Seduced by the Alpha prince

A slice of joy

*Jayne*

It is the laughter that draws me to them. It has been a little over three years since I heard it, but I would recognize Seafort’s boisterous, reverberating laugh anywhere.

I had been following close to the stream when the sound echoed its way through the trees, and then I guided my horse toward it. Now I sit at the edge of the copse of elms and watch as my mate continually loses his balance, rights himself, and tugs on his pole and line.

With net in hand, Barkley wades out into the water and snags the elusive creature. His laughter mingles with my husband’s, and when Barkley turns back to shore, net held high triumphantly, his smile broad with victory, I wish I could see my husband’s face. Surely his holds the same joy.

I cast a quick glimpse at the groomsman, Chester, who is accompanying me. He is wearing a bright smile, and it is only then that I realize my own lips have curved up. And that my eyes mist over with unshed tears. So many in the years since the accident.

“Shall I help them, my Luna?” Chester asks.

“No,” I say. “I believe they have it well in hand.”

My voice must carry on the slight breeze because Barkley looks up sharply from wrestling the fish free of its hook.

“Damnation!” He shoves his thumb into his mouth at the exact moment the fish plops free onto the bank.

“Get him, Barkley, for the Goddess sake!” Seafort yells.

“Yes, yes. Quite!”

It is a slippery beast, flopping about, evading Barkley’s grasp. Seafort is dragging himself through the mud to assist. It tears at my heart to see him reduced thus, and yet each man acts as though nothing is amiss as they both struggle with equal determination to recapture what has been lost.

Eventually, I can’t help myself. I slap my gloved hand over my mouth, refusing to laugh at their antics quite beneath men with such esteemed titles. “Chester, perhaps you should lend a hand.”

“Yes, my Luna.”

He dismounts and rushes forward when Barkley holds the fish aloft. “I have got it!”

And promptly loses his balance and lands in the stream. I almost release my laughter then, but I refuse to be entertained by him when I don’t even like him.

I watch as he tries to regain his footing while maintaining his hold on the fish. If Chester had not waded in to help, Barkley would have had to let it go. A shame when Seafort is so frightfully proud of catching the silly thing.

He must not have realized I am here until Chester arrives to help Barkley, because only then does he twist around to find me. His smile is certain to be causing his jaw to ache. “Do you see, Jayne? Do you see what I caught?”

The tears stinging my eyes move down to clog my throat. He is lying there, raised up on an elbow, and for the first time in so long, he doesn’t look pitiful or sad. He appears triumphant and so very happy. I smile. “Yes, darling.”

“I want him prepared for supper.” He says.

Nodding, I realize then as I watch Chester help Barkley to his feet that the Prince would have never released his hold on the fish. Never. He wouldn’t let Seafort’s small victory escape him. I watch now as Barkley staggers to the shore and drops the fish into the wicker basket.

Seafort straightens as best he can. “What are you doing here, Jayne?”

“Searching for you. Our guests will begin arriving at any moment,” I say softly.

“Blast it all! I had forgotten about that. Wouldn’t do for the host to be absent, would it?” He doesn’t seem to expect an answer, then adds, “Have you seen what Barkley brought me?”

Only then do I notice the saddle with a high back and sides on the horse the prince leads toward Seafort. It looks almost like a chair. I have never seen anything quite like it. I ease my own horse forward.

“Barkley’s brother raises horses now,” Seafort says. “And the saddle...”

“His brother raises saddles?” I ask, not certain why I want to tease him when I haven’t in so long.

Seafort laughs. “See there, Barkley? My Luna has quite the sense of humor. No, darling. He raises only horses, but he designed the saddle. It holds me in.”

Barkley gives a command and the horse kneels. With some effort, Barkley and Chester finally get Seafort situated in the saddle. I wonder how they would have managed if me and my groom hadn’t come along. Somehow, I suspect my husband and Barkley would have persevered.

With leather straps and buckles, Barkley belts him in, and with another command has the horse rise. My breath backs up into my chest as I wait for my husband to flop over onto the ground just as the fish had, but he stays seated, his feet latched in the stirrups. When Barkley pats the beast on the hindquarters, it lumbers toward me, Seafort holding the reins.

Barkley strides to his horse and mounts with a graceful ease. He joins us quickly enough and surreptitiously reaches down, grabbing the tether to my husband’s gelding. Chester remains to gather up all we have left behind, including the fish in the wicker basket.

As the three of us wend our way through the woods, Seafort says, “Did you ever expect to see me riding again, Jayne?”

I glance over at him. I can’t remember the last time I have seen him look so confident. “No.”

“I think I could jolly well go on the hunt tomorrow.” He grins.

“You don’t want to rush it,” Barkley says quietly. “You’re not completely in charge of the horse, you know.”

My mate winks at him, “Don’t think you could keep up with me?”

“I think you and the horse need to grow accustomed to one another before you subject him to a hunt.” Barkley says softly.

“Oh, my overly cautionary friend. I suppose you’re right.”

If only he had been overly cautionary three years ago, I think, and bite back the scathing retort. Barkley has brought this bit of happiness into Seafort’s day, and in so doing, into mine.

“I’m going to name him Second Chances, Jayne. What do you think?” Seafort asks.

“I think it’s a lovely name.” I tell him.

“Did you know he had brought the horse? Blighter didn’t say a thing to me yesterday. Marvelous, marvelous surprise. It’s going to be a good day. A good few days with friends.” He reaches over and squeezes my hand. “I’m glad we’re doing this.”

I smile, “As am I.”

My gaze goes past my mate to Barkley. He is watching me solemnly. Perhaps it’s the sunlight dappling through the trees or the fact that he is drenched and muddy, but he appears mournful, regretful. For the first time, it occurs to me that perhaps he hasn’t escaped from that dreadful night as unscathed as I have always assumed.