The Loving Cup

The

Loving Cup

By

Jean E Dvorak

Cover Illustration by

David Melanson

Copyright © 2015 by Jean E. Dvorak

All rights reserved. This book or any portion thereof

may not be reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever

without the express written permission of the author

except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

Printed in the United States of America

First Printing, 2015

ISBN-10: 194248111X

ISBN-13: 978-1-942481-11-9

Jean E. Dvorak

293 Deans-Rhode Hall Road

Jamesburg, NJ 08831

http://jedvorak.wix.com/magiskeep

http://www.magiskeep.blogspot.com

This book is dedicated to all the horses I have ever known and loved. You carried me over the fences as if we both had wings.

About the Author

About the Author

Jean E. Dvorak is a retired high school teacher. An avid horsewoman, she has competed and trained two horses to FEI level in dressage. No longer competing, she still trains her horses and those experiences are evident in the novels where horses play a significant role. From the author: Fantasy writing is very liberating. It allows the writer complete control of the world. Where else can magic exist and anything at all can happen? The writer makes the rules and can take the story anywhere imagination allows. The Magiskeep Saga was born in 1984 as a response to a challenge from her students when she assigned them a writing assignment: What would you do if you had a magic power? Since then, encouragement from a group of gaming fantasy fans on The Halfwittenberg Door message board sparked more writing. The result is a total of five full novels and several shorter novelettes in the collection. Ms. Dvorak has also written a number of stage musicals, plays, and vocal musical pieces, all of which have been performed locally in New Jersey, where she lives.

Other books:

The Saga of Magiskeep:

Kingdom Beyond the Rim

Honor’s Way

The Wall Between

Silvren Shards

White Wind

THE LOVING CUP

Prologue

Ellen felt the great black horse’s muscles gather beneath her as she guided Styx toward the ninth jump on the course. He had wavered again at the eighth effort, worrying her a little, but now he was straight and true, his ears pricked and eager. The feeling exhilarated her as little else ever could. Riding over the rails and walls was the closest she could ever come to having her own wings. The only thing which ever made her happier was being in Jim’s arms, surrounded by the perfection of his love.

Horse and rider soared easily over the obstacle and Ellen shifted her weight in the saddle, making the turn into fence number ten, a huge gray stone wall. Styx faltered a stride, drifting a little again, but he corrected quickly at her command. Ellen frowned at his erratic behavior, wondering if the tension of competition were bringing back his old bad habits. But she had little time to sort out her concern, for now, they were only a stride away from the big wall, and all her attention focused on the jump looming ahead of them.

The approach was perfect now, energized, balanced, and at just the right distance. She eased her hand and Styx launched into the air, the wall no challenge to his strength and talent.

Then, off to her left, Ellen heard someone scream her name. She caught a glimpse of blue out of the corner of her eye--Jim, trying to vault the fence into the ring, waving his arms frantically, yelling at her to jump clear.

She was clear, she thought. Styx hadn’t even brushed the jump with his hoof. Why was Jim shouting so?

The ground came up to meet her, too fast, too close. Styx hadn’t landed on his feet. Ellen saw his knees hit the dirt first and now she herself screamed, just once, as she was flung out of the saddle. She landed hard in front of the horse, the wind knocked out of her by the impact, her muscles frozen with the shock of it.

She simply couldn’t roll clear.

Twelve hundred pounds of horseflesh flipped over and crashed down on her.

The very last thing she felt was the horrible agony of the life being crushed from her body and then--oblivion.

Chapter 1

Cristine stared sullenly out onto the white-capped ocean, lettings its gentle rolling calm the turbulence of her own thoughts. It was not fair that even the vacation she had so carefully planned could so easily be intruded upon by responsibility.

The phone call had startled her awake to the soothing warmth of the Caribbean sun an hour earlier than she’d planned to rise, and she had been less than kind to the caller when she’d answered. But then, it had been poor Serle Logan, her father’s attorney, and his sweet apologetic tone mellowed her at once.

It was the will again, he’d said, and another of her father’s promises. I’m sorry, Miss Cristine, but it was your father’s express wish you personally represent the estate in such matters. The college will conduct three meetings of the board of directors as well as a reception dinner. There’s also a ball to celebrate the dedication of the new arts building. As heiress to his estate, you are a trustee of the endowment. You have a duty to your father’s name, you know.

Always duty! Carlton Wilding had tied his only daughter’s hands to duty even in death. But, Cristine sighed, all too aware it had always been his way and, his love. After her mother’s death, he had devoted his existence to his daughter’s education to assure her a secure place in the world. At his death, she would inherit a vast fortune, and he intended to see it would keep her in comfort for the rest of her life.

