Angel and the Flying Stallions. Stacy Gregg
classical Spanish stone with curved archways and tiled rooftops. But inside was a different story. The stallions’ quarters were ultra-modern and the loose boxes were state-of-the-art.
Issie looked down the row of stalls and at the far end of the corridor she saw Francoise D’arth. The French dressage trainer was wearing cream jodhpurs and a white shirt, her long dark hair tied back in a high ponytail. She was leading a horse and with one glimpse of the pretty, dished Arabian face with the wide, white blaze Issie knew it was him.
“Storm!” she called out, unable to control her excitement.
The horse suddenly froze at the sound of her voice and stood alert with his head held high. Without thinking, Issie raised a hand to her lips and gave a wolf whistle – the call she had always used back home when she played tag with the colt.
At the sound of the whistle, Storm let out a loud nicker and began to dance and skip, going up on to his hind legs so that Francoise was forced to pull him back down.
“Storm! Easy boy, no!” Issie cried out, aware that her call had rattled the big bay stallion.
It was too late. Storm reared up a second time with such force that he ripped the lead rope out of Francoise’s hands.
Francoise was an experienced horsewoman, but she hadn’t been expecting this and the stallion was too powerful. He broke free from her hands and surged forward, heading straight for the girl. His metal horseshoes chimed out against the hard concrete floor beneath his hooves as he cantered through the stable block.
Issie stood perfectly still. The bay stallion’s enormous, muscled body was thundering through the stables. She knew that he could easily trample her down or knock her over, and yet, as the horse continued to bear down on her, Issie wasn’t in the least bit afraid. This wasn’t any stallion, this was her horse. It was Storm.
The girl and the stallion were just a few metres apart when Storm pulled up dramatically to a halt and stood, snorting and quivering, in front of her. The stallion was sixteen-three hands high and every inch of him was pure muscle. Issie looked into his deep brown eyes and didn’t hesitate. She threw herself forward and flung her arms around the horse’s neck, burying her face in his long, black mane.
“Storm!” Issie was finding it hard to breathe, a sob was stuck in her throat and she was choking on her words. “Hey boy, it’s me.”
The stallion was trembling all over, nickering and stamping, flicking his head as if to say, “You’re back! Where have you been all this time? I missed you!”
At the far end of the corridor, Francoise D’arth watched this touching reunion and a faint smile crossed her lips. She had never seen a horse behave like that before, but then she had never known any horse and rider to have a bond as close as the one Issie shared with Storm. The girl loved the bay stallion and he had missed her dreadfully. But as Francoise knew only too well, it was not enough to love a horse. You must also have the skills to handle it. In the month to come, Issie would need to prove herself at El Caballo Danza Magnifico. But for now, Francoise stood back and let Isadora enjoy the reunion with her beloved horse. The girl would find out soon enough about the nature of the challenge that lay ahead.
When Storm was nothing more than a skinny-legged colt running around the paddocks at Winterflood Farm, Issie had trained him to come when she whistled. It was a cute trick to teach a foal, but it was a totally different story now he had become a fully-grown stallion.
“I’m sorry,” Issie called out to Francoise as she led Storm back up the corridor, “I can’t believe he still remembers my whistle.”
“It is my fault,” Francoise replied as she strode forward to meet them. “I should have anticipated his reaction. They say that horses do not remember as you and I do, but this is not always true. Some memories run so deep they cannot be erased. He has not forgotten you, Isadora. That is quite clear.”
As if to confirm this, Storm gave another nicker and rubbed his handsome face up against Issie, using her as a scratching post just as he had always done in the paddock back home.
“Storm!” Francoise chastised the stallion. “Where are your manners? An El Caballo stallion doesn’t behave like that!”
Francoise took the lead rope and jiggled it to make him step back. Storm got the message and stood obediently while Francoise embraced Issie in the customary French way with a kiss on each cheek before adding a hug of her own.
“Welcome back to El Caballo Danza Magnifico, Isadora,” she smiled.
“It’s good to be back, Francoise,” Issie grinned.
Issie had been hoping that perhaps they could saddle up straight away. She was desperate to ride Storm for the first time and Francoise seemed to be reading her mind. “There will be time for riding soon enough,” the Frenchwoman said as she grasped Storm’s lead rope and began to guide him down the corridor back towards his stall, “I don’t think Roberto would be impressed if I took his guest out for a gallop straight away. We should go back into the house and get you settled in.” She smiled at Issie. “That is, if you can possibly bear to be apart from Storm again!”
Issie laughed at this, but really she would rather have stayed out here, exhausted, grubby and jetlagged, and fallen asleep beside her horse on the straw in his stall than go to the luxury and comfort of her room in the Nunez hacienda. But Issie knew that would have sounded ungrateful, so she followed Francoise as she led the stallion back to his loose box.
“He has grown up so beautifully, hasn’t he? Look at his topline!” Francoise gestured at the ridge of muscle along the stallion’s neck just beneath the glossy, black mane. “You can see by the developing muscles that we have already begun his training in the dressage school. He is still too young for the advanced haute école manoeuvres. They will come later. We are taking things gradually, but already my riders think he shows great promise. Once he learns collection and paces he will be ready to progress to the ‘airs above ground’.”
Issie felt herself tense up. Francoise was talking about Storm as if he still had more training to come. But how could that be possible when they were here to take him home to Chevalier Point? Francoise was acting as if he wasn’t actually going to leave El Caballo Danza Magnifico!
“We’ll keep training him when we get him home, of course,” Issie said, hoping that she was subtly making it clear that she expected to take the colt back with her, “but dressage isn’t really my priority. Avery believes Storm will be a great prospect as an eventer.”
Francoise looked serious. “We have had long discussions about this, Tom and I. When you first agreed to keep the colt with us, it was so that he could be schooled as a classical dressage horse. And, as I have been trying to impress upon Tom, his training has not yet finished.”
“What do you mean, he hasn’t finished?” Issie was getting edgy. “I’m here to take him home.”
Francoise frowned. “But surely you know about this? I made it clear to Avery that I could not permit you to take Storm away now. The stallion’s basic training has begun, but he has yet to learn the truly advanced moves of dressage. It would be wrong to drag him out of the best classical school in the world when you could not possibly complete his training back home in Chevalier Point. Only an haute école rider will do for a horse such as Storm. That is why we came to the arrangement.”
Issie was taken aback. “Arrangement? What arrangement?” This couldn’t be happening! “I’ve come all this way and now you’re telling me I can’t take my own horse home?”
“Non, non!” Francoise shook her head. “That is not what I am saying. Of course you will take him.” She paused. “But first, you must fulfil your side of bargain. That was the deal that I struck with Tom.”
The conversation had grown tense.