We’re earning our keep, she thought, giving Alastar a pat on the neck.
When she returned, Meara came out to greet her and her group. “I’ll take it from here, if you don’t mind. Iona’s needed at the big stables.”
“I am?”
“And Alastar. Can you find your way?”
“Sure. You showed me, and I marked it on the map. But—”
“Fin’s orders, so you’d best go on. And how was your ride?” she asked the couple.
At a loss, Iona turned her mount, headed back the way she’d come.
Had Boyle complained about her? Was she about to be fired?
Her unsettled thoughts had Alastar turning his head to stare at her.
“I’m being stupid. Just overreacting, that’s all. Boyle’s pissy, but not petty.” Plus, she thought Fin liked her, at least a little.
She’
d know when she got there. And thinking that, gave herself the pleasure of letting Alastar have his head.
“Let’s go,” she decided, and even before she could give him a light kick with heels, he flew. “Oh God, yes!” On a laugh, she lifted her face to the sky as Alastar thundered down the path.
Her thrill, his thrill—the same. Glorious and entwined. Power, she realized, his and hers, spurred them both so that for an instant, just an instant more, she felt them both lift above the ground. Flying truly now, the wind whipping her hair, his mane.
As she laughed, Alastar bugled in triumph.
He’d been born for this, she realized. So had she.
“Easy,” she murmured. “We should stick to the ground. For now.”
The moment of flight, and now the joy of the gallop with a gorgeous horse under her blew away any worries. She let him set the speed—the stallion could move—turned with the river, then away, down a narrow path through the thick trees, and into the clearing where the stables spread behind a big jumping paddock.
Slowed him now—easy, easy—so she could catch her breath and look.
The house rose, gray stone with two fanciful turrets and many glinting windows. A pretty stone courtyard backed by a garden wall separated it from the garage and the rooms—Boyle’s—over it.
A second paddock cocked to the right. A trio of horses stood at the fence, gazing toward the trees as if in deep contemplation.
She saw men, trailers, trucks—lorries, damn it—a husky black four-wheeler.
It all looked, she thought, prosperous, practical, and fanciful at the same time. Slowing Alastar to a dignified trot, she aimed for the stables, then him pulled up when she heard her name called.
She spotted Fin—jeans, boots, that enviable leather jacket—wave her over toward the jumping paddock as he walked to it himself.
He opened the gate, gestured her in.
“Meara said you wanted to see me.”
“That I do.” He cocked his head, studied her with those sharp green eyes. “You’ve had some fun.”
“I . . . What?”
“You’re glowing a bit, as is our boy here.”
“Oh. Well. We had a good gallop over.”