At times like this, Cristine hated his thoroughness but bore a grudging affection for his intent with a certain pride. Even now, she was forced to admit how right he so often was, and a painful stab of grief struck her heart. No matter how long it had been since his death, she could not forget him.

Still, she had, in childish petulance, booked passage back to Norfolk and a returning cruise liner instead of a plane. One day our convinced her she had made a radical mistake. The ship was filled with darling old ladies who loved to play bridge and bingo, clever old men who loved telling her naughty stories of their misspent youth, and honeymoon couples who simply loved each other. The few single people aboard had either found friends on the cruise down or had managed to slip into a comfortable pattern of solitary pursuits. Three Latin crewmen and one officer had made moves to romance her, but the empty future of their overtures had made her keep her distance.

If there was one thing Carlton Wilding had taught his daughter, it was that the promises of today too quickly become the lies of tomorrow. Cristine knew better than to fall in love.

The mournful moan of the great ship’s horn broke her reverie. Her eyes focused on the scene beyond the ship’s polished railing and she realized they had finally left the open sea. The misty shores of shipyard and buildings closed in on either side of the liner. Now, she could finally judge the speed of their voyage, for the Virginia shoreline passed before her eyes in place of an empty horizon. The ship would dock at two PM, precisely on schedule.

The customs inspector at the terminal scarcely glanced at her bags, and within minutes of her disembarkation, Serle Logan had snatched her two suitcases and whisked her down the escalator to a waiting limousine. The porter grumbled an unpleasant epithet as Serle himself hoisted the bags in the trunk, but Cristine flashed an innocent smile which softened him completely. Then, she slipped into the rear seat of the gray Lincoln and tucked her soft wool coat neatly about her legs. There was a decided chill in the air.

The island was lovely and warm, she complained as the car pulled away from the curb.

I March, Virginia is not always pleasant, I must admit, Serle apologized, and I suspect Tarrywood will be no warmer than here near the shore. Miss Ryan has taken the liberty of selecting some of your warmer clothes and sending them along to the house. I think you should be comfortable.

Cristine sighed, brushed a stray wisp of her soft auburn hair away from her cheek and said, I suppose there is a reason I must stay at Tarrywood...there always is.

Of course, Serle replied, putting a reassuring hand on her arm. Kenneth Valent was a close friend to your father. He is a director of the college and has most graciously extended his hospitality.

You’ll be staying too? Cristine asked, letting her green eyes do the begging."

Not this time, my dear. Harold Randall has been trying to get me to work on a housing contract for weeks. I can’t put him off any longer. You’ll do quite well on your own. Besides, I’ll be just a phone call away.

The rolling hills passed by the car’s windows without Cristine’s noticing, for she had once again retreated into her memories. Her father had always loved his winter respites at Tarrywood whenever he lectured at Somers College. She had some fond memories of her times there as a young girl, riding ponies and taking group riding lessons with two young boys who showed up at the farm at the end of the school year to stay at the great house. Now, time and more serious pursuits had faded most of that part of her life into wistful nostalgia.

Her amusement with the great stone mansion, full of girlish fancies of handsome princes and brooding heroes wandering its halls had grown to adult reason, she chose to spend her time in other places. Tarrywood was too remote, set amid vast acres of field and pasture. With its wealthy horseman, it was certainly a part of the society in which she traveled, but it was all too much country for her now. Two years in New York City had made her learn to love excitement, and she missed it whenever she stayed away.

As I was saying, Somers College has established an excellent reputation in the last several years for its most recent academic excellence, Serle said a bit impatiently, well aware she had been ignoring most of what he’d been telling her.

Oh, yes, Cristine answered. An excellent, exclusive school with fine instructors. Father could not have chosen a better recipient for his endowment. At the pained look in Serle’s eyes, she laughed lightly, Never fear, dear Serle, I intend to be a model of perfection. I really do know a great deal about the college and its history. Don’t worry at all.

Serle eased and began to study a sheaf of papers in his case, leaving her to stare out the window.

An hour later, and the dark fencing of Tarrywood appeared. Almost at once, Cristine gripped Serle’s arm, Stop the car, please!

What is it?

Look! Cristine pointed, her eyes sparkling with delight.

In a nearby riding ring, a tall young man was schooling a fiery black horse over a series of large jumps. The glistening animal leaped like a graceful deer, leaving Cristine breathless with each jump. I’ll get out here and walk to the house later. Take my bags, will you?

Serle sighed in resignation, leaned over to open the door for her and laughed, I should have known a horse would turn your pretty head. Go on, enjoy yourself.

