She cursed under her breath and stomped across the field, her feet sinking in soft damp spots that were hidden by the thick grass. She stumbled twice and had to throw out her arms to help catch her balance.
One of the colts must have thought she was a playmate, because it pranced over with its tail and head high; it circled her a few times, nudging her straight back with its muzzle and playing with her hand.
At the best of times, she had little patience. Now she had none. She chased the colt away. She’d been plaything enough for one day.
When she was midfield, just near the herd, a gray stallion flattened its ears and bit another, even larger, and stockier horse. The gray kept bullying the other, nipping at its flanks.
She might be a sound sleeper. She might have a blue face because of it, but she wasn’t stupid. She could see the fight between those horses coming.
Before she knew what happened, Eachann threw her over a shoulder like a sack of oats and all but tossed her through the fence.
“Stay there!” he ordered, crossing the field toward the horses. He approached the gray and it backed away, then lowered its head.
Eachann didn’t appear the least intimidated. He just kept walking right straight toward it. The wind carried back his soft words, murmurs and whispers, easy talk that seemed to calm even the gusting air.
With an eerie suddenness, the horse quieted. By the time Eachann stood next to it, the animal was poking its muzzle in his chest and acting like a faithful old hound. The other stallion stood nearby, completely contented to just eat the grass and swish its long tail.
Eachann stroked the horse, then he was coming toward her. He stopped at the fence and watched her with a look of someone who knows exactly what he’s going to hear.
“I’ve had it!”
“Now, George.”
“Don’t you ‘Now, George’ me! Look at this!” She pointed at her face.
“Why would they paint your face blue?”
“To make me look like a Pict! What in God’s name is a Pict?”
“The old tribes of Scotland. They painted their faces blue when they went to battle.” He squinted and searched her face. “What did they use?”
“I don’t know. But it doesn’t wash off!”
He looked away, and just stood there, rubbing the back of his neck with one hand. He glanced up at her. His eyes were beginning to crinkle at the ends and he looked like he was chewing on a belly laugh.
“Don’t do it!” She poked her finger in his chest. “I’ll tell you what I told Fergus and Will. Not one smile out of you.”
He lifted his hands in mock surrender.
“This is not funny, Eachann.”
He managed to compose himself and looked at her with a serious expression. “Come inside. Let’s see if we can find something to take it off.”
She was inside the stable before him, but followed him into a boxy room with bridles and halters, saddles and ropes, and other tack scattered everywhere.
“Watch where you step.” He pulled a bowl off of a shelf, then pointed to a bench with two saddles on it. “Sit here.” He left for a few minutes while she sat on a saddle with her blue chin resting in one hand.
He came back inside and hunkered down in front of her. “Close your eyes, George.”
He began to clean her face. After a while he said, “It’s not as bad as you think.”
“That’s because it’s not your face that’s blue.”
He stood and set the bowl down.
“Well?” she asked hopefully. “Is it any better?”
He was silently studying her.
