Free Storm and the Silver Bridle by Stacy Gregg

“Angel has a temperament that matches his name. He is a sweetheart. I ride him all the time and he is very fit. Although,” she added, “he may be a little fresh. I have not ridden him for two weeks.”
    Angel was indeed fresh. The stallion fought against Issie’s grasp as they rode out into the courtyard, cantering on the spot with eagerness as she held him back.
    “Follow me!” Francoise called over her shoulder as she pressed Marius on into a canter and set off across the courtyard towards the wrought-iron gates at the entrance of the hacienda. Issie followed, but she was still holding Angel back to a trot, afraid of the speed the stallion had in him.
    Angel was sixteen-two, the same height as Destiny,but he was much more muscular, with a broad neck and powerful haunches typical of his Spanish breed. Issie could feel the incredible strength this horse possessed, and it scared her. What would happen if she let the stallion get his head? She gripped the reins tight in her fists as they cantered out of the gates, holding Angel back as they trailed behind Marius.
    “Are you OK?” Francoise looked back over her shoulder as she cantered on.
    “Uh-huh,” Issie nodded. She was still holding Angel back tightly.
    “Let him have his head a little,” Francoise said. “You can trust him.”
    Issie realised at that moment how she must look up there on Angel’s back, her mouth held rigid with fear, hands stiff with nervous tension. She took a deep breath and did as Francoise said, relaxing her shoulders, softening her hands and releasing the reins a little. She was amazed when Angel didn’t suddenly bolt off. He relaxed too and fell into a steady stride alongside Marius.
    “Good boy!” Issie gave him a slappy pat. She sat up in the saddle and looked around her, beginning to enjoy the ride, taking in the beauty of the El Caballo estate. It was beyond gorgeous here, the fields full of mares andtheir foals, grazing or sheltering from the heat under the low-hanging boughs of the olive trees.
    They cantered on, heading towards the rocky foothills at the rear of the estate, and as the ground underfoot began to get rocky Francoise pulled Marius up to a trot. “The footing is rough from here on,” she said. Then she pointed at the hills ahead where bare, grey boulders marked the entrance to a narrow gorge. “We go through here,” she said. “Follow me. It gets very narrow at certain points, only wide enough for us to ride in single file, but do not worry, the horses know this path well. It leads to the higher pasture, El Caballo land where the mares and stallions graze when grass is scarce during the dry months.”
    Francoise clucked Marius on and Issie followed behind. The sheepskin saddle was so comfy she tried riding a sitting trot instead of rising up and down and found it to be quite easy. Angel’s trot was floaty, which helped a lot. She was already getting a feel for the stallion’s paces, and she was sure that the horse was beginning to understand her aids too, listening to her cues. She could see Angel’s ears swivelling back and forth, a sign that he was paying attention to her, as they negotiated their way through the gorge.
    Not that Angel had any choice but to keep moving straight ahead. The gorge was narrow, with sheer rockface rising high on either side. Nothing grew here in the pale chalky soil except for a few tufts of tussock sticking out of the cliffs. Issie looked up and saw the gap between the cliffs above her and a thin river of blue sky floating over her head. Then she lowered her eyes to the front once more, her gaze set on Francoise’s back as they rode on.
    “It is not much further to the other side,” Francoise called over her shoulder, anticipating Issie’s question. And then, a few moments later, the narrow path became wider again and they were clear of the gorge and out the other side once more with flat, dry pasture stretching out in front of them.
    Francoise pulled Marius to a halt.