Free Treasure of the Celtic Triangle by Michael Phillips

antics, Grey Tide munched away on the grass at her feet and from a bale of hay Steven had provided.
    Florilyn spent most of the day sitting on a low bench on one side of the enclosure, watching every move the little foal made. Steven’s words had plunged deep into her heart. If she had not actually saved the little colt’s life, that she may have helped in a small way to do so gave her a feeling that she had never had before. She would always feel a special bond with this little horse. She imagined that perhaps Nugget felt it, too.
    Many times throughout the day, as he became used to her sight and smell where she sat calmly watching, he wandered over for brief sniffing visits. He took one of several naps of the afternoon at Florilyn’s side, sleeping peacefully as Florilyn gently stroked his neck and back.

T WELVE
    Over His Head
    C ourtenay pondered Litchfield’s offer for several days. The thought that with a mere signature on a piece of paper he could raise a sum of badly needed cash sent him into a near frenzy of anticipation to move the thing forward with all possible haste. Realistically, however, how much good would a paltry hundred and sixty pounds do him? It would only bring him forty pounds immediately, with the remainder not coming until he was twenty-five. Selling the man twenty acres was hardly the solution he needed.
    Forty pounds!
Courtenay thought. It was a laughable amount. He had burned through more than that in a week on the continent! It would do nothing to resolve his financial predicament.
    Perhaps the man was making a fair offer. For all he knew, five pounds might be the going rate for acreage. But the language in the man’s letters sounded as if money was the least of his problems. If he was a wealthy man, as he said, why not call his bluff and push him to the limit? There was no reason to part with a portion of the estate unless it put him in a significantly stronger financial position. He might be able to get double, perhaps triple, what Litchfield had put forward.
    When he began his next letter to London, Courtenay knew he was running a risk. He might shove the man away. But in his gut, he doubted it. The fellow obviously wanted the land. Well then, let him jolly well pay for it. He could play the game, too. He would show the Londoner that he wasn’t dealing with some country bumpkin.
    Lord Litchfield
, he began,
    While I appreciate the offer set out in your last letter, I really could not possibly entertain the thought of selling land that has been in our family for centuries for less than ten pounds an acre for one thousand acres. I would not want you to interpret this as a commitment to that figure. But that is certainly the minimum I would look at
.
    If you are interested in submitting a more realistic offer, I will entertain it. Otherwise, I will consult my financial advisors with the aim of presenting you a counter proposal
.
    Should you choose to submit an alternative offer, I would also want to receive no less than one-third in payment upfront, with two-thirds to be paid at the finalization of the sale
.
    Yours faithfully,
Courtenay Westbrooke
    Litchfield read the communication and smiled. His ploy had worked to perfection. He doubted the boy even had any financial advisors. He was in over his head and had no idea who he was dealing with.
    Litchfield knew he would probably have gone as high as fifty pounds an acre to the boy’s father. Now here they were quibbling about price in the vicinity of ten!
    The five-year wait appeared to have been well spent. It looked like he might get his land for a fraction of what he might have laid out for the project earlier.
    Mr. Westbrooke
,
    I see that your father raised his son to be as shrewd as he was himself. You are an able negotiator and, as the saying goes, drive a hard bargain. As you have me at a disadvantage, since it is your land I desire to purchase and no other, it would seem that I have no alternative but to yield to your terms
.
    The