Margaret dug her heels into the beast's flanks, urging her beloved Artemis on with a sharp cha! and a stinging slap of the leather against its muscular rump. The mare responded at once to her mistress's command, surging forward with such haste that they practically flew over the hilly terrain. The speed was exhilarating! Riding low and tight in the saddle, Margaret felt the earth move under the horse's hooves on a purely visceral level, as though she and Artemis were one and the same, and every pounding footfall was her own.
It was early summer, and the heather was in full bloom, painting the hillside in a blur of rose and lavender that flashed by in a dizzying haze and stretched on to the endless horizon. Margaret wore her hair, nearly as black as the mare's, free of cap and unbound, and it billowed off her shoulders like one of her father's regimental banners in a futile struggle against the wind's embrace.
From somewhere behind her came the labored grunts and snorts of her brother's horse Apollo. Thomas was a fair rider, but not as daring as she. "Faster, Artemis!" Margaret cried as adrenaline surged through her veins. "Faster!"
Instead of gaining speed, the horse stumbled, its right foreleg buckling beneath them. Sucking air through her teeth, Margaret shifted her weight back and pulled up on the reins, raising the mare's head in a swift attempt to regain balance. Visions of being crushed under the horse's girth made her hands sweat and mouth go dry, and yet she had never felt more alive.
"Ha!" Margaret exclaimed in triumph as Artemis righted herself. She closed her eyes, lifting a brief prayer of gratitude.
Thomas and Apollo shot past them, Thomas raised in the saddle as he whooped and hollered in victory at having finally won a race, even if by circumstance. Margaret slid down from her spot on Artemis's back, her legs wobbling beneath her, and gently patted the horse's head as she whispered soothing words of consolation in its ear. She led Artemis in a circle as they waited for Thomas to return, stopping now and then to let the horse munch the heather and other low-lying brush. Artemis wasn't limping, which was a good sign. Providence had been on their side.
"You ride her too hard," Thomas said critically, rearing up beside her. "You're lucky you didn't fall and break your neck, although maybe a good dot on the head wouldn't come amiss."
Margaret glared up at him. "It wasn't my fault!"
"No?" Thomas replied, the side of his mouth curving into a half-grin. He looked around then, surveying the landscape from atop Apollo. "I suppose your horse could have tripped on any number of things. For instance," he said practically, "a fallen branch or a large rock." He met her eyes directly then, his smile widening. "Your impressive ego, perhaps?"
Margaret ignored her brother as she nuzzled her cheek against Artemis's smooth, velvety nose, who at once began nibbling her hair. Depositing a kiss on the patch of white between the horse's large, guileless eyes, Margaret withdrew a small apple from her pocket and held it in her open palm in offering. Apollo, sensing a treat, began prancing in jealousy. Margaret reached into her pocket once more and tossed another apple up to her brother. "Feed your horse," she said, though with no real reproof.
Artemis and Apollo were brother and sister, a rare set of twins foaled just four years past. Their dam had died hours after the laborious birth, and the twins were latched on to a broodmare who had recently lost her own filly. Margaret and Thomas had themselves spent every free moment nursing the twins back to good health, doting on them, though Apollo had never been as strong as his sister.
Thomas leaped expertly off his horse and spoke over the crunching of apples. "We're not children anymore, Meg."
"So nice of you to finally notice, Tommy," Margaret said with a mischievous grin, her dimples showing. "I haven't been a child now for many years."
Thomas's face flushed red. "So then you are quite aware you are old enough to be married. What would Father say if he saw you tearing about the hillside wearing my stolen breeches? Or Mother, for that matter?"
Margaret laughed, her clear voice ringing with amusement. "I didn't steal them, for Heaven's sake! I borrowed them. And Mother would likely die on the spot of apoplexy if she saw me dressed like a man."
"Don't say such things," her brother chided. "It's morbid."
"As for Father," Margaret added, as though her brother hadn't spoken, "I think he wishes I had been born a boy."
"What makes you say that?" he asked incredulously.
Margaret raised one shoulder as she twined her fingers through Artemis's thick mane, though she didn't answer directly. "Mother thinks I'm with the Dover sisters today, practicing needlepoint and discussing prospective suitors."
"Planning for marriage is what girls your age are supposed to do," Thomas said.
"As though we girls have any say in the matter."
Thomas's brows pushed together. "Don't you wish to be married?"
Margaret turned a hostile look on her brother. "A wife is no more than another man's property, passed from father to husband. I wish to belong to no one but myself!"
At the sound of her raised voice, Apollo shook his head and stamped a leg in agitation. "Calm down, Meg," Thomas said. "You're frightening the horses."
