"Yes, sir. And the way he stood when the rider mounted."
"A useful observation."
James looked at Emma. She lowered her eyes—not in embarrassment, but because she was watching Storm reach toward Thomas for a handful of hay.
The surgeon examined the saddle outside the stall. Its worn padding was uneven beneath the rear panels, although he cautioned that an experienced saddler should assess its construction and fit before anyone drew firm conclusions. James ordered it stored separately and clearly marked against further use.
When the examination was finished, he accompanied Emma into the stable yard. Afternoon sunlight lay across the cobblestones, and the distant sound of hammering drifted from the forge.
"Miss Carter, I should like to employ you while Storm recovers."
Emma stopped. "In what capacity, Your Grace?"
"To assist Thomas in observing his progress and advise me when you believe something requires attention."
"I am a blacksmith's daughter, not a veterinary surgeon."
"I am aware of the distinction."
"Then I would expect Mr. Bell's instructions to take precedence."
"Agreed."
She considered him carefully. "My father depends upon my work. I cannot simply abandon the forge."
"You need not. We can arrange regular hours around your existing responsibilities, with payment agreed in advance."
"And I must be free to tell you when I believe you are wrong."
James almost smiled. "I suspect preventing you would prove difficult."
"That is not an answer, Your Grace."
His amusement faded into respect. "Then yes, Miss Carter. You have my word."
Emma extended her hand. "In that case, I will discuss the hours with my father this evening."