“That’s not it.” Iona turned Alastar so Boyle and Darling fell into step beside her. “She trusts you, and loves you. She’s nervous she won’t do well, and you won’t want to ride her again.”
“Then she’s foolish. It’s a fine day for a ride. We’ll head to the lough, and around a bit if it’s all right with you.”
“More than all right.”
“You’ll tell me if she hurts, and I don’t notice.”
“I will, but she’s feeling very sound. She likes the look of Alastar,” she added, sotto voce. “Thinks he’s very handsome.”
“He is that.”
“He’s pretending not to notice her, but he’s peacocking a little.”
“Now you’re hunting up a romance for the horses?”
“I know he’s for Aine, but a stallion like Alastar’s meant to sire foals, and she’s made for breeding. Plus, I don’t have to hunt up anything. I just have to pay attention to say they like the look of each other.”
“I hadn’t thought of breeding her.”
“Aine will make the regal and the magnificent,” Iona said. “Darling? She’ll make the sweet and the dependable. In my opinion,” she added.
“Well, Alastar’s yours, so you’ll have a say in it.”
“I think he has the most to say, as do the ladies. It’s almost spring.” She lifted her face, looked at the sky through the boughs. “You can feel it coming.”
“Still cold as February.”
“That may be, but it’s coming. The air’s softer.”
“That would be the rain moving in tonight.”
She only laughed. “And I saw a pair of magpies flirting out by Branna’s feeder this morning.”
“Just how does a magpie flirt?”
“They fly to and away, to and away, then chatter at each other and do it again. I asked Connor why the hawks don’t go after them, and he said they have an arrangement. I like that.”
They moved into single file when the path narrowed, and wound by the river where the water thrashed under a broken rope bridge.
“Will they ever fix that?” she wondered.
“I’m doubting it, as people would be foolish enough to walk on it, and end up falling in. You’d be one of them.”
“Who says I’d fall in? And if I did, I’m a strong swimmer.” Because she enjoyed flirting, she sent him a long, under-the-lashes look. “Are you?”
“I live on an isthmus on an island. I’d be a bleeding git not to swim and well.”
“We’ll have to take a dip sometime.” She glanced back again, and remembered her first sight of him, and how striking, how compelling he’d looked—the big, tough man on the big, tough horse.
But she realized he only looked more striking now, seated on the mare he’d brought back to health, his hands light on the reins, her eyes glowing with pride.
“She’s not nervous anymore.”
“I know it. She’s doing fine and well.” He moved up beside Iona as the path allowed.
“I talked to my grandmother last night,” she began. “I couldn’t settle for email anymore, just wanted to hear her voice. She sends you her best.”
“And mine goes back to her.”
