Alexander stepped close enough to see her lift the edge of the saddlecloth. Along the horse's side lay an angry red abrasion, fresh and painful, pressed precisely where the girth crossed the skin. When Eleanor loosened the outer strap, Blackthorn flinched once, then stood still. Beneath the leather was a thin metal ridge, crudely concealed inside a strip of stitching, its rough edge positioned to scrape the horse whenever he moved. The steward's confident expression vanished so quickly that Eleanor saw it even before Alexander turned.
"What is that?" Alexander asked. He was no longer looking at the horse's head, and his voice had lost its anger. Eleanor held the strap away from the wounded skin. "Something that does not belong there. It would hurt him at every step, and worse whenever someone tried to control him by force." She looked across the silent courtyard at the man who had called the horse vicious. "Blackthorn was not rebelling against his master. He was begging someone to stop."
A lady near the carriage pressed her hand to her mouth. The groom who had fought the stallion stared at the ground, his face pale with shame. Alexander reached for the leather, and Eleanor stopped him gently. "Leave it as it is until someone can witness its condition," she said. "If it has been tampered with, it matters where everything was found." Alexander lowered his hand. "Mr. Vane," he said, "no one is to handle this tack without my permission. Send for Mr. Sayer, the veterinary surgeon, at once."
Vane drew himself up. "My lord, an old strap can fray. Surely we need not invent conspiracies every time a horse behaves badly." The words sounded thin in the stillness. Alexander looked from the metal ridge to the steward's carefully composed face and answered, "You were ready to destroy him a minute ago. A proper examination seems a modest inconvenience by comparison." He then instructed the grooms to move the other horses away while Eleanor remained at Blackthorn's side.
When the saddle finally came off, the stallion did not fight. He stood exhausted, his breathing slowing, and let Eleanor guide him toward a quiet stall. At its doorway, he pushed his velvet nose briefly against her shoulder, and for a moment the years between the present and her childhood fell away. She saw her father standing in the stable aisle, sleeves rolled to his elbows, telling her that a horse's trust was something a human being might spend an entire life earning and ruin in one careless afternoon.
"You knew him," Alexander said behind her. Eleanor kept her hand against Blackthorn's cheek. "I knew him when he was gentle enough to let a child braid ribbons into his mane. My father called him a creature with a king's pride and a frightened heart." Alexander watched the horse settle into the straw. "I was told he grew dangerous after Edward left." Eleanor turned at last. "You were told many things after my father left. Have you ever wondered who benefited from your believing them?"