Faerie Fate (9 page)

Trying to explain
the vet med classes required for an equine management degree at Colorado State
University would be futile. She shrugged and simply replied, “Something my
grandfather taught me.”

“Do you ride as
well, cailín?”

“Oh, yes,” she
breathed, her eyes shining.

“I’ll have a horse
picked out for you.”

“Oh! Please, may I
pick out my own?”

Eachan grinned at
her. “Doesn’t surprise me that you’d want to, cailín. Just let me know when.”

****

Back in her chamber,
Becca stripped out of her bloody clothes and gratefully sank up to her chin in
the hot, sudsy water. Clucking like a hen, Siobhan gathered up the ruined
clothing and deposited them outside the door. After grabbing a jar smelling
something like sweet clover, Siobhan pulled up a stool. “Here, cailín,” she
scolded. “Yee’ve even got blood in yer hair.” She dunked Becca and then started
washing the younger woman’s hair.

“Oh, this is
heaven.” Becca closed her eyes, sighing.

When the water
cooled off, she reluctantly climbed out. Before Siobhan wrapped her in a thick
blanket, the woman checked her body closely. “Aye.
’
Tis good, cailín.
Yer hurts have all but healed.” She bustled about for a moment. “I’ve laid out
another gown for yee,” Siobhan said over her shoulder. “You’ll be hungry after
all that work and dinner will be served up soon. Come on down to the great hall
when yer dressed.”

Becca grimaced at
her, not wanting to put on the gown. “Siobhan, could you get me a pair of trews
and a shirt?” Siobhan snorted her answer to that question as she swept from the
room. “Well, it was worth a try,” Becca told the door. “Can I at least have
boots?” she hollered.

****

The next day dawned
bright with a promise of warmth and blue skies. Becca found a pair of soft
leather boots near the hearth. With a whoop of excitement, she pulled them on.
They fit perfectly. She finished dressing and headed down for breakfast.

Anxious to get to
the stables to check on Maggie and her new son, Becca gobbled down her meal.
She ran to the stables but stopped short. Mare and colt were in the paddock,
mother chewing the greening grass contentedly while the baby tried out his
wobbly legs with an occasional nudge from his dam. Becca felt the joy build
inside her as she watched them.

The huge horse
master joined her. “And have yee come to hold me to my promise, cailín?”

“Aye, I have.”

“Come around to the
back, then. I had some horses brought up from the field. Some is broken, some
is not.”

Becca trailed him
through the stables and in a pen at the back of the stable, a small herd of
horses milled about but the horse in a second pen caught her eye. Jet black,
his coat reminding her of Ciaran’s hair. A man Becca hadn’t seen before tried
to halter the horse. He wasn’t having much luck. The horse reared and danced
out of his reach whenever he got close. He tried again and the horse laid back
his ears, nipping at the man. Without success, Eachan tried to draw her
attention to the docile horses in the next pen. Becca remained fixated on the
little drama playing out before her.

Becca stared at the
man in the pen. Almost as tall as Ciaran and about the same age, he was sunset
to Ciaran’s midnight. Auburn hair blazed like fire in the sun, and his amber
eyes glinted with flecks of gold. He had the body of a horseman—long, muscular
legs, narrow hips, broad shoulders with strong arms and hands.

“Why does he
approach from the front?” Becca wondered aloud. “He should come from the side
where the horse can see him.”

“And why would that
be, cailín?” Eachan asked.

Becca gave him a
look that implied he was dense. “A horse can’t see straight ahead,” she
explained. “If he can, you don’t want him because he’s too narrow between the
eyes. You have to come up on his side, where he can see you, so you don’t spook
him. Waving your arms about like he’s doing, why that’s utter nonsense.”

The man stared at
her, his eyes narrowed in speculation. She refused to acknowledge what his leer
suggested.

