Chapter Five

“Again.”

Baniti grabbed Asad’s reins and jerked his head. “I believe a rest is in order.”

Christian clamped down on his back teeth and glared at his trainer. “He has to be ready. The race is fast approaching, and he is still struggling with his breaks.”

Tugging on the knot of his cravat, he fought the piece of linen until it was balled in his hand. Shoving it into his coat pocket, he removed that garment as well and looped it over the rail post. He spun to face Baniti, his hands planted on his hips. “Why does the blasted red flag still spook him? It’s been waved in front of his face for months.”

“Good thing he’s not a bull,” William murmured under his breath, but Christian heard him all the same. A snort of surprise rose in his throat.

Baniti interjected, “I do not know. And so far, he has not told me. But what I do know is that he needs a rest. He’s fought William at the line the last three breaks, and the more irritable he gets, the less he pays attention to commands. We do not want him to hurt the lad. Or himself.”

Swiping at the air, Christian jerked away. For the umpteenth day in a row, they were at the track working through Asad’s starts. The stallion was regularly defeating the other horses Baniti and he pitted him against, but he continued to stumble through his breaks. He sidestepped, reared, and started when he needed to burst away like a ball from a cannon. The competitors he would meet at the Guineas were in a league far above his paddock-mates, and they would take advantage of any hesitation at the line and turn it into victory. Grey Belles was a worthy contender, and continued to provoke Asad’s competitive nature, but the fleet-footed filly was no match for the powerful stallion.

Desperate for someone to recognize the importance of the moment, he looked up at William, who sat upon the beast. The lad had dutifully ridden Asad in every practice session and had handled every scare, every false start, every tantrum, every bucking attempt with patience and a firm hand. For such an effort, the lad deserved a say in the matter. “Do you agree? Does he need a rest, or do you think he has one more break in him?”

Surprisingly, William did not look to Baniti, as he expected. Instead, the lad stared at Christian, his eyes glazed over in thought. Running his hand over Asad’s shoulder, he finally shook his head. “Let’s give him one more go.”

His trainer tossed up his hands and grumbled, but still he grabbed the reins and led the horse to the line. He stared at William as he raised the red flag. Sliding his gaze to Christian, Baniti dropped it in one fluid motion.

Asad flew back on his hind legs, his whinnies distressed and agitated. As he pawed the air with his hooves, William’s hat flew off, and strands of long hair were yanked free from his queue. The young man held the reins firmly, his legs clenched tightly about the animal’s flanks to maintain his seat. He showed no fear, only a calm assurance that eventually succeeded in gaining the upper hand.

Once Asad returned all four hooves to the ground, William scowled. “Well, that was rude.”

A bark of laughter echoed about them, and it took Christian a moment to realize it was his. “Indeed.” Grasping Asad by the bridle, he forced the horse to meet his gaze. The animal’s eyes were round and hard. “What happened to your manners?”

“Manners?” Baniti huffed. “When have you ever been concerned about manners?”

William chuckled, which made Christian laugh anew. Damn, but their training schedule had left him exhausted.

“I hate to say I told you so, but…” Baniti took off his hat and dusted it. “I did. Isn’t it time you listened to me?”

“No one likes a know-it-all, Baniti.”

“Know-it-all?” The Egyptian man said the words slowly, acquainting his lips with the syllables. His mouth settled into a pleased half smile. “I like this term. I am happy to be a know-it-all, even if I am not liked. Know-it-alls win races, yes?” Not waiting for an answer, the older man strode away. “I’m off to the north barn.”

Kadar was healing nicely from his mishap the week prior, but Baniti and he kept a close eye on the beast. The surgeon had speculated that, if the leg healed cleanly, there was a chance the stallion could race again. Christian felt he owed Kadar the chance to try.

He extended the reins to William when he hopped off the horse. “Tell me about Banrigh.”

The young man fell into step beside him as they walked to the stables, Asad following close behind. “What would you like to know, my lord?”

Christian looked at him askance. “How did you come to own such a fine animal?”

“She was a gift.” He looked off to the side. “From my father.”

“He must come from means to gift you such a creature.”

“Do all Englishmen speak so openly of money?” The lad met his gaze for a brief moment before looking away again. “My lord.”

A retort instantly sprang to his tongue, but Christian bit it back. While he’d never had an employee speak to him with such derision, he was willing to admit that he’d probably deserved it.

