However, the moment he stepped into the yard and caught sight of Anne near the paddock, his attention shifted so completely that he slowed down without fully realizing it.
She stood with one of the trainers beside a young chestnut mare that had earned an increasingly unpleasant reputation for refusing direction whenever anyone attempted to saddle her, and the trainer looked as though he had exhausted both his patience and optimism.
“Believe me,” Anne replied, “I understand that this is not what she wants either.”
“I am telling you, Your Grace,” the trainer sighed, “she is stubborn. She does not know what to do with herself.”
Dorian hung back, not wanting either of them to notice him.
Anne folded her arms, entirely unimpressed. “No,” she replied calmly, “she is anxious.”
“With respect, Your Grace, I have worked with horses for twenty years.”
“And in those twenty years,” Anne said evenly, “have you found shouting at them particularly effective?”
One of the younger stablehands nearby failed rather spectacularly to hide a laugh. The trainer ignored him.
“She refuses commands.”
“She refuses pressure,” Anne corrected. “You tightened the training schedule too quickly after the weather changed. She is overworked and irritated, and raising your voice at her will not help.”
The mare shifted restlessly beside them, tossing her head as if eager to support Anne’s argument.
Dorian leaned casually against the fence and watched the exchange unfold with growing amusement.
The trainer sighed. “Then what do you suggest?”
Anne stepped closer to the mare, reaching slowly for her neck. Her voice softened slightly. “Less handling for two days would be best,” she replied. “And we should move her to the quieter paddock. Shorter exercises would be beneficial too, and no forcing the saddle if she resists.”
“She cannot simply dictate her own training.”
“No,” she said, “but she can tell us what she needs from us, and right now she is doing precisely that.”
The stablehand laughed again, quieter this time.
The trainer muttered something under his breath.
“Do you disagree?” Anne asked.
“I think,” he replied carefully, “that Your Grace is too optimistic.”
Anne nodded once, as though considering the criticism seriously. “That is possible.”
Dorian raised an eyebrow.
“But,” she continued, “if I am wrong, you only lose two days of training. If I am right, however, then you stop getting bitten. I would argue that either outcome is fine by me.”
Even the trainer’s expression cracked slightly at that.
“Do you truly believe she will settle?” he asked.
Anne reached up and ran a hand gently along the mare’s neck. The mare, who had spent most of the morning resisting everyone else, lowered her head almost immediately.
“I know that she will,” Anne said quietly.
There was a brief silence after that. Then the trainer exhaled heavily.
“Fine,” he muttered. “Two days.”
