Page 78 of The Scald Crow
“Aye, the Irish Draught, when bred with a thoroughbred, produces some of the finest sports horses in all the world,” I recalled my father and the hours he spent analyzing breeding records. I continued down the one-way and nosed into rush hour traffic.
“You must have a lot of property, then?” She looked confused.
“Aye, meadowland, coursing the sea.” Gunning the motor, I left the town behind, following the familiar roads toward the coast.
“Yes, that’s right. You live near the sea. I don’t remember seeing horses. I remember little of anything. Jet lag, I guess.” She rubbed her forehead and winced.
I gazed into those sparkling silver pools, sure of only one thing—I was a drowning man. Holding my head above water had become my only priority. Her presence overpowered everything and everyone. I couldn’t stay away. I thought of nothing else. She was an illicit drug. Logical thought left me the day we met.
“Do you intend to answer the question?” Her braided locks tumbled like a waterfall over her shoulders. She rested her hands on her lap.
“Which one?” I drove leisurely through a tunnel of blue hydrangeas, followed by swaths of ragged robins dancing in the afternoon breeze, fingered petals blooming vibrant pink.
She looked away, extending her hand out the open window, her beautiful face expressing pure wonder.
Calla had no idea that a madman hunts for her. I hid that information from her, thinking I could protect her from the danger. Glancing sideways, I questioned my decision. She was not a woman to be controlled. I couldn’t keep her under lock and key or shadow her every move. I could try, but I would likely fail. I sighed inwardly. Protecting her meant sharing the brutal honesty of the situation. Leaving her in the dark was perilous and downright stupid. I would tell her—later.
“Here we are. This is Clonmara.” At the end of a long driveway, a two-story white clapboard house sat on a cliff overlooking the sea—a surrounding patchwork of green meadows dove down steep banks onto the rocky shore below. I saw the rugged beauty through her eyes.
“Wow. This is amazing.” She slammed the car door shut and left me, striding one step after another toward the horses grazing in one of the farthest pastures. She showed no trepidation.
I threw my hand over my eyes, blinded by the sunshine.
“They can be skittish, Calla. Be careful.” I picked through piles of dung, following her silhouette through the green meadow.
The lead horse lifted his head, tossing his long mane. He flared his nostrils, inhaling her scent. Leaving his herd, he trotted toward her.
I watched, in awe, as she extended her hand, her palm radiating sunshine.
The horse cantered around her in a wide arc, stopped, and pawed the ground.
I swallowed hard, fear closing my throat.
The wind howled, lifting the sea. I turned, stunned by that wild force. The waves scraped the sky, fell, then rose again. But they were not waves. They were dark and dangerous and not of this world.
White horses, magnificent in stature, emerged from the turbulent froth, leaving their sea home and galloping one hundred strong. Thundering hooves. Whinnying screams. Beautiful beasts from the underworld circled their queen.
I rubbed my eyes, but the vision remained. I had seen nothing like it, not in my wildest dreams.
“Hello, big boy. What’s your name?” She skimmed the stallion’s brow with a feathered touch.
“He likes you,” I whispered as the shadowy figures faded into the dark waters.
“Horses like me.” The stallion lowered his head and nuzzled Calla’s chest.
“This is Jack.” I sidled up to her, my hands in my pockets. The stallion proved hard to handle, a challenge most days, yet the horse had loved my father.
“Jack? Well, hello, Jack. Aren’t you a handsome fellow?” She stroked the crest of his powerful neck.
“Shall we tack up and explore the caves?” I searched the sky, estimating the remaining hours of daylight.
“The caves?” She expressed interest, her smile quick.
“Yes. Not far from here.” I clucked my tongue at a white mare named Jezebel, who returned my call with a soft nicker.
Jack trailed behind Calla.
“I’m not wearing riding boots, Jack. You’re going to be nice to me, okay?” Calla murmured in Jack’s ear.
