Free The Cursed Towers by Kate Forsyth Page B

bent, bow-legged old man sitting on a barrel. At the sight of Isabeau they fell back in confusion. Once they would have shouted ribald greetings, but now that they knew Isabeau was the Banrigh's sister, they bowed and touched their tam-o'-shanters and murmured shy courtesies.
    "Riordan!" she cried. "It's grand to see ye!"
    The old groom gave her a gap-toothed grin and waved away the others with a testy comment. Once the stable-hands had gone back to their work, he struggled to his feet, leaning heavily on his gnarled staff.
    "Grand to see ye too, my lassie. Sorry indeed I am to be calling ye away from your book learning, but I thought ye might like to ken the lairds are taking out a hunting party to ride down a herd o' horses that's been running wild through yon Ban-Bharrach hills. They say a red stallion is leading the herd ..." Isabeau, following the old man into his quarters beside the carriage house, stopped with an exclamation. Riordan Bowlegs looked back at her with a knowing grin on his wrinkled face. "Aye, if I remember rightly, ye often came back to Rhyssmadill wi' red hairs on your skirt after one o' your trips into the forest, no' to mention a strong smell o' horse."
    The apprentice witch sat down by Riordan's fire with a troubled expression on her face. "I wonder if it is La-sair," she murmured.
    "Is that your horse?" he asked. "The one ye used to ride?"
    "Aye," she answered, "though he is no' mine. He is a free horse." He nodded wisely. "Ye sound like a thigearn when ye say that. They too think o' horses as friends and colleagues, no' slaves to their will. The Righ's cavalry master does no' think so, though, and ye ken the Righ, Ea bless his heart, needs horses for his army. They ride out tomorrow at dawn wi' whips and ropes to capture them and mean to break them this week."
    "I canna let them do that," Isabeau said, distressed.
    "I canna see how ye can stop them," Riordan replied. "They need the horses, and the red stallion has been stealing mares from the farms for his herd and breaking into barns in search o' oats and corn. They say he is a rogue indeed."
    "I must warn him," Isabeau said, getting to her feet.
    He glanced at her quickly. "Obh obh! It's talking to the horses, are we?" She nodded. "Lasair is my friend. I promised him he'd never again be subject to whip or spur."
    "But that is the way o' the world, lassie," Riordan said, troubled. "The cavalry master will be angry indeed if ye stand in his way—it's a fine herd o' mares the stallion has gathered together and we need them for the war. I have a better thought. If ye and the stallion have a connection, why do ye no' ride out wi' us in the morn and speak to him? It's hard pickings in the mountains this winter and here we have hay and corn. Happen he'll be happy to bring the mares in and that'd save us all a might o' trouble." Isabeau hesitated. Already an early dusk was dropping, bringing with it a flurry of sleet. She had been up since before dawn and she had no wish to ride out into the chill darkness in search of the stallion, even if she could persuade the head groom to lend her a pony. Under her arm was the book Daillas had lent her, and her inclination was to curl up with it by her fire. So she nodded and agreed, hoping Lasair would not find her arrival with a mob of men a betrayal.
    Isabeau and the stallion had been friends and comrades from the time she had first seen him in the Sithiche Mountains, soon after she had set out alone from the secret valley where she had grown up. The chestnut stallion had helped her rescue Lachlan the Winged from the Awl and had carried her willingly in her desperate flight to Rhyssmadill with one third of the Key that Meghan now wore at her breast. They had always understood each other easily, and had achieved that deeper level of communication normally reserved for witches and their familiars. There was some strange link between them that kept the stallion near her, despite his hatred of men and his