James remembered the previous week's attempts: one rider thrown, another forced to dismount, and Storm afterwards standing in his stall with sweat darkening his flanks.
"I will not have him injured."
"Nor will I, Your Grace. But a breeding establishment cannot maintain its reputation with a stallion no gentleman can ride."
James accepted the schedule without answering.
By ten o'clock, several invited horsemen had gathered beside the enclosed training yard. The first rider mounted from a wooden block. Storm stood rigidly until the man gathered the reins and urged him forward. Then the stallion sprang sideways. The rider recovered his balance, but Storm twisted again, forcing him to dismount.
The second attempt ended even sooner: a gentleman in a green riding coat placed his foot in the stirrup, and Storm backed away so violently that two stablemen struggled to keep him steady.
"Stubborn brute," the gentleman muttered.
James noticed the horse's nostrils flaring. "Enough for the moment," he ordered.
Vale approached him. "One final attempt, Your Grace. Mr. Lawson has ridden difficult horses for fifteen years."
James looked at Storm, who stood with his head lowered while a groom adjusted the saddle. He wanted to refuse, but he also wanted proof that his brother's horse could still be ridden safely.
"One attempt," he said, "and no forcing him if he resists."
Near the yard gate, Emma Carter arrived carrying a wrapped bundle of horseshoes her father had made for the estate. At twenty-five, she had spent more mornings beside a forge than in any drawing room. Her plain brown dress was protected by a work apron, and a faint burn marked one finger. She handed the bundle to Thomas Reed, the senior stableman, who signed her father's delivery slip.
Then a sharp metallic clink drew her attention toward the enclosure. Storm was being prepared for the third rider. Emma watched him flinch as the groom tightened the saddle girth. The stallion drew his back down and shifted away, nearly crushing the groom against the mounting block.
"Wait!" she called.
Vale looked over. "What is it?"
Emma pointed toward the horse. "He moved when you tightened the girth. Has anyone examined his back?"
Vale gave a short, humorless laugh. "The blacksmith's daughter has opinions about training now."
"I asked a question, Captain."
"Then take it back to your father's forge."
Several gentlemen exchanged amused looks. Emma felt warmth climb her neck, but her eyes remained on Storm. James had heard the exchange. He turned toward her, intending to ask what she had noticed.