The Prince of Midnight by Laura Kinsale

Author:Laura Kinsale [Kinsale, Laura]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Romance, Historical
ISBN: 9781402246869
Google: 3u49Zd7GtisC
Amazon: 1402246862
Barnesnoble: 1402246862
Goodreads: 910688
Publisher: eReads.com
Published: 1990-12-01T00:00:00+00:00

S.T. watched her climb the gate and walk out into the center of the pen. He hardly knew why he'd insisted on this. He could work the horse faster and better; he itched to do it, to help the belligerent, brutalized animal learn mat a man was something it could trust.

But she thought he was a sham. She thought it was all luck. Too easy to just go out there and tame this rogue for himself—he wanted her to experience it right down to her toes. He wanted her to fail. And then he could show her.

He wasn't afraid for her safety. The "rogue" wasn't past reclaim. It wasn't heart-deep vicious—just a smart, hot-blooded stallion that had been badly mishandled and discovered every trick to thwart anyone who'd tried to master it. Gelding the animal had been a crime and an abominable waste, but these phlegmatic British never could seem to deal with stallions. They had to cut every animal in sight and harness it to a carriage.

At least Hopkins or some other fool hadn't docked its tail. Likely couldn't throw the beast down long enough.

There was no threat now in the horse's pricked ears and rhythmic snort as it stared at Leigh. It felt itself free—or free enough, for the moment—and warily curious. There was still dark, dried blood smeared on its face and flecked across its chest. It looked as if it hadn't been groomed in weeks; mud spatters and grass stains marred the pale coat, but for all that, it was still the loveliest brute he'd seen since he'd lost Charon. It had stood out in the fair like a grubby Galahad amid the rabble.

S.T. spoke to Leigh in an even tone. "You want to stay a little behind him when you make him move." The horse flicked an ear toward the sound of his voice. "When you ask him to turn, take a step into his path, use the whip and your voice, but give him plenty of room. If you fear he's going to run you down, get out of the way. Don't corner him. And don't just stand there as if you've been planted. Move him on, now."

She was awkward at it, getting her feet tangled in the whip for a moment before she managed to make it snap. The horse jumped and stood its ground, still staring at her.

"Move him," S.T. repeated. "Show him the drill sergeant's got here now: he can't just slouch around and do anything he likes. He's got to move, and you've got to tell him which way."

She took a step toward the animal's rump, snapping the whip with a motion that didn't quite result in a real crack. But the big gray got the notion. He gathered his haunches and took off running, careening around the paddock at a breakneck pace.

After several minutes of this pounding gallop, S.T. realized she wasn't going to do anything. He raised his voice over the pumping sound of the horse's breathing.

"Make him turn.

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