“He’s used to being the alpha, aren’t you, Alastar? Now you come along and you’re... a challenge. You said a resume’s not doing. Let me do. I can take him around your paddock.”
“What are you? Seven stones soaking wet?”
He was giving her a job, she reminded herself. And compared to him—even compared to Meara—she probably did come off as small and weak. “I don’t know how much seven stones is, but I’m strong, and I’m experienced.”
“He’d rip your arms out, and that’s before he tossed you off his back like a bad mood.”
“I don’t think so. But then, if he did, you’d be right.” She glanced back at the horse. “Think about that,” she told Alastar.
Boyle considered it. The pretty little faerie queen had something to prove, so he’d let her try. And she could nurse her sore arse—or head, depending on which hit the ground first.
“Once around the ring. Inside,” Boyle said, pointing. “If you manage to stay on him that long. Get her a helmet, will you, Meara. It might help her from breaking her head when she lands on it.”
“He’s not the only one who’s pissed off.” Confident now, Iona offered Boyle a smile. “I need to shorten the stirrups.”
“Inside,” he repeated, and led the horse in. “I hope you know how to fall.”
“I do. But I won’t.”
She shortened the stirrups quickly, competently. She knew Boyle watched her, and that was fine, that was good. Shewouldsettle, 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.