Without thinking, Cristine slid out of the car and ran to the fence near the ring just as the horse passed. In mid-stride, the skittish animal reared and plunged sideways, shying away from her. His rider was caught off balance, but quickly regained his seat and reined the horse to a prancing halt.

What’s the matter with you? he shouted angrily at her. Don’t you know better than to run up here like that? You’ve done in two days’ work at settling him down with your stupidity!

Cristine bit her lip and stammered a reply, I’m sorry...I didn’t realize...

I can see that, the man said turning the horse away.

Hey, little brother, a voice said from across the ring, don’t be so hard on the lady. Charon will get his act together soon enough. He has to get used to things like that anyway.

The rider didn’t answer. Instead, he set his jaw firmly, put the horse into a steady trot out the gate, and then lengthened into a gallop as he crossed into the meadow. As she watched him go, Cristine felt a light hand on her shoulder. She turned to meet a pair of warm blue eyes and a strikingly handsome face. I really am sorry, she said again.

I don’t need your apology, he answered. It’s my brother who thinks he deserves one, although he couldn’t be more wrong.

Cristine took him in. There was something vaguely familiar about him. He was tall, slender, though athletically built, dressed in a natural wool turtleneck, breeches, and boots. Unlike his dark haired brother, he had wavy blond hair and fine cut features which made him equally attractive. Cristine felt a flush of pleasure at the sound of his voice. Smiling, she extended her hand, I’m Cristine Wilding. I’ve come here to stay a Tarrywood for a few weeks.

He clasped her hand in a warm, shivering embrace, Cristine. He looked thoughtfully at her for a long time before going on. I’m Steve Weston, a guest here too. My brother Jim and I are training two of Mr. Valent’s horses as a favor while we’re here. He and, he hesitated, my parents were close friends. I can see now our stay will be a lot more interesting than I’d planned.

Cristine felt herself blushing, We’d better go on up to the house. I’m sure they’re starting to wonder where I am.

Fine by me, but I’ll have to stop at the stable on the way to be sure Jim’s not having any trouble with Charon. That horse can be quite a handful.

I can see that, Cristine laughed. And, she thought to herself, I’ll bet your brother can be too.

Chatting companionably, they walked the stony path up to the stable yard. By the time they reached the rustic building, she had discovered both Steve and his brother were corporate attorneys, raised in Nevada. Their family had met the Valents at an Eastern horse show when the boys were still riding in the short stirrup classes.. During the more than twenty year friendship, they had visited Tarrywood nearly every summer and, after their parents’ death, Steve and Jim had been practically adopted by the Virginia household. As they stepped into the barn, Cristine felt at once at home and eager to see old friends.

Is Ebony still here? she asked.

Of course she is, Steve answered. "As a matter of fact, the colt Jim was riding just happens to be her son. She’s still Kenneth’s favorite mare. Go on in. She’s in the second to last stall on the right.

Excited at the prospect of seeing the mare, Cristine ran on ahead. Almost at once, she knew she’d made another mistake.

Charon was tied in the aisle and at her sudden appearance, his nostrils flared and his eyes rolled wildly. He threw up his head and leaped crazily to the side, flailing against the tie. Jim, who had been cleaning the horse’s hoof, was thrown heavily against the wall as the animal spun and kicked, just missing Jim’s head with the full blow of his lashing heels.

Quickly, Steve grabbed the horse’s halter and pushed Cristine out of the way. Then, he braced against the colt’s tossing head and managed to settle him.

Jim lay for a moment, gasping to regain his wind, his face white. Then, he struggled to his feet, using the wall for support.

Cristine stared at him, her eyes wide with fright as his face hardened at the sight of her. His gray eyes flared in a face darkening now with rage as, still shaking, he began to walk towards her, his fists clenched angrily, You stupid idiot, he growled, breathing heavily. If you had any brains at all...

Anticipating his brother’s temper, Steve moved quickly between them, putting out his arm to bar Jim’s way. Cristine backed away with a horrified gasp when she saw the trickle of blood in Jim’s temple.

OK, Jim, take it easy, Steve ordered, pushing him back. No real harm’s done from what I can see. You’re just shaken up. Nothing worse than I ever saw happen before.

I almost got my head kicked off. It’s about time somebody set that fool straight about how to behave around horses.

Steve caught both of his brother’s shoulders firmly in his hands now. Cristine shrank further back, tears welling in her eyes. Steve’s voice was menacing, And you’re not the one to tell her. Get your act together, boy, before I have to set you straight. You’re not even thinking right now. This isn’t Styx.

