“Italy. My brother deals with a trader from there who dabbles in breeding. When the trader couldn’t pay, he offered to send the horse to close the debt.”

She bent over to rub Thunder’s neck. “Your brother is to be commended! I don’t know what the trader owed him, but Thunder was worth every guinea.”

Looking at Kat’s face, Devon realized that he would have paid twice the amount had the smile been for him and not his horse.

Devon wondered if Murien could even ride, and if she did, how she would compare to the effortless way Kat rode Thunder. No woman he knew had such a confident seat, and certainly none of them could have handled Thunder with such ease.

She sighed happily. “It has been so long since I had an opportunity to ride like this. I’m afraid I’m being rude, leaving you behind.”

“Nonsense,” he said, forgetting his ill feeling from a moment before. “Trusty and I were doing well on our own.” He had to admit that she’d given him a pretty animal in exchange for Thunder. They were no match in stride, of course, but the bay had a neat mouth and a steady pace. “This is a good animal.”

“Trusty is one of my favorites, though I fear riding your mount has spoiled me for all my horses. I shall have to sell them now.”

He grinned. “How many do you own?”

“More than I should,” she confessed ruefully, tucking a stray strand of hair behind one ear. “I felt rather decadent when I first began buying them, but I can afford them, so why shouldn’t I?”

“Why shouldn’t you, indeed.”

“Besides, having to keep them in grain helps me to get out of bed when the lads do. It’s a marvelous incentive.”

Devon chuckled. He’d never met a woman who paid her own way in the world. Not once. Previous to meeting Kat Macdonald, he’d always thought a woman who dabbled in trade would be brutally harsh and unfeminine. Instead he was finding that it added a pleasant aura of confidence.

She sent him a curious glance, her skin smooth as silk beneath the flicker of sun that broke through the trees. “How many horses do you own?”

He didn’t know for certain, so he shrugged and said, “Far more than I can ever ride.”

“Me, too. I am forced ask the lads to exercise the horses whenever they can.”

“The lads?” A smile quirked his lips. “Is that what you call them?”

“Aye,” she said. “That’s what they are.”

“Even Simon?”

“He’s the oldest lad.” An answering smile curved her mouth. “And as such, he is in charge of a great deal.”

“Including your virtue.”

The smile left her mouth. “No one is in charge of my virtue but me.”

“I think Simon would disagree with you. He glares at me every time I see him.”