Glancing at his
audience, the man in the pen noticed the wisp of a cailín standing with the
horse master. Tall and well made, her hair was spun gold in the sunshine, and
her eyes were as blue as the water in Galway Bay. Her appearance created a
familiar tightening in his trews. He’d been gone for over a month, away when
the
ard fhias
came. Niall had sent him out to survey the outlying farms
and fields, looking for likely candidates to train as soldiers and more
importantly, to find the best horses. Riordan had just returned, and chafing at
having missed the
ard fhias
, he planned on breaking several horses while
he waited for Ciaran and the troops to return. Now, as he looked the cailín up
and down, he considered a ride of another sort, glad for the opportunity.

“Nonsense is it?”
the man in the pen growled. “And I suppose a mere slip of a cailín like you can
break a horse better?” He stomped toward them, angry that the girl dared mock
him, and the horse was getting the better of him in front of her.

“I suppose I can,”
Becca retorted, “because I don’t intend to
break
him, but gentle him.”

“Then do it,” he
snarled. Frustrated, he flung the halter at her.

Becca caught the halter
in midair and slipped through the rails on the pen before either man could
react. She waited until the stranger perched on the top rail to watch, gloating
at her. Becca harrumphed under her breath. She caught Eachan’s low chuckle and
took it for disdain.
Well, I’ll just show them,
she vowed. Squaring her
shoulders, she marched toward the nervous horse. Halfway to him, she stopped,
keeping her hands by her sides.

“Aye, and what a
wild boy, you are,” she whispered to him. The horse pricked his ears and tossed
his head. Becca stepped nearer, making sure she held his attention. “That nasty
man doesn’t have a clue, now does he,” she crooned. “We know that you and I are
going to be friends.” The horse nickered and stretched his nose toward her. She
reached for his shoulder and placed a gentle hand on the hard muscle there. The
horse blew softly, nibbling at the sleeve of her gown with velvet lips. “Aye,
just like a male, all soft lips and loving, aren’t you?” she whispered in his
ear. She carefully rubbed the rope halter against his shoulder, then his neck,
and then down his cheek. She let him sniff the rope before she slipped it over
the end of his nose and up behind his ears. He tossed his head, but didn’t try
to pull away from her. She patted his neck still murmuring sweet nothings to
him.

“Tell me, Eachan,”
she called over her shoulder, her voice still calm and soothing. “What do you
prize most when you’re breeding?” Her hands ran over the horse’s neck and
chest.

The man on the fence
choked, and Eachan pounded him on the back. “Easy, Riordan.” The older man
chortled. “
’
Tis no ordinary cailín you’re dealing with here,” he
explained to Ciaran’s lieutenant. “What do you mean, cailín?” the horse master
called to Becca.

“Beauty or spirit?”
she asked.

“Why both, cailín,”
the big man replied. “But if I can’t have both, then
’
tis spirit I
want.”

“Does that include
bad temperament?” she asked.

“Nay, cailín,”
Eachan answered. “I’ll not abide an ill-tempered horse.”

“Just so we’re in
agreement,” Becca told him. “Have you a bridle and saddle?”

Riordan jumped from
the fence to fetch the items. With deliberate steps, he carried them out where
the girl and the horse stood, not wanting to spook the animal. He stood just
behind her, fascinated as much by the view of her
tóin
as he was by her
ability with the horse. The gown she wore, though plain, emphasized her strong
back, tapering to her nipped-in waist, before draping over the soft curves of
her behind. Yes, he definitely wanted to get a better feel of her
tóin
,
thinking the curve of it would fit nicely in a man’s hands as he rode her.

“Lay them there,”
the girl told him with a point of her chin.

Riordan deposited
the saddle and laid the bridle across it. He was utterly intrigued by her now.
He withdrew slowly so as not to startle the horse.

