"Get clear of the rail!"
The rider had barely settled into the saddle when Storm lunged sideways, striking the fence with his shoulder. Wood cracked. The young man lost a stirrup and clutched the reins, pulling the black stallion's head sharply toward his chest.
Storm reared.
James Whitmore, Duke of Ashford, stepped toward the enclosure before two stablemen caught his arms.
"Your Grace, stay back!"
Captain Richard Vale shouted for the rider to hold firm. But from beside the open gate, a woman's voice cut through the confusion:
"Stop pulling his mouth! You're hurting him!"
Vale turned on her. "Keep your place, girl!"
The rider scrambled free and stumbled across the sand. Storm landed heavily, trembling beneath the saddle. Emma Carter saw his ears flatten when Vale reached for the reins again. Something was wrong beyond ordinary fear. She looked from the horse's rigid back to the leather resting against it. Then she turned to the Duke.
"Your Grace, please. Before anyone touches him again, I need you to look at something."
Three hours earlier, James Whitmore had stood alone in the stable yard, watching the morning sunlight creep across the cobblestones. Storm occupied the largest stall: a magnificent black stallion with a narrow white star above his eyes and a glossy coat that had once been the pride of Ashford's breeding establishment.
James rested his hand against the stall door. "Another difficult morning, old fellow."
Storm turned his head but did not approach. His ears followed the distant clatter of a bucket. James recognized the restless movement. His elder brother, Henry, had recognized every movement Storm made. Henry had bred and raised the animal, patiently teaching him to accept a halter, respond to a voice, and stand quietly beneath a rider.
After Henry's fatal riding accident two years earlier, James had inherited both the dukedom and the responsibility of preserving the family's breeding establishment. Storm was the one horse James could never regard as merely another valuable animal.
"You would have known what to do," he murmured.
Storm shifted his weight and turned away.
Footsteps sounded behind James. Captain Richard Vale approached in polished riding boots, carrying a folded schedule.
"The gentlemen are expected at eleven, Your Grace. I have selected our most experienced riders."
James glanced toward the stall. "And if he refuses again?"
"Then we must establish who is master." Vale spoke with the certainty of a man accustomed to being obeyed. "The horse has learned that misbehavior brings an end to work."