His gaze rested on her face. "You are generous."
"No, Your Grace. I would simply rather be certain than unjust."
Footsteps sounded at the far end of the passage. A groom approached carrying a folded piece of leather in his hand. He stopped when he saw Captain Vale.
"Forgive me, Your Grace," the young man said nervously. "But there's something about Storm's saddle I think you ought to know."
The groom's fingers tightened around the folded leather. James looked at him steadily.
"What is your name?"
"Peter Collins, Your Grace. I help Mr. Reed with the tack."
"Then speak, Peter. You have nothing to fear for telling me what you know."
Peter glanced at Vale. "Three weeks ago, I noticed a raised edge beneath the rear of Storm's saddle. The padding seemed uneven. I mentioned it to the captain."
Vale's boots scraped against the stone floor. "And I instructed you to have it examined."
"You told me to put it back on the rack, sir." Peter swallowed. "I thought perhaps I had misunderstood."
He unfolded the leather in his hands. It was a worn protective cover from the saddle rack, not a piece of the saddle itself.
"I marked the cover so I would remember which saddle needed attention."
James accepted it. A small cross had been scratched into the underside. "Why did you not come to me?"
Peter's face reddened. "I was afraid of losing my place, Your Grace."
The answer struck James more forcefully than an accusation would have. He looked toward the young groom's bowed head. "You will not lose your employment for bringing a concern to me."
Vale cleared his throat. "Your Grace, we are allowing a stable boy's confusion to become a rather serious matter."
"We are allowing him to speak," James replied. "That is something I should have done sooner."
Emma watched the exchange from beside Storm's stall. She did not mistake Peter's recollection for proof of deliberate wrongdoing, but she had heard enough to know that further riding would be indefensible.
"Mr. Collins," she asked, "did anyone alter the padding after you noticed it?"