No sign of Faolan lurking, but in the main enclosure behind the smithy, out of the stables, are his pride – the forge work is his labour, breeding horses is his joy. Baskets at my feet, I lean my forearms on the top rail of the fence and admire the mares. One in the back corner, darkly dappled, most dignified and disinterested; three others all heavily pregnant, black, white, red. All beautiful. The black creeps closer but not close enough to be petted. I fish a ripe peach from one of the baskets and take a bite – it’s a little tart still, perfect. The black mare pacesover; I hold the fruit out to be snatched from my palm. She dances away, snorting with glee. The other two seemingly have no interest in risking their dignity even for a treat.
‘Well done. Sorrel usually won’t come near anyone except me.’
‘Do you ever get any work done?’ I don’t turn to look at him until I sense his presence right beside me. I must be buoyed by the finding of Matthias Peppergill because the blacksmith’s presence barely annoys me.
‘Not when you’re around. Fortunately, that’s not often. Or rather fortunately for the purposes of my work ethic, less so for my amusement and distraction.’
‘Gods, if I were an idiot I’d fall back into your bed with that talk. Such charm!’ The words burst out and I don’t mean them to; he only grins. I jerk my chin towards the mares. ‘When are they due?’
‘A month, for the red and Sorrel; the white, Birch, another month after that.’
Idly, I say: ‘I’ll be needing to replace my old feather-foot soon, I think.’
‘You want to turn one of my very fine beauties into a cart horse? Plough horse? Have you gone mad?’ His offence is genuine.
I laugh. ‘No, I’ll need a heavy horse for that, but you don’t have any of those.’
‘No, but I can find one for you, though. Bargain for a good one.’
‘What cost?’
‘A kind word, Mehrab, perhaps a smile.’
‘Too expensive by half.’ I snort. ‘I might take one of the foals when they’re old enough, though. For riding.’
‘Taking up hunting, Mistress Mehrab?’ He nods at the mare nibbling at my hair. ‘Sorrel and Birch’s offspring might be gentle enough. The red? Blister? Unlikely.’
‘Blister?!’
‘Well, she was Rowan but I called her Blister because she’s fast and unpleasant. My lad’s the only one she likes. He’s got a rare gift with horses, shame he can’t settle to anything.’
I laugh hard, feel a muscle in my stomach pull a little. I don’t say that my hips and knees and ankles are getting tired of the walk into and out of Berhta’s Forge. That it’s time I gave myself a rest. ‘What if I am taking up hunting, old man?’
He bows. ‘Ah, now I’ve learned that the answer is “none of my business”, old woman. I can keep the finest foal aside. And I’ll talk to Gaderian Beck up north at Sarith’s Ford – I’m up there soon – about another heavy horse for you – you don’t want one too young for plough and cart, too flighty, too much trouble to train, you want them working right from the start.’
‘Thank you. I’d appreciate that.’ The black and white mares begin to prance, finally coming within reach, nuzzling at their master’s neck, and the tips of my fingers – still wary, still teasing; the red maintains her distance. I can’t help but smile. There’s enough money hidden around my holding for a horse or several. If I’m honest, there’s enough coin and gems buried to buy a castle, all carefully hoarded, by me and my predecessor. Safer than a big city bank, the forest earth. No one looks for it there. And fleeing witches, rebels and mothers and maidens, crabbed crones, all need coin at some point.
‘Doesn’t solve your current problem, though.’ He gestures at the baskets at my feet.
‘No. It doesn’t.’
He nods towards the dappled mare. ‘Take Rosie. I’ll saddle her.’
Before I can argue, he’s in action, talking the whole while so I can’t get a word of an argument in edgewise. I am, for a change, too tired to bicker much. Soon I’m seated on the broad back of the mature mare, baskets and sacks hung about her like festival decorations.
‘She’s calm of nature, won’t startle, and fast if need be – for short spurts, mind.’ I wonder if he suspects something’s wrong in the woods. That things have been looking for me there. No. No reason he should. He’s just being charming, in hope of a later benefit, as was his way once; idly I wonder when he’ll begin to play the merry widower of Berhta’s Forge. I’ll take this benefit now, be picky about how I pay him back when he calls in the favour – as is my way.
‘Thank you, Faolan. How will I get her back to you?’
He grins. ‘Keep her until harvest home. I’ll have a feather-foot for you by then that you can ride around like a queen in a sedan chair.’
‘What about you?’
‘You want to ride me around like a sedan chair?’ Mock surprise. ‘Well, it’s not the most flattering—’
‘What’ll you do without Rosie?’
‘Ah, not to worry. Plenty of horses here in the stables; got another half a dozen out to graze with Orin in the forest. I’ll not go short.’
