Oh.
They don’t know.
They truly, honestly hadnograsp of the mean-spirited viciousness of their ‘prank.’
How could they not know the basic history of Alex’s family? That his father had bred the horse before them?
But then, upon further thought . . . whywouldthey?
Alex hadn’t volunteered the information.
Ferndown and his son were too self-absorbed to ask.
Lord Frank chuckled, as if Alex’s pale face were all that he had hoped for.
“Let’s get another mount for the doctor, shall we? Galahad isn’t for the faint of heart.” Ferndown waved toward the stallion. “But he should suit me, I think.”
Still chuckling, Lord Frank strode forward and took Galahad’s lead from the groom, pulling on the bit and likely bruising the animal’s mouth.
The horse reared.
Bloody idiot.
Lord Frank. Not the horse.
Horseman, my arse.
Only a fool would handle a prized stallion like Galahad in such a cavalier manner.
Galahad tossed his head high, tearing the halter out of Lord Frank’s hands and nearly pulling the man off his feet. Lord Frank staggered back.
Galahad reared again and then bucked, whirling as if looking for an escape route through the gathered men.
Instinct took over. Alex rushed past the grooms and made the shushing, clicking noise all McPherson horses were trained to respond to from birth.
Galahad instantly paused, backing up, snuffling and whinnying in agitation.
Alex changed the shushing-click to a low whistle . . . the command going fromcalm downtocome here.
Galahad neighed and trotted to him, obedient as a dog. Alex caught hold of his halter, rubbing his forelock. The horse nudged his chest.
“There now. There’s a good lad,” Alex crooned a greeting. “I ken who ye are. Ye know who I am, too. Wish I had brought ye a carrot or two.”
He continued to scratch Galahad’s nose and then patted his neck.
Alex had chosen medicine over horse-breeding years ago.
But he had never stopped loving horses. And seeing Galahad, despite the ambush of painful scenes . . . it was like greeting a long-lost friend.
Given how the horse responded, the feeling was likely mutual.
Rubbing the stallion’s withers, he quickly checked the girth and stirrups. Satisfied, he pulled himself up into the saddle, Galahad dancing beneath him. He could feel the tensile strength in the horse’s muscles, the power in its hind legs.
The horse felt just like King Arthur.
Memories washed over him again. A thousand moments with his father and that prized stallion.
Clenching his jaw against the tidal surge of emotion, he pivoted the horse with the barest touch. Galahad responded effortlessly.
