their faces.

“Looks like the girl’s even feistier than the horse!” one of the soldiers shouted. “Maybe she needs a good crack across the backside, too!”

Isabelle whirled on him. “Too? Did you hit my horse, you jackass?”

The soldier stopped laughing. His eyes turned mean. “Maybe she needs a good crack across the mouth,” he said. “And maybe I’m just the one to give it to her.”

“Isabelle!” Tavi called out, alarmed. She’d caught up with her. Hugo was close on her heels.

But Isabelle didn’t hear her. She was focused on her adversary. Still gripping Nero’s lead, she took a step towards the man.

“Maybe you are. Get a crop. I’ll get one, too. We’ll find out.” When the soldier made no move, she cocked her head. “Scared? I’ll make it a fair fight. I’ll tie one hand behind my back.”

A ripple of laughter rose from the others.

“Hey, isn’t she one of the ugly stepsisters?” the one who’d fallen on his backside called out.

“It’s her. She’s ugly all right,” said the one Isabelle had challenged.

The familiar shame seared Isabelle, but this time she didn’t blush. She didn’t lower her head. She looked him in the eye and said, “Every bit as ugly as a man who beats a defenseless animal.”

“Isabelle, please!” Tavi hissed.

Isabelle ignored her. “Why are you here? What were you doing with my horse?” she asked her antagonist.

Another man, one wearing a bicorne hat and black boots that were so shiny, he could see his own reflection in the toes when he looked down at them—which he did quite often—stepped forward. “I’m afraid he’s my horse now, mademoiselle,” he said.

Isabelle looked him up and down. “Who the devil are you?” she asked, tightening her grip on Nero’s lead.

Tantine was immediately at her side. “This is Colonel Cafard, Isabelle, the officer in charge of the army camp near the village.”

“That doesn’t give him the right to take my horse,” Isabelle said.

“Actually, it does,” the colonel said. “The army is short of mounts. They’re the first thing the enemy shoots at. We’re commandeering any sound animal we can find.”

“By whose orders?” Isabelle asked, panic rising inside her.

“The king’s,” the colonel replied, clearly growing tired of the exchange. “Will that do?”

“Enough, Isabelle!” Tantine hissed. “Give the creature up before we’re all hauled off to jail!” She pried the lead from Isabelle’s fist and handed it to a soldier. Then she pulled her away. “We’re at war, you foolish girl!” she scolded.

Isabelle twisted free of her grasp. She ran to Cafard, ready to plead, ready to drop down on her knees and beg him not to take her horse. Let his soldiers laugh and jeer. She didn’t care. All she could see in her mind’s eye was her beloved horse falling on a battlefield, his side ripped open by a bullet.

“Please, Colonel,” she said, pressing her hands together. “Please don’t—”

And then Tantine was beside her again, sinking her fingers into Isabelle’s arm, her grip as strong as iron. “Please don’t let Volkmar win,” she said, drowning her out. “Use the horse to defeat him. We are honored to help our king.”

Cafard gave her a curt nod. Then he strode off towards his own mount, a cowed-looking chestnut mare. The horse shied slightly as he swung himself into his saddle. Isabelle’s expert eyes swept over the animal, looking for a reason. She soon found it. There was blood on the mare’s sides, behind the stirrups. She looked at Cafard; he was wearing sharp silver spurs. Isabelle’s heart lurched.

“Colonel!” she cried, running after him.

Cafard turned. His brittle smile couldn’t hide his irritation. “Yes?”

“Please don’t use spurs on him. He listens if you’re kind to him. And he’ll do anything for an apple. He loves them.”

Cafard’s smile thinned. “My men love apples, too. They rarely get them these days, yet they still do what I tell them.” He nodded at Nero. “That creature is a horse, mademoiselle, and he will be treated like one. Intractable animals must be made tractable.”

Nero whinnied loudly; he tossed his head, trying yet again to tear the lead away from the soldier holding it. When that didn’t work, he spun around and kicked at him.

An image flashed into Isabelle’s head. Of Elizabeth on her white charger. Of Abhaya Rani, shooting flaming arrows from astride her mount. Neither woman would have let anyone take her horse.

“He’s hungry, sir,” she said. “He usually gets his supper now. If you let me feed him, he’ll be manageable for the trip to your camp.”

Cafard looked at the unruly horse, and at his men stumbling over themselves as they tried to get him under control.

“You have ten minutes,” Cafard said. Then he barked at his men to hand the horse over to her.