Hamish cupped his hands about his mouth and gave a piercing whistle which made Isabella startle in fright. The whistle was long and mournful, like a lone curlew in midsummer. He paused, looked around and whistled again, before putting his head to one side and listening intently.
“She is coming.”
At first, Isabella could hear nothing, but then her ears picked up a distant thunder of hooves. The sound grew louder until it seemed the ground beneath their feet was vibrating. A black horse came into view, her tail streaming behind her as she pounded toward them.
“Luar,” said Hamish, with a pleased smile.
Isabella stepped back nervously. “Will she charge us?”
“I hope not.” He raised his eyebrows as if amused.
Sure enough, when she was all but upon them, Luar slowed her pace to a trot and then came careering to a halt with her face pressed into Hamish’s chest. She heaved out a sigh, almost of relief, as Hamish stroked her gently.
“Your horse loves you.” Isabella wondered if she was envious of their easy bond.
“Aye. I’ve raised her since she was a wee foal. She’s soft as butter with me. But she willna let anyone near her if she doesna like them.”
She thought of the way Luar had put back her ears and stamped at the floor earlier that day.
“I don’t think she likes me.”
“She is usually wise with her likes and her dislikes.”
Isabella took this as a blow. She folded her arms across her cloak and bowed her head.
“Come closer,” urged Hamish. “Ye are used to horses, are ye not?”
“I am, of course.” She was a little affronted, but how was Hamish to know of the role horses had played in her upbringing? She took a breath and walked slowly toward the tall mare, speaking gently all the while.
Luar looked at her warily, then relaxed and nudged at her stomach.
“She be wanting a treat,” Hamish said with a smile.
“You and me both,” Isabella told Luar, stroking her muscular shoulders. “She is beautiful.”
Hamish looked pensive. “If my sister was here, she would tell ye that I have a weakness for beautiful things.”
“We will rescue your sister from Gaunt, I promise.” She rested her hand lightly on his good arm.
He gave himself a little shake. “If anyone can help me, ’tis you, Isabella.” He looked from Luar to the grey pony. “What say we both ride Luar and lead this little one. He seems all out of puff.”
It was a sensible solution and Isabella nodded her approval. But when Hamish tried to hoist her onto Luar’s back, his wounded arm made it impossible. His face turned grey with effort and pain, and he leaned against his horse’s flanks and breathed deeply.
“We shall try again.”
“Nay.” Isabella decided to take matters into her own hands. “We will lead her to the rocks. I can mount her myself from there.”
The distance to the saddle seemed impossibly high, even when Isabella balanced on the highest point of the rocks. But she did not allow herself to doubt. She channeled the young woman she’d once been, the one who had raced about the grounds of Wolvesley, swam in the lake and rode every horse in the yard, and she sprang as high as she could. Her eyes watered as she landed in the saddle with a jolt, and she apologized to Luar.
“Nicely done,” Hamish remarked. He was holding the reins of the pony and clearly having some internal debate about how to manage this and get into the saddle himself.
“Give those to me,” Isabella commanded, holding out her hand.
“Ye are sure ye can manage?”
“I am sure I can manage.”
Somewhat reluctantly, Hamish handed over the reins. Isabella gave the pony a meaningful look as Hamish mounted behind her.