At those words, Jim sagged in Steve’s grip and for a fraction, Steve seemed to be holding him up. Then, his breathing steadied, and he drew himself upright, his face a mask of calm as if all the emotion had drained from his body.

Go on up to the house and have Trish take a look at that cut on your head. Cristine, don’t let him scare you. He yells a lot, but that’s all. If you can stand it, go on up with him to make sure he gets there in one piece. I’ll finish up here and be up in ten minutes.

Without a word, Jim pushed past Cristine and limped on out. A quick glance at Steve’s face told her she had no chance of protest, so she followed.

At the short set of stone steps on the edge of the lawn, Jim stumbled slightly and fell on his knee. Cristine reached for his arm, but he pulled away, wincing at the sudden movement.

I am sorry, Cristine repeated as he stood to catch his breath. You have to believe me.

His stare gave her neither comfort nor acceptance as the icy fire of his gray eyes bore into her. Let’s get going, he said flatly as he limped up the rest of the steps.

Cristine shivered involuntarily. The sun was already fading behind a hill and she had begun to miss New York.

When Jim’s booted foot touched the huge stone porch, the big oaken door of the house swung open and Trish, the Valent’s matronly housekeeper fairly swept him into her strong arms. What have you been up to, Jimmy? You look a fright!

Charon was a bit edgy today. I guess he needs more work.

I’m afraid it’s my fault, Trish, Cristine said. I startled the poor animal.

Jim glared at her, He spooks at flying leaves. He’s just a nervous colt.

But you... she started to protest.

Hush now, Crissy, Trish said, silencing her completely. Charon’s been a problem ever since he was born. I don’t know why Jim insists in fooling with him. Here, I had such plans to welcome you and now I have to play nurse. Well, you go right on into the front room and warm up by the fire. As soon as I put this boy to bed I’ll be right down to keep you company. There’s a nice pot of tea waiting for you.

I don’t need to go to bed, Jim complained. I’m fine.

I’ll be the judge of that, young man. Now get your tail moving up those stairs.

Meekly, Jim obeyed, with Trish following closely behind.

Tiredly, Cristine pulled off her coat, dropped it on a chair in the hall and went to the front room. The soft leather couch was still there is front of the big fireplace where she remembered, and aside from showing its age with a few scratches and fades, it was just as comfortable as it had always been.

A pot of tea with four cups was sitting nearby on the table alongside a plate full of Trish’s date cookies. Suddenly feeling hungry, Cristine took one to nibble on while she warmed her hands at the fire. The warmth soon began to banish the chill in her joints.

Well, I must say, even without your coat you don’t look very frightening to me. If I were Charon, I wouldn’t be jumping away from you.

Cristine laughed and turned to face Steve, who was standing at the door. I must say you know how to flatter a person, Mr. Weston. It’s too bad your brother doesn’t have your social graces.

Don’t be too hard on Jim. Actually, he’s a pretty nice guy. A little rough around the edges, perhaps. Where is he anyway?

Trish took him upstairs.

Now Steve laughed and the warmth of it filled her heart. If I know Jim, he said, he and Trish are arguing right now as to whether or not he’ll stay in bed and, if I know Trish, she’ll win. She’ll be down in a minute or so to get his supper and we won’t see hide nor hair of him for the rest of the evening.

Trish did come down, though it was nearly a half hour later, and she looked worried. As soon as he saw her, Steve broke off his conversation and got up. Cristine saw more than a trace of concern in his eyes. Is he all right?

Trish sighed. I’d like to get Dr. Tindall up here to have a look at him. He may have cracked some ribs and I don’t at all like the looks of the bump on his head. I think he’s hurting, too.

I’ll go up and talk to him.

Don’t bother, Steve, she replied wearily. He’s in one of those black moods of his and you just can’t reason with him. We just better let it go for tonight and see how things are in the morning.

It’s all my fault, Cristine said sadly. If I hadn’t been such a fool about running up on that horse none of this would have happened.

Your fault! Trish exclaimed. Why to hear Jim tell it, that colt was beside himself today. You just came along at the wrong time.

It was my fault, Cristine insisted.

Don’t worry about it, Steve reassured her. It could have happened to anyone. Then he quickly changed the subject, Let’s have some supper. I’m starved.

At dinner, they spoke mostly of the college and the Valents who had taken a weekend trip to Washington and would return on Monday. As such, Cristine would find herself alone with Trish and the two brothers for one more day. She resolved to make the best of it. Can we ride tomorrow? she asked. I could really use some exercise.

You ride then?

Of course. I used to come here to Tarrywood when I was a girl and ride the ponies all the time.

