Dark Witch (The Cousins O'Dwyer Trilogy #1)(45)

Her thrill, his thrill—the same. Glorious and entwined. Power, she realized, his and hers, spurred them both so that for an instant, just an instant more, she felt them both lift above the ground. Flying truly now, the wind whipping her hair, his mane.

As she laughed, Alastar bugled in triumph.

He’d been born for this, she realized. So had she.

“Easy,” she murmured. “We should stick to the ground. For now.”

The moment of flight, and now the joy of the gallop with a gorgeous horse under her blew away any worries. She let him set the speed—the stallion could move—turned with the river, then away, down a narrow path through the thick trees, and into the clearing where the stables spread behind a big jumping paddock.

Slowed him now—easy, easy—so she could catch her breath and look.

The house rose, gray stone with two fanciful turrets and many glinting windows. A pretty stone courtyard backed by a garden wall separated it from the garage and the rooms—Boyle’s—over it.

A second paddock cocked to the right. A trio of horses stood at the fence, gazing toward the trees as if in deep contemplation.

She saw men, trailers, trucks—lorries, damn it—a husky black four-wheeler.

It all looked, she thought, prosperous, practical, and fanciful at the same time. Slowing Alastar to a dignified trot, she aimed for the stables, then pulled him up when she heard her name called.

She spotted Fin—jeans, boots, that enviable leather jacket—wave her over toward the jumping paddock as he walked to it himself.

He opened the gate, gestured her in.

“Meara said you wanted to see me.”

“That I do.” He cocked his head, studied her with those sharp green eyes. “You’ve had some fun.”

“I . . . What?”

“You’re glowing a bit, as is our boy here.”

“Oh. Well. We had a good gallop over.”

“I’ll wager you did, and likely more, but in any case,” he continued before she could think how to respond, “I want to see how you and Alastar handle the course here.”

Little could have surprised her more. “You want me to take him over the course?”

“As I said.” He shut the gate, slid his hands into his pockets. “Take it as you please.”

She sat for a moment, studying the course. She’d have called the current layout intermediate. A couple of doubles, nothing tricky, and plenty of room for the approach.

“You’re the boss.” She nudged Alastar forward, circled him around, kicked him up to an easy lope.

She never doubted him—after all, they’d flown together. She felt him gather for the first jump. They sailed over it, approached the next, glided up and over.

“What are you about?” Boyle muttered to Fin as he came out. His hands were in his pockets as well, but his fingers curled.

Fin barely glanced over as Boyle stepped up behind him. “I told you I wanted to see what she’s about. I need to know. Reverse it, take him around again,” he called out.

He skimmed his gaze toward the woods. No shadows now but trees, but that would change. So he needed to know.

“You don’t need me here for this,” Boyle began.

“I’ve business over in Galway, as you know. One of us has to stay with her until we’re sure she can handle the lesson.”

“No need to use her for it.”

“No need not to, is there? Jesus, they’re silk, the pair of them. That horse is already hers. I find I’m jealous of that. He likes me well enough, but he’ll never love me as he does her. Sure, another crack for my heart.”

He gave Boyle a slap on the shoulder. “Meet me at the pub, I should be well done and back by eight. We’ll have a pint and a meal, and you’ll tell me how she fared. And we’ll have a second pint where your tongue might loosen enough for you to tell me what happened between you and the blond witch to put that brood in your eyes.”

“Two pints doesn’t loosen my tongue, mate.”

“We’ll go for three then. Well done, Iona. You’re a picture, the pair of you.”

“He was born for it.” She rubbed Alastar’s neck as she walked him over. “I’m just ballast.”

“You’re a unit. We’ve a new student due in a few minutes. She’s eleven, and she’s a steady rider, but she’s decided she wants to learn to jump. You’ll take her.”

“Take her where?”

“On. As instructor. You’ll earn part of the fee for the lesson. If it works well for both of you. Boyle will stay on to supervise this first lesson out, as I’ve business elsewhere.”

Fin watched her eyes track over to Boyle, then flick away again. “All right. What’s her name, and what mount do you want for her?”

“She’s Sarah Hannigan, and her mother will be along as well—that’s Molly. They’ll be saddling up Winifred, Winnie we call her. She’s a veteran. It’s thirty minutes today, the lesson. We’ll see how she likes it. If it’s on, you’ll work out times and days among you.”

“Sounds good. This is fine for now, but I’d prefer a jumping saddle next time I instruct.”

“Sure, we’ll fix you up. I’m off then. At the pub, Boyle.”