She felt his grin against her lips. “I love ye, Talia Collins.”
24
Darragh ran his hand through the brittle mane of his mare.
She neighed and pushed her head into his palm. She had missed him. It had been only two days since they had last seen each other, but she was an overly sentimental animal.
She nudged her nose into him, and he stumbled backwards with a laugh. Her head hung over her stall, and her gaze was fixed on the basket of apples that sat on the hay bale.
“Is this what ye want?” He picked one up but held it far from her. He liked the way she showed her appreciation.
She made a deliberate reverse, aware her size required mass, then cantered in circles in her stall, whining loudly. She did not eat until it was split in two halves. Until then, she galloped around as if communicating the urgency. He conceded and retrieved a knife from his boot. She strutted to him.
His heart swelled with pride when she threw taut, muscled legs into the air. She was brimming with energy that morning.
Darragh had felt guilty on the way to her. Willow was one of twelve horses in the stables, which were all rented out for different functions. She was a thoroughbred, good for hunting and farm work, but she was also his pet.
It was an unlikely thing for a laird to rent out his horse, bordering on shameful. But when money was tight, one had to do everything to survive.
She took the second half of the apple into her mouth.
Farmer Hendry had returned home last night after helping with ploughing the barley fields, and Darragh feared he would find her too tired. Once he received his inheritance, he would no longer have to rent her out. He could even restore the lushness of her mane and darken the spots bleached gold by sun rays.
The stable boy, Angus, came in, his face freshly washed, throwing on a creased, over-worn shirt. Darragh had woken him earlier.
It was only half past six, and the rest of the castle residents, except the sentries standing guard, were asleep. Imagine Angus’s surprise when he found the Laird at his door. His expression had quickly turned from annoyance, which portended an angry spiel, to reverence.
He picked up the basket and waited for instructions.
Darragh removed the bolt from Willow’s gate and pulled it open. “If she comes out on her own,” he said, “saddle her up and send her to Daisy’s shack.”
Daisy was his Connemara. By leaving the gate open, he intended to give Willow the choice to ride with him or not. She was his horse because she was the most loyal and obedient. If he were to insinuate riding her, she would not protest, no matter how tired she was. He was not sure whether or not she was well enough for exercise and didn’t want to risk it.
Daisy roomed separately from the others in a stall outside.
His boots parted the morning mist, sending a cold, dewy smell to his nostrils. He was in an impeccably good mood that morning. One, he would climb into bed with Talia after. Two, he was getting married to her in a few days. Three… Talia was his.
To his left was an empty barn. He anticipated Daisy’s one-year-old sister would take abode if she grew up to be a brat like her. At the moment, the foal was rooming with the fifteen-year-old gelding that had developed a paternal adoration for her.
The stables were structured in a Y layout. The tail was six stalls long, with a watering trough at the back on the occasion when the weather was not conducive for the horses to hydrate in the stream. Two short tunnels, wide enough to transport two horses at a time, made up the V. At the center of the stables wasa circular cobblestone floor where the horses enjoyed making their shoes spark.
Daisy rose when she saw him, the movement slow and deliberate. What a seductress she was. Her riders did not stand a chance against her charms.
“Have ye missed me?”
Her locks emitted a strong lavender scent, which now clung to his hand. She did not make satisfactory whinnies like other horses. Instead, had she taught herself to purr. Her nose nestled into his palm, and he knew that she was only smelling the oils from her hair.
Daisy was a school horse. For the past month, she had been in town, where she seemed to find herself for months at a time, which was all a result of the master plan. It was never his intention for her to become a school horse. She was young, only five years old, sturdy, calm-headed, and obedient. But that obedience went out the door when it was time for heavy labor. She also did not enjoy hunting, nor was she conditioned for it.
The only recourse for a horse with her temperament was teaching. He realized instantly that she had planned it from the start when she was brought to her first client, a seventeen-year-old heiress sojourning in Scotland, and she had performed so majestically. She had crafted a persona that made her attractive to ladies who wanted to learn how to ride.
“Did ye hear?”
She took the apple from him. Like Willow, she preferred her fruit cut.
“I am getting married. Me wife’s even more beautiful than ye.”
It has been years since he heard her neigh. Her mane flapped about as she tossed her head in protest and backed away, registering the jab.
