“I do. But I won’t.”
She shortened the stirrups quickly, competently. She knew Boyle watched her, and that was fine, that was good. She would settle, and gratefully, for a job doing no more than mucking out stalls and cleaning tack.
But God, she wanted to ride again. And she wanted, keenly, to ride this horse. To feel him under her, to share that power.
“Thanks.” She strapped on the helmet Meara brought her, and since Meara had carried one over, Iona used the mounting block.
Alastar quivered under her. She tightened her knees, held out a hand for the
reins.
Now he reconsidered—she could see it in those tawny eyes.
“Branna won’t be pleased with me if you end up in the hospital.”
“You’re not afraid of Branna.”
She took the reins. Maybe she’d never been sure where she belonged, but she’d always, from the first moment, felt at home in the saddle.
Leaning forward, Iona whispered in Alastar’s ear. “Don’t make a fool out of me, okay? Let’s show off, and show him up.”
He walked cooperatively for four steps. Then kicked up his hind legs, dropped down, reared up.
Stop it. We can play that game another time.
She circled him, changed leads, circled back, changed again before nudging him into a trot.
When the horse danced to the side, tried another kick, she laughed.
“I may not weigh as much as the big guy, but I’m sticking.”
She took him up to a pretty canter—God, he had beautiful lines—back to a trot.
And felt alive.
“She’s more than words on paper,” Meara murmured.
“Maybe so. Good seat, good hands—and for some reason that devil seems to like her.”
He thought she looked as if she’d been born on a horse, as if she could ride through wind and wood and all but fly over the hills.
Then he shifted his feet, annoyed with his own fanciful thoughts.
“You can take her out with you—not on that devil—see how she does on a guide.”
“He’ll breed well, you know. Fin’s got the right of that.”
“Fin’s rarely wrong. But when he is, it’s massive. Still, she’ll do. Until she doesn’t. Have her put Alastar in the paddock. We’ll see if he stays there.”
“And you?”
“I’ll see to her paperwork.”
“When do you want her to start?”
Boyle watched her slide into a fluid lope. “I’m thinking she already has.”
* * *