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Archer stroked their manes and played a bit with them before beginning his examination. He checked teeth and ran his hands down their legs, finding the bones strong and the muscles cool. ‘They are in good shape. Now, how they’ll do with a rider remains to be seen.’ He brushed his hands on his riding breeches and stepped back.
‘We should take them to my farm, then, to join the others?’ his uncle asked. ‘I have riders there who will work with the horses we want to nominate.’
‘Yes, definitely take them,’ Archer said confidently, his blood starting to hum at the mention of a horse farm. He’d not realised his uncle had a place outside the one in town. ‘Perhaps I could deliver them for you if you’re busy?’ He was suddenly anxious to see this place.
His uncle smiled and Archer grinned, laughing at himself. He had taken his uncle’s bait quite easily. ‘You’re just like your father when it comes to horses, eager as a school boy.’ His uncle clapped him on the shoulder. ‘You may pick them up tomorrow and deliver them to our villa.’ There was something else in his uncle’s eyes too, something that said he had passed the first test.
‘Just like my father?’ Archer queried, not sure if he liked the sound of that. He’d spent most of his life trying to avoid such a comparison.
His uncle studied his face for a moment, his happy eyes sobering a little. ‘Like he used to be the summer I knew him. I don’t know the sort of man he became, but I know what he was like at your age.’
‘And what was that?’ Archer ventured, finding it odd and novel to think of his uncle knowing his father, knowing a man different than the one Archer knew.
A small smile returned to his uncle’s face. ‘A man who wasn’t afraid to live, to embrace life. A man like you, who wasn’t afraid to get his hands or boots dirty when it came to horses.’ Really? Archer didn’t know that man.
There was movement across the field, and Archer followed his uncle’s gaze as it flicked across the paddock to another holding pen farther out. ‘Pantera’s here. The capitano has sent his son and that niece of his to survey the competition. Rafaele di Bruno must be feeling the pressure now to win two. Wouldn’t that be a feather in Pantera’s cap to win both Palios in a single year? Of course, it won’t happen.’
Giacomo uttered something about the statistical possibility of that being unlikely, but Archer didn’t hear it. He was too focused on the woman across the field. He’d been ready to ride the breadth of Tuscany to find her and here she was. She could not have been delivered to him any more neatly.
‘His niece is a beauty,’ Giacomo put in idly. But Archer wasn’t fooled. He’d better tread carefully. His uncle’s next words confirmed it. ‘Perhaps you might spend some time with her this afternoon if you’re interested.’
Archer was interested, all right. She was perhaps even lovelier by daylight. Any worries he might have entertained that his perception of her beauty had been influenced by the night and the lighting were immediately banished. Her black hair was neatly coiffed beneath a straw hat that showed her profile to advantage; the curve of her jaw, the firm jut of her chin. She wore an exquisitely tailored riding habit done in blue. The white of her lacy jabot stood in striking contrast from the dark fabric, but even from here Archer could see that the jabot was loose, the neck of her blouse undone against the warmth of the day. She walked arm in arm with her cousin, stopping now and then to watch the horses and comment to their host. Archer imagined he could catch hints of her laughter. But thoughts of Elisabeta had to be set aside until later. There was work to do now. Pranza, or lunch, was to be served only after everyone had viewed the horses. There would be time to meet her then. He could possibly manoeuvre a place beside her at the table, perhaps a walk after the meal while his uncle conducted the rest of his business.
Archer’s blood began to hum with the knowledge of her presence and with plans. He let a smile of satisfaction spread across his face. Today was shaping up quite nicely in terms of his goals. His uncle had been impressed with his story about Amicus and Elisabeta was here, standing a hundred yards away.
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