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A Promise

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They changed the rules immediately, of course. From now on, only horses with at least one-eighth capall uisce blood may run in the Scorpio Race.

They're pretending it's to keep thoroughbreds like Malvern's from taking over the races, but I know it's because they're afraid my Dove will show them all up again. That's not likely; I'd not ask it of her, and, in any case, she's big-bellied right now with Corr's foal, though we're not exactly sure how and when that happened. Finndebar, the brood mare that George Holly bought, is big-bellied, too, and Corr limps about looking much more ridiculously smug than a capall uisce has any right to be. Though, as Mr. Holly points out, he's certainly earned it.

There's nothing in the new rules prohibiting women from racing. I wonder if Peg Gratton had a hand in that, or if they're all just convinced that I'm about to end up big-bellied, too, with Sean Kendrick's get. That's not about to happen, though; Dory Maud and I had a good long talk about, oh, so many things. None of that will happen until Sean and I decide we're ready for it.

No, first I'm going to catch and train a capall uisce of my own, and ride again, and win again. And so will Sean, and so will our daughters and our sons. As long as there is a Thisby, and capaill uisce to ride, Sean and I, and our children, and our children's children, will be here to ride them.

Puck Connelly, one day to be Kate Connelly Kendrick. By my blood.