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beaut, boyo. A fine thing, this colt. I tried to get your father to let me keep him here so as I could train him myself, but he would not hear of it. Maybe you can change his mind, Will. Padraig is a fine stockman, mind you, but he’s not a racehorse trainer.”
    “My father has it in his head to train the colt himself,” Will explained, watching Brock begin to examine the horse, raising each hoof so as to get a look at the condition of the animal’s feet.
    “Oh aye, I imagine so,” Antrim said with a sigh. “He’s trained a steeplechase winner or two in his day, I must admit. Not lately though….” A commotion broke out across the stable yard, causing the man to turn away. “Aw feck, I needs see to that,” he told Will. “I’ll be right back, boy. There’s a saddle over there if you care to ride the wee beastie.”
    “Thank you, I might do just that,” Will returned. As soon as the stable owner was out of earshot, he raised an eyebrow at Brock. “So what do you think, stable lad?”
    Brock grinned at him, and Will sucked in his breath at his body’s quick response. As no one was about, he reached over and stroked Brock’s cheek. The younger man turned his head and nuzzled his full lips against Will’s palm. Will trembled in response to the exquisite caress.
    “Well now, if this isn’t a grand altogether. Hallo, Willie,” a woman’s voice greeted. Will jolted in surprise and turned to find Ceara Kelly eyeing him coolly from only a few paces away. How had she gotten so close without making a sound? Will looked quickly to Brock, but the Traveller lad had ducked around the horse and was now moving to get a saddle off the rack.
    “I was going to say how I missed ye, Willie, and ask if you missed me, but I think I have my answer.” Ceara’s shrewd gaze cut into him as she pursed her lips in thought.
    There had been a time when Will had sought those lips, a time when his father’s wish for him to marry pretty-as-a-picture Ceara had been his dearest wish as well. But that was four years and a war ago. He was no longer young Willie O’Sullivan, though some would always call him that.
    “Ceara, I—” His voice sounded so rusty, he had to clear his throat and try again. “Ceara….”
    “Nay, don’t say anything you might regret.” Ceara waved her small, delicate hand in front of his face. Then she moved closer and touched Will’s lower lip lightly, her eyes drifting past him to where Brock stood cinching up the saddle. “No,” she said, her voice low and intimate. “Just be careful that no one else sees, Willie. There’s bad trouble all about. Folk are being rousted from their homes with nary rhyme nor reason. Don’t give them an excuse to come at ye, man.” She leaned in and kissed his cheek, then smiled and said loudly, “I look forward to seeing you again.”
    Will could do naught but stare at her dumbly as she turned from him and sauntered away.
    “Mister O’Sullivan,” Brock said softly, “your horse.” The big bay colt, now saddled and bridled, stepped fractiously. Looking past the animal, Will saw two men wearing dark military-style coats and khaki trousers had come up and were watching with interest.
    “Ah shite, I’d be mad to try and ride him. It’s been too long. You take him for a gallop, will ye?” he said with a nonchalant smile.
    Brock grinned. “Wise Gorgio ,” he said in a hushed voice. Will bent and offered his cupped hands and, when Brock stepped there, tossed him up into the saddle. Brock’s be-ringed fingers swiftly took up the slack in the reins as the colt jogged forward. With one quick look, Brock sought permission to move out. Will gave a nod, and Brock rode the horse from the yard and over to the downs where several lads were exercising their mounts.
    “A fine rider,” one of the men in green coat and khaki trousers commented, as they watched Brock go. “Traveller lad, is he not?”
    “Mhm,” Will admitted grudgingly.
    “Ah, a pity then. He’d