“Perhaps if more Englishmen spoke so freely of finances, they wouldn’t be in such debt.” Catching the way the lad’s lip twitched, Christian chuckled. “I meant no offense. My job is to identify a prime bit of blood, and quality invariably translates to price. It took me all of five seconds to see that your black mare is quality. With a capital Q.”

“She would positively preen if she heard you say that.” Color rose high in the young man’s cheeks. “I’ve always been horse mad. I used to skip out on my tutors and hide in the stables, where I would happily muck out stalls, bathe horses, and run exercises all day long. When I turned sixteen, my father gave me Banrigh. She’s been my constant companion these last ten years.”

Christian raised his brow. Not many young men received their education from tutors.

“What does your family think of you working for me here at the Gardens?”

William’s pace faltered ever so slightly, which immediately piqued Christian’s interest. “They…they have not all been supportive. There are some who feel that horse racing is uncouth. There are some who no doubt feel I’ve forgotten my place. But I’m happy. This is what I have always wanted to do.”

Unexpectedly, the accusation Cedric spat at him before he left for France echoed like a pistol shot through his whole being. All you’ve ever wanted to do is race horses. Well, all I’ve ever wanted to do is paint. Why do you get to pursue your passion and I do not?

Shaking away the memory, Christian endeavored to smile. “I’m glad to hear it.” Stopping within the dim interior of the stables, he looked at the young man directly. “May I meet your mare?”

The lad blinked, his green eyes flummoxed. “Of course. But why?”

“Because I always enjoy meeting beautiful ladies.”

William stared at him until Christian felt the urge to step back, but the lad abruptly smirked. He whistled, and a young stablehand appeared. Handing over Asad’s reins, William said, “Make sure he’s rubbed down well, and then let him rest in the west paddock.”

Christian patted Asad’s flank as he was led away, earning a stinging flick of the tail as a reward. Chuckling at the stallion’s antics, he grabbed two apples from a basket and stashed them in his pocket. He hastened after William to the last stall on the right.

Stopping outside the stall door, William peered in, making a low clicking sound as he did so. A nicker was his response. “She can be a bit cantankerous with people she doesn’t know. She doesn’t like physical contact from strangers and she once bit…one of the grooms.”

His pause caught Christian’s attention. “Why?”

“Does it matter, my lord?”

Normally it wouldn’t. He understood there was a hierarchy amongst the stable staff, although he had not given it a great deal of thought other than to acknowledge its existence. But he genuinely liked William, and the lad’s words made discomfort simmer in his gut. “I find it does. What happened?”

William shrugged as he threw the latch on the door. “Let’s just say some grooms took offense that an outsider, and a Scot to boot, took the assistant trainer position over them.”

“Were you hurt?” The thought had Christian curling his hands into fists.

“Not much. I may look like easy prey”—a smile twisted William’s mouth—“but Banrigh and I know how to protect ourselves, don’t we, lass?”

The beautiful black mare immediately went to William, dipping her head and pushing it into his chest. Banrigh then ran her muzzle across the side of William’s face, knocking his hat off before propping her head on his shoulder. Christian suddenly found himself speared by the beast’s brown eyes, which were suspicious and alert.

They were a bonded pair, the horse a mere extension of the lad, like a well-loved limb. While he had no doubt that William and his Banrigh could fight their own battles, they shouldn’t have to do it in his stables. It was just another sign, along with the disrespect Baniti had endured, that winning the Guineas was not the only crucial task to be performed at Amstead Gardens.

Approaching slowly, he extended his arm, allowing the mare to sniff him. She continued to watch him warily as he reached into his coat pocket and extracted an apple. Holding his hand flat, he offered it to her. Banrigh considered him for a long moment, as if gauging his motivations, then quickly plucked the fruit from his palm.

“She’s immensely fond of apples.” William ducked from under her head and reached up to scratch her jaw. “She’s fond of all sorts of treats. Pears. Raspberry tarts,” he said with a smack to the mare’s shoulder.

“Only a fool fails to bring a gift when meeting a queen,” Christian said, scratching the horse’s glossy coat. As reward, the mare turned and sniffed his pockets. When she caught the scent of the second apple, she pressed her head into his side, apparently believing she could separate him from the treat. Christian chuckled, stepping back and out of her reach. The mare quickly advanced on him and he slipped the second apple out of his pocket, offering it to her as he admired her spirit.

…

She was in a bad way.

