Instantly, a massive head lunged into the opening. Basia flinched, stepping back. The horse was enormous. His coat was a dark bruised iron gray thick with dried mud and sweat because no groom had dared to brush him.
His ears were pinned flat against his skull, disappearing entirely. His eyes were wide rimmed with frantic rolling white. He snapped his teeth at the empty air, the sound like a steel trap clamping shut, then threw his head up striking the heavy wooden doorframe with a dull thud. He didn't care about the pain.
He was pure blind rage and panic. Basia stared at him. Her heart was hammering violently against her ribs, a frantic bird trapped in her chest. She was terrified.
It was a raw primal fear that urged her to drop the halter and run back to the turnpike, but beneath the fear, as she watched the horse pace frantically in the small square of light. She saw something else. The whites of his eyes weren't just angry. They were wide with the same desperate trapped energy she felt every time the rent collector knocked.
He was isolated in the dark. He was cornered. three minutes in the saddle. Basia said, her voice shaking slightly.
She didn't look at Henry. "If you can get it on him," Henry murmured. Basia took the bucket of oats West handed her. She unlatched the bottom door.
Don't do it, lass. West muttered softly. Basia slid the bolt back. The heavy iron groaned.
She pushed the door open and stepped into the gloom. The smell inside was overwhelming. Decaying straw, rank urine, and the hot metallic scent of an angry animal. As soon as Basia closed the lower door behind her, the light shifted.