PROLOGUE
Samantha could think of no better ride than through the Forest. The fallen pine needles on the pathway provided a soft cushion for any horse's hooves. It was also cool inside and, through the dense canopy of trees, golden swords of the sun's rays pierced the undergrowth. The fortress wall of pines also acted as a sound barrier and provided very little wind resistance, creating a serene, almost mystical silence within.
Sam breezed her horse, Jetsetter down the now unused forestry track, not going at a flat-out gallop but not as slow as a canter. Not for the first time, she marvelled at the big bay gelding's suppressed power. He galloped with his nose tucked into his barrel chest like a warhorse and his neck crested like an archer's bow. With every stride, his hooves pounding the soft ground sounded to Sam like a muffled drum proclaiming the beginning of a battle. Jetsetter snorted through blood-red trumpet-like nostrils and his ears pricked forward and back, attentive to his mistress' spoken command. Sam rode high in her stirrups with her face close to her horse's neck. By comparison, she was small, with narrow shoulders and a slim, small-boned body. She appreciated the immense strength of the horse beneath her and respected him greatly. She knew he only tolerated her discipline because they both loved to gallop… and to jump.
CHAPTER ONE
Nineteen-year-old Samantha Peterson, or Sam as she preferred to be called, lived with her brother Keith and his wife and son, on a small farm called Fernleigh in the New Forest. She had been show jumping on a competitive level since the arrival of Anglo-Arab mare Malaika when she was thