Shadows and Light

together?” Liam asked.
    “I don’t tolerate bad manners.”
    From man or horse, Liam concluded, biting his tongue to keep from saying anything else to fill the silence.
    Then the wind shifted just enough for the horses to catch the scent of the two men. Suddenly they were all in motion, cantering in a large circle as if to show off their paces. Two of them veered away from the rest, headed toward the men, wheeled, and galloped to the far end of the pasture.
    Two more broke away from the circle, moved off a ways and began grazing. One by one, the young stallions lost interest in the men until only one, a bay, trotted toward Liam.
    Slipping his hand in his pocket, Liam brought out one of the lumps of sugar, loosely clasped in his fist.
    The stallion came forward more slowly now.
    Hoping to hide the sugar from Ahern, Liam cupped his hand and held it out. “Hello, lad,” he said quietly. “Come to make friends?”
    The stallion was quite willing to make friends with a man who offered sugar. While the horse took the treat, then licked Liam’s palm to get the loose grains of sugar, Liam petted him and kept talking.
    “You’re a fine-looking lad, aren’t you?” Liam said. “A very fine lad.”
    The stallion nodded, then nipped at the pocket of Liam’s coat.
    Liam gently pushed the horse’s muzzle away from the pocket. The horse gave him a shove that was less than gentle.
    “You’d best give him the other lump of sugar before he knocks you down,” Ahern said, walking toward them.
    Feeling his face heat, Liam gave the horse the other lump of sugar.
    Ahern studied Liam and the bay. Then he nodded. “You’ll do for him. His name is Oakdancer.
    Come along now. There’s work to be done before the two of you leave here.”
    Liam thought the old man had meant settling on a price or taking care of paperwork. Instead, he found himself in the training ring for the rest of the day while Ahern put man and horse through their paces.
    By the time they left Ahern’s farm two days later, he and Oakdancer were comfortable with each other, and the old man’s parting words, “He trusts you as a rider,” were the finest compliment he
    ’d ever received.
    His father had sneered when he brought the stallion home....
    “Oakdancer? What kind of name is that for a horse?”
    .. . but Liam had been astute enough to see the envy in the old baron’s eyes.
    The stallion, on the other hand, had hated the old baron on sight. Had hated Flint and the rest of the stable men. For that first year, Liam had taken care of Oakdancer, since the horse wouldn’t tolerate the other men—until Arthur showed up one day, a pale, starving youth who was looking for any kind of work. He had an almost magical touch when it came to horses, and Oakdancer responded to him as if they’d been friends their whole lives.
    “Here he is, Baron,” Arthur said, leading Oakdancer out of the stables.
    “Thank you, Arthur,” Liam replied. He mounted, took a moment to test the feel of the saddle. No, there was no need to tighten the girth. There never was with this horse.
    Arthur stepped back, brushed a finger against an imaginary cap brim, then retreated inside the stables.
    Liam kept the stallion to an active walk until they were away from the house and stables. The moment he eased the reins a little, Oakdancer lifted into an easy canter that swiftly changed to a gallop.
    They flew over the land, and for a few short minutes, Liam’s world narrowed to the horse beneath him, the wind in his face, and the land that rose up and flowed away.
    Then they reached Willow’s Brook—and the bridge.

    Oakdancer pricked his ears and dashed for the bridge.
    Liam sat deep in the saddle and reined the resisting horse to a halt.
    Oakdancer tossed his head. Snorted. Stamped a foot.
    That bridge, Liam thought as he studied the stones that looked as if they’d come together on their own accord to span the brook. What is on the other side of that damn bridge?
    The Old Place. A place his father had forbidden him to set foot, threatening disinheritance as well as a beating if Liam ever disobeyed. A bad place, his father had said. No place for good, decent men.
    If what Elinore said was true, his father had crossed that bridge at least once. Of course, he doubted if anyone in this county thought his father had been a good, decent man.
    The Old Place. The home of the witches—the women he had to come to terms with, somehow, if he was going to prevent his mother from