Flora could barely keep her mouth closed from shock as she watched her feisty mare play with the Marquess of Amstead. Banrigh was cautious and high-strung by nature. She viewed everyone with suspicion until she gradually grew accustomed to them and their presence within her realm. Niall had once called her a destrier and said he would not be surprised if she trampled her opponents like the warhorses of old. Flora was quite fond of that description.

It was no coincidence that she had placed the mare in the stall at the farthest corner of the stables. The marquess probably thought she’d done it to hide her presence. Really, Flora had known that her high-strung lass would settle in more smoothly away from the other horses and grooms.

And yet, Lord Amstead had been able to win her regard with an apple or two. Even now, Banrigh was nudging his chest and side with her head, on the hunt for more apples and intent on more scratches. The hussy.

“She’s a sweet girl.” The marquess laughed when the mare nuzzled his ear, knocking his hat off. “I thought you said she was mercurial.”

Banrigh nipped at his lobe and Flora couldn’t contain her laugh. “She is.”

Taking a step back and rubbing the offended ear, Amstead smiled. “I should have known better. She probably took that as a challenge.”

“No doubt.”

“Have you raced her?”

Flora dropped her gaze. “Just in village races. My family was not keen on me…exposing myself to that kind of environment.”

Actually, Niall worried for the family’s reputation if it became known the Duke of Kilmorow’s youngest daughter was competing in horse races throughout the Highlands. Her father, however, hadn’t seemed to mind that she and Banrigh were winning local contests…but then her father hadn’t cared about much since her mother died.

The marquess ran his hand over the mare’s shoulder, across her flank, and down her thigh to her hock. “She must have been magnificent as a two- and three-year-old. Her physique was bred for speed.”

“She was.” Flora smiled into Banrigh’s eye. “She’s still fast.”

“I’m curious,” Lord Amstead began, stepping back and crossing his arms over his broad chest. He didn’t look at her as he contemplated the black mare. “Would you allow a match race between her and Asad?”

Her stomach dropped as if she’d missed the last step on the way down the stairs. “You want Banrigh to race Asad?”

“I do. He’s beaten every other horse I have here, and while Grey Belles gives him a challenge, he knows now that he can beat her. Knowledge like that is powerful.” Amstead scratched under Banrigh’s chin. “Although I haven’t seen her run, I sense your mare will push him to the next level.”

He was right. Of course. Banrigh was the perfect opponent for Asad. She would not be intimidated by his arrogant presence, and she could out-tantrum him with her eyes closed. Plus, her lass was fast. In her heart, Flora knew Banrigh was not as swift as the dark bay stallion, but what she lacked in speed she more than made up for in confidence. And Banrigh could teach Asad a thing or two about confidence.

“Would you want me to ride her?” she asked.

“No. I want you to continue to ride Asad.”

A frown pulled down her lips. “Who will ride Banrigh?” The marquess and Mr. Mubarak were too tall and weighed too much to serve as jockeys.

Lord Amstead lifted a shoulder nonchalantly. “I was thinking Carson would be up for the task.”

“No!”

“Err…” The marquess blinked, his handsome face wrinkling in confusion. “That was rather emphatic.”

Flora lifted her chin as every muscle in her body tightened.

“I assume you have good reason for objecting.”

What was she to tell him? That the idea of that horrid man riding her beloved mare made red flash in front of her eyes? That she’d rather muck out every stall in the paddock with a spoon than allow that craven fellow within one foot of her girl?

Meeting his gaze, Flora saw she didn’t need to say anything.

“It was Carson, was it not? Who harassed you?” Lord Amstead rubbed a hand across the back of his neck. “Who is harassing you still, I gather.”

“He is not. We have come to an understanding.” A tenuous understanding that involved Flora threatening him with a horsewhip, but an understanding all the same.

“Very well. But if this understanding were to end, I’d expect you to tell me.” The marquess’s expression remained dark, but after considering her for a long moment, he finally nodded. “Now, who would you recommend ride your Banrigh?”

She glanced at her mare, like the beast would tell her. After a moment, the answer came to her. “David.”

“David?” He shook his head until comprehension dawned. “The bootblack?”

“He’s in the stables annoying the grooms and loving on the horses every chance he gets. Banrigh loves him.” Catching his cocked brow, she shrugged. “He brings her oatcakes.”

“Of course. We know how she likes her offerings.” He tilted his head. “But can David ride?”

Flora thought back to the times she taken the lad with her on rides about the Gardens. On more than one occasion, she’d let him ride Banrigh on his own and had marveled at his innate abilities.

Meeting Lord Amstead’s gaze, she nodded. “Definitely.”