“I saw it as he was first brought from the stables, although he seems fine now.”

They started down a winding path that led down a great stretch of lawn to the back of the castle. The grass was still a tender pale green, a May green.

Josie tried hard not to think about how far it was from the broad back of her mount to the ground. Annabel’s horse was twice the height of hers, and of a muscled, sleek type that filled her with terror. But it didn’t matter how many times she compared her plump little pony to Annabel’s great mount; she was still stiff with terror, and the pony knew it. He was expressing his disregard for her by bending his head and taking bites of grass, no matter how sharply she pulled on his reins.

Ewan and Mayne had reached the edge of the lawn, stopping at a path that wound down and around a river. “This is a lovely stretch for a race,” Ewan called back.

Suddenly Josie realized this was a perfect opportunity.

“Mayne!” she cried. He turned around.

“Yes?”

“Help me off this horse,” she said. “Please.”

Thankfully he didn’t make any jokes about the pony being nearly her height, or anything of that nature, just jumped off his own horse and helped her to the ground. “I was right,” Josie said to Annabel, walking over to her. “Do you see how Sweetpea is shifting his legs? He’s a little saddle sore. But look”—she reached into her pocket—“I brought along the salve. Mayne, if you would help Annabel to the ground, I could—”

But Ardmore was there before Mayne could move, reaching up to Annabel. Josie didn’t watch them. She just moved over to Sweetpea and loosened his straps.

Mayne came to her shoulder. “I thought you were afraid of horses,” he said.

Sweetpea was trying to lip some of her hair, and Josie gave him an affectionate little push. “How could anyone be afraid of a horse?” she said absentmindedly. Now she was reaching up under the saddle and rubbing the wintery-smelling salve into Sweetpea’s back, saying a little mental apology as she did so.

“Well, you’re riding a pony,” Mayne persisted. “What are you putting on Annabel’s mount, may I ask? That is not saddle salve. It doesn’t smell right.”

Josie glanced over his shoulder, but Annabel and Ardmore weren’t paying any attention to them. Annabel was looking at the ground, and Ardmore was looking at her.

“Hush,” Josie said to Mayne.

“Do you know that before I met the Essex sisters, no one ever told me what to do?” he said. His voice was incredulous.

Josie tightened the saddle, and then Mayne’s hands came over hers and pulled the saddle even tighter.

“Whatever you’re doing,” he muttered, “I’m sure it’s not something of which I’d approve.”

“Likely not,” she said, giving him a wide smile. She almost ran back to her pony, but then she had to wait for Mayne to put her up on its back.

Ardmore lifted Annabel on her horse with a flattering show of attention. Of course he was in love. All the man needed was a bit of a shock to realize it.

Josie clapped her hands. “Let’s have a race!” she cried. “It wouldn’t be fair to put Ardmore against Mayne, since Ardmore rides his own mount, so it will have to be Lord Ardmore against you, Annabel.”

“Me?” her sister said, settling herself in the sidesaddle again.

“Of course, Ardmore must have a handicap,” Josie said. “You’re riding sidesaddle, after all.”

“But she’s riding Sweetpea,” Ardmore put in. “Sweetpea won the Parthenon Cup a few years ago, didn’t he?”

Annabel nodded. “Papa only gave him to me once it became clear that his ankle would never be the same.”

“Well, I’m sure Sweetpea could manage a small race,” Ardmore said. “For a forfeit, perhaps?”

Josie wasn’t sure why that question had such significance, but Annabel looked taken aback. Sweetpea was shifting uneasily, dancing on his long legs as if he were longing to run.

“All right,” Annabel said finally.

“Annabel takes a start of fifty meters,” Josie said, thinking that should be just about the right distance.

And it was. Sweetpea melted into a smooth gallop, only to rear straight in the air thirty feet ahead of them, his front shoes cutting curlicues in the air as if he thought to topple over backward.

Despite herself, Josie gasped. It was her idea of a nightmare. But Annabel was a consummate horsewoman, adjusting to Sweetpea’s pawing, fidgeting leaps as if they were a normal occurrence.

“What the hell!” Mayne said, and then suddenly Josie remembered that she should be watching the Earl of Ardmore, not her sister.

Her heart sank. Ardmore didn’t look in the least terrified. He hadn’t galloped forward to catch Annabel’s reins, nor did he show any signs of wishing to help her. Why, Annabel could have been thrown off and broken her neck, for all the effort the man was making. He was just sitting there on his horse, his eyes alight with appreciation—she could see that—but with no more alarm than if he were watching a circus performance.

“Oh, no!” Josie gasped. “My poor sister will be thrown to the ground. She might be killed!”

Ardmore gave her a rather sweet smile. “I know you’re afraid of horses,” he said kindly, “and so this must seem terrifying to you—”

Josie didn’t see how it could be viewed in any other way. No sooner did Sweetpea touch his front hooves to the ground than he whinnied and spiraled back up on his back legs, and nothing Annabel was doing seemed to calm him.

“But as you can see,” Ardmore continued, “your sister is a consummate horsewoman. She’s in no danger whatsoever.”

“Of course she is!” Josie said crossly.

But Ardmore just sat on his horse, smiling, until Josie couldn’t take it any more and shouted at Mayne, “Do you go and save her, then!”

At which point Ardmore easily cantered forward. But just then Annabel managed to keep Sweetpea to the ground long enough to jump down from her mount. So when Ardmore arrived, she was holding Sweetpea’s head down and scolding him.

Poor Sweetpea. He was obeying her, even though his ears were twitching madly.

A moment later Ardmore had the sidesaddle off and Sweetpea was rolling gratefully on the new grass.

Mayne cleared his throat. “I gather you made a mistake in the ointment you applied?”

“I must have done so,” Josie said gloomily.

Thirty-four

An hour later they all walked their horses back across the green meadow. Great washes of noise were spilling from the courtyard on the far side of the castle. They rounded the corner and stopped. The courtyard was full of people, hailing each other, shrieking over other people’s heads. The sound was matched by color, great swathes of bright red and orange plaid, with darker green patches here and there.

“Interesting,” Ewan said, handing his horse to a groomsman. “My grandmother seems to have summoned the Crogans. The men are here; I assume the women are following in carriages.”“Who are they?” Josie asked.

“A neighboring clan, and a boisterous lot,” he replied. Josie could have seen that for herself. The men milling around the courtyard looked drunk, to her eyes.