Dark Witch (The Cousins O'Dwyer Trilogy 1)
“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.”
As Fin strode off, Iona glanced down at Boyle, watched him shift his weight. “So?”
“I’ll see Winnie’s saddled.”
When he turned toward the stables, Alastar butted Boyle hard with his head.
“Alastar! Sorry,” she said immediately, and bit down hard on the gurgle of laughter that wanted to escape. “Don’t be rude,” she told the horse, and leaning over to his ear added, “even if it’s funny.”
She dismounted, looped the reins around the fence. “Wait here. Can I see your Darling?” she asked Boyle.
“My what?”