Margaret ran her hand up and down the gelding's broad shoulder in apology, taking a few moments to collect herself. "The point is," she said more calmly, "I am perfectly capable of taking care of myself. Although there are times even I wish I had been born a boy," she added in an undertone. "Corsets can be so stifling, you know."
"This is a very unsuitable topic of conversation," Thomas said.
"Men find much about the weaker sex unsuitable. Except, of course, when it suits them." She batted her lashes and dimpled again, making her meaning perfectly clear.
Thomas cleared his throat. "If we must speak of such things, let's do so as we walk back." He raised his face to the sky, shielding his eyes with his hand against the glare of the afternoon sun. "It's late already. We'll be lucky to make it home before dinner."
"Come on then," Margaret said in resignation, recognizing a change in conversation when she heard one.
There were four children in the Abernathy family. At eighteen years of age, Eliza was the oldest. Quite like their mother, she'd been born a proper lady. Margaret, somewhat less proper, had arrived when Eliza was barely a year old, and Thomas no more than a year after that. Little Caroline had come much later and was just now ten. For years Margaret had believed Caroline was an afterthought, not fully realizing or understanding the perils of pregnancy and childbirth until she overheard whispered talk between the kitchen help and her mother's maid. There had been other children, as it turned out, all of whom had been lost to this world. After that, Margaret felt an overwhelming sense of pity whenever she looked at her mother, wondering what kind of weakness of character would prompt an otherwise intelligent woman to allow a man to do that to her when such risk was involved.
"What do you suppose our new home will be like?" Margaret asked her brother.
"Hot," Thomas replied succinctly.
"Sounds glorious," Margaret replied dreamily as they walked side by side through the fragrant heather. Though richly furnished, the Abernathy estate was large and drafty. Not even the monstrous fireplaces and portable braziers could completely dispel the chill. During the cold, wet winters, Margaret's fingers and toes seemed perpetually frozen.
"Do you think we'll have fields like this to ride?" she asked then. Though she liked all her siblings well enough, especially little Caroline, she enjoyed spending time with her brother most of all, even though he could be a ninny and had a tendency to lecture.
"I would imagine so," Thomas replied. "We're to have land, of course."
Their father had been recently appointed by the king to govern the royal colony of Georgia. He was to replace a man named Reynolds, who'd been relinquished of his duty due to incompetence. Their father had shown them in a book where the colony was located. It seemed a great distance away and very far removed from their comfortable life in England.
"Artemis and Apollo won't like the voyage," Margaret commented, though more to herself than to Thomas. Much like herself, they grew restless at being confined for any length of time. Still, Margaret wouldn't allow for their separation now.
"Let us pray for fair weather and hope that equine are immune to seasickness," Thomas said with a laugh. "Father says the seas can be rough, though we'll have missed the spring storms already. Do you think the ship's captain will let me have a turn at the wheel?"
Margaret exploded with laughter. "Not if we wish to arrive at our destination without first circumnavigating Africa." Her eyes shone brightly as a sudden thought occurred to her. "Do you think we'll encounter pirates?"
Her brother, who stood a head taller though he was a year younger, gave her a sideways look. "You seem unnaturally eager at the prospect, Meg."
"Don't worry, Tommy. I'll protect you should our ship be boarded."
Thomas removed his hat and swatted playfully at his sister, which made Artemis rear back slightly. "Father is all the protection we need," he said.
"Don't upset her," Margaret scolded. "She's already in bad spirits for having lost the race to Apollo."
"Speaking of bad spirits," Thomas said, "what are we to do about Eliza?"
"Eliza? Whatever is the matter with her?"
Thomas stared at her with open-mouth incredulity. "Have you gone blind?"
"Of course not! What kind of silly question is that?"
Thomas gave her a patient look. "Eliza and Willy have been in love since we were children, and now we're set to leave."
Margaret pursed her lips. "If Willy loves Eliza so much, why didn't he propose when he had the chance? Eliza has always been amenable to the institution."
"A man can't be rushed," Thomas answered in defense of his best male friend. "Still, our sister is suffering a broken heart. The poor dear." He clucked his tongue and shook his head in sympathy.
"The poor dear?" Margaret said, aghast.
"Yes, the poor dear," he answered. "Eliza has been in love with Willy, and he with her, since we were children."
"So you've said."
"Have you no respect for love then?"
She sighed. "You've gone soft, Brother. What good is being in love, except to guarantee loss and heartache?"
"What would you know of heartache?"
"Absolutely nothing, and that's the way I intend to keep it. Besides, I have no time for love."
Thomas smiled at that and poked her genially in the ribs with his finger, causing her to squirm. "Perhaps you will find someone suitable once we are resettled."
"That is a highly unlikely prospect," Margaret said, batting away her brother's hand. "In fact, I intend to die a happy spinster."
Thomas laughed. "We shall see about that."
*****
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