He had put on more weight and was huge compared to the Black, so massive, so powerful in chest and shoulders. His head was large, too, larger than his sire’s, but fine in nose and muzzle.

Alec spoke softly to him, reaching through the bars to rub the white, diamond-shaped star in the center of his forehead. He remained with the big horse only a few more minutes before moving down the corridor.

Alec loved Satan but not the way he loved his sire, the Black. Satan was Henry’s horse. As far as the trainer was concerned, Satan was the best horse they’d ever owned. Henry had molded him into a superb racing machine, one that was very competitive yet willing to obey the slightest touch of rein or leg. And for that reason, too, Satan had become a superb stud horse. He was too well trained to act the fighter when he passed another stallion or some innocent mare in a stall. He knew what was his and what wasn’t. And most important of all, he was content with his life at the farm, making him easy to handle.

It was far different with the Black. He was always on his toes, conscious of every step, every whisper in the barn, and ready to challenge anyone who came near him. Neither Alec nor anyone else had ever made anything of the Black. He was more tamed than trained. And tamed only because Alec asked and the stallion gave. One did not fight the Black.

Alec stopped before the stallion’s stall. The Black stood before the open window with the rays of the sun streaming upon his body. Alec spoke to him, his voice low and gentle. A muscle quivered in the horse’s marvelously smooth skin, then another and still another. But he did not turn away from the window.

Alec knew his horse was aware of him and he spoke to him again. The Black’s chest swelled, his nostrils trembled; then he turned toward Alec, his eyes lighting up as he moved across the stall.

Going inside, Alec pulled down the Black’s head to his own and stroked him, his fingers finding spots he knew gave his horse much pleasure and contentment because he could not reach them himself. The Black lowered his head still more so Alec might rub beneath his small ears. Alec held him close. It was good to be with his horse, where he belonged.

The Black bent his long, graceful neck, his nostrils quivering and sniffing. He remained still, enjoying Alec’s touches while his long tail switched contentedly. Never was there a more magnificent horse, Alec knew. The Black was a perfect specimen, perfectly balanced, perfectly muscled. And he was as intelligent as he was well made. Too smart to bow to the will of Henry or anyone else. Too much a lover of freedom to be confined to a stall. The Black thrived best on blowing wind and green grass.

“I’m sorry,” Alec said quietly.