Becca reached down
without breaking eye contact with the horse and snagged the bridle. As with the
halter, she rubbed it against his shoulder and neck before slipping it over his
head. The bridle held no bit. She much preferred a horse that would respond to
a hackamore than one forced because of the metal in his mouth. Letting the
reins trail in the dirt, she picked up the saddlecloth and let the animal sniff
it. Rubbing it along his neck and shoulder, she settled it into place across his
withers. She did the same with the saddle. Without tightening the girth, she
led him around the pen a few times, letting him get used to the weight and feel
of the saddle on his back. When the horse quit laying back his ears and shaking
his head, she slowly cinched the girth until it was tight. She led him around
before tightening the girth again, knowing most horses blow up so when they let
out their breath, the girth would be too loose.

Eachan chuckled, his
delight evident. The cailín knew her stuff. He’d never met a female who could
saddle her own horse, much less one who knew all horses were wise to the way of
the saddle and would take advantage of the unwary.

He glanced at
Riordan and chuckled again. The man was positively flummoxed. Eachan had a
great deal of affection and respect for the younger man. Had Riordan not been
such a fine soldier, Eachan would have claimed him as his successor as horse
master.

Becca would have
given most anything to have on a pair of trews at that moment. Somehow, she
knew if she brought up the subject, there would be hell to pay from the rakish
man perched on the fence. She led the horse away so she could mount with the
horse between her and the two men. She checked the length of the stirrups and
figured out how to shorten them without having to ask Eachan.

Whispering to the
horse, Becca said, “Here’s the deal, my handsome friend. I don’t have a stitch
on under this bloody skirt, so you are going to be a quiet boy until I get
settled. Okay?”

Bunching up her
skirt, she put her foot in the stirrup and swung her other leg over the horse’s
back. Bracing her feet in both stirrups, she pulled and tugged until her skirt
formed a reasonable barrier between her bare bottom and the saddle. She took
great satisfaction in the sharp intake of breath from both men as she sank down
astride the horse and nudged him forward with her heels.

As soon as she
settled into the saddle, the horse tensed and bunched beneath her. At least
he’d given her time to get her skirt fixed. This was going to be a hellava
ride, and she hoped she was up to it. Being thrown head over heels in a gown
with no underwear on was not the way she wanted to start the day. The horse
ducked his head, pulling against the reins, and kicked both hind legs into the
air. Then he reared only to drop back down on all four hooves to crow hop
several times. Becca hung on, enjoying the challenge. The horse wasn’t truly
trying to buck her off. He was just trying her mettle.

Eachan and Riordan
jumped into the pen as soon as the horse started bucking. They thought to flank
the horse and rescue Becca. Then Eachan realized the girl was smiling. He laid
a hand on Riordan’s arm and pulled him back to the fence. “Let them be,” he
told the younger man. “I suspect the cailín is tougher than she appears.”

The horse finally
stood stock-still in the middle of the pen, head up, nostrils flaring and eyes
wild. Becca patted his neck as she leaned forward and whispered into his ear.
The horse quivered a moment then became so still it was as if he’d turned into
a statue. Carefully, Becca nudged him with her heels again. The horse walked
sedately. After several circles around the pen, Becca nudged him again using
heels and knees to urge the horse into a trot. She circled him around and
trotted the opposite direction. When he’d trotted nicely for several rotations,
she pushed him to a canter. He had an easy, collected gait, much like a rocking
chair. He carried his head low, and that was another trait Becca liked in a
horse.

Eachan turned to
Riordan. “She has a better seat and hands even than Ciaran,” he admitted.

“Aye,” Riordan
agreed. “A rare cailín indeed.” He made a slight adjustment to the front of his
trews.
A cailín most extraordinary, and one I’m looking forward to gentling
myself.

Becca made another
lap at the canter, longing to turn the horse loose for a headlong gallop but
she needed open countryside for that. She slowed him to a walk and with an easy
tug on the reins, stopped. Becca patted his neck, pleased with him. She stepped
down and led the horse over to where the men stood.

“And tell me,
cailín, just what did you whisper to him to make him behave?” Riordan asked,
his eyes twinkling with more than good humor.

A dimple appeared in
her cheek when she gave him a smile. “Why, I told him that if he ever wished to
see the ladies again, he’d best ease his temper.”