The ponies, Steve said. Then he laughed. Cristine, of course. The little girl in pigtails who used to fall off Pickles every week until she figured out how to keep hold of the reins so that little monster couldn’t duck her head down in front of the jump. Sometimes Jim and I used to ride with you. We both still talk about those days.

The two boys…I don’t remember you very well, I’m afraid. It was a long time ago.

Steve’s smiled faded. It has been a long time. Well, I don’t know how fit you are for the saddle, but if you think you can manage, we could ride out to the river, Ebony’s ready for a long ride and Talisman could use a gallop or two. We might pack a light lunch. I know a great spot overlooking the valley.

It’s a little chilly for a picnic.

Nonsense, he smiled. Warm clothes and warm company can do wonders. Besides, the weather report says we’re in for a nice day. It’ll be a pleasant change of pace.

Sounds great, Cristine agreed. I’ll look forward to it.

Trish had put her in the same bedroom she’d had many times before on her visits to Tarrywood. It was filled with dark wood furniture typical of the rest of the house. But, the bright yellow curtains on the double corner window facing south and east filled the room with sunshine too, even in the winter. At night, a soft fire in the small fireplace added a cheerful warmth, and soon she had settled herself off to sleep in the canopied bed.

It was very early morning when she heard a cry, followed by a crash from the room next door. She leaped out of bed, pulled on her robe, and ran out into the dark hall. She heard a moaning of such anguish coming from behind the door near hers that, without thinking, she pushed her way inside.

In the faint glow of the embers from his fire, she saw Jim lying in a twisted pile of blankets, groaning and sobbing into his pillows. Her heart ached with the intensity of his suffering and she hurried to his bed to put a comforting hand on his shoulder. It’s all right. Let me help you.

He spun over, his eyes wild. He grabbed her by the wrist and, wrenching her arm painfully, pulled her to him. She felt his hot strength and tried to break free, but it only made him hold on more tightly. Why do you keep coming back? Why won’t you leave me alone?

I don’t understand.

What would you know about it? he snarled, the suffering in his eyes mixing with dark rage. What would any of you know? You never listen. You’re all alike.

He pulled her closer. Please, you’re hurting me, she whimpered.

Just what do you want? Why don’t you leave me alone? You’re... Then his eyes focused and he gazed at her in confusion as if seeing her for the first time. He let her go and rolled away. She thought she’d seen a hint of fear in his eyes, but it had vanished quickly. What are you doing here? he asked softly.

I heard you cry out and then a crash. Her eyes searched the room and then she moved over to right the bedside lamp which had been knocked to the floor. I came in to see if you needed help.

Where’s Steve? Jim asked, ignoring her explanation. He seemed dazed and disoriented.

Asleep, I imagine. It’s barely past three in the morning.

I need to see him.

Cristine shook her head, He’s asleep. Surely it can wait till at least sunrise.

I’ve got to talk to him now. He clumsily started to get up from the bed, but she pushed him gently back. His skin felt damp and feverish beneath her fingers.

I’ll go get him, she said quietly.

Steve’s room was at the end of the opposite hall and Cristine hesitated before knocking on the door. As much as she hated waking him, she was sure Jim would be pacified by nothing less. There was something compelling about the tone of his voice and his outburst had frightened her. She tapped on the door, s?

He must have been a light sleeper, for it was only a moment before her came out into the hall, Is something wrong?

It’s Jim.

Steve was suddenly alert. What happened? Is he all right? He was already hurrying down the hall.

A nightmare, Cristine answered as she trotted to keep up.

Oh, God, not again. Not now, Steve sighed heavily as he pushed Jim’s door open.

Jim was sitting up in bed, tapping his hand restlessly on the covers. His dark hair was plastered in ringlets on his forehead and he was decidedly pale. Still, he sounded determined, I’ve got to talk--now.

Steve moved over to him and sat on the edge of the bed. There was deep concern in his reply, All right, go ahead. I’ve always been ready to listen you know that.

Jim’s eyes darted to Cristine, who burned under the heat of his glance. Alone, he added harshly.

Steve nodded apologetically to Cristine and then shrugged his shoulders.

She nodded back and turned to leave. Goodnight, she said simply.

Back in her own room, she could hear the murmur of their voices, but the words were indistinct. She rubbed her wrist thoughtfully, trying to contain her curiosity. What, she wondered, had Jim been saying to her? Steve certainly acted ready to listen despite what his brother had said. Who was it who wouldn’t, and why? Questions without answers wore her out and finally, she drifted back to sleep. As she slid into darkness, she could still