Fifteen minutes later, the horse gave up and stood with his shaking legs spread, his head down, and his lathered sides heaving. Daemon was sweat-soaked and shivering from exhaustion, and slightly amazed that his arms were still in their sockets.

When Daemon gathered the reins once more, Demon laid back his ears, prepared for the next round. Curious about what would happen, Daemon turned them toward the tree and urged the horse onward.

Demon’s ears immediately pricked forward, his neck arched, and his step became high-spirited sassy.

Daemon didn’t offer any aids, letting the horse do whatever he wanted. Demon circled the tree over and over, sniffing the air, alert and listening…and growing more and more upset. Finally the stallion bugled angrily and launched himself toward the path and the field.

Daemon didn’t try to control him until they headed for the ditch. He won that battle—barely—and when Demon finally slowed down, too tired to fight anymore, Daemon turned him toward the stable.

The stable lads stared openmouthed as Daemon rode into the yard. Andrew quickly limped up and took the reins. Guinness shook his head and strode across the yard, grasped Daemon’s arm as he slid wearily from the saddle, and led him to the small office beside the tackroom.

Pulling glasses and a bottle from his desk, Guinness poured out a two-finger shot and handed it to Daemon. “Here,” he said gruffly, pouring a glass for himself. “It’ll put some bone back in your legs.”

Daemon gratefully sipped the whiskey while rubbing the knotted muscles in his shoulder.

Guinness looked at Daemon’s sweat-soaked shirt and rubbed his bristly chin with his knuckles. “Gave you a bit of a time, did he?”

“It was mutual.”

“Well, at least he’ll still respect you in the morning.”

Daemon choked. When he could breathe again, he almost asked about the tree but thought better of it. Andrew was the one who rode Demon.

After Guinness left to check on the feed, Daemon walked across the yard to where Andrew was grooming the horse.

Andrew looked up with a respectful smile. “You stayed on him.”

“I stayed on him.” Daemon watched the boy’s smooth, easy motions. “But I had some trouble with him by a certain tree.”

Andrew looked flustered. The hand brushing the stallion stuttered a little before picking up the rhythm again.

Daemon’s eyes narrowed, and his voice turned dangerously silky. “What’s special about that tree, Andrew?”

“Just a tree.” Andrew glanced at Daemon’s eyes and flinched. He shifted his feet, uneasy. “It’s on the other side of the rise, you see. The first place out of sight of the house.”

“So?”

“Well…” Andrew looked at Daemon, pleading. “You won’t tell, will you?” He jerked his head toward the house. “It could cause a whole lot of trouble up there if they found out.”

Daemon fought to keep his temper reined in. “Found out what?”

“About Miss Jaenelle.”

Daemon shifted position, the motion so fluid and predatory that Andrew instantly stepped back, staying close to the horse as if for protection. “What about Miss Jaenelle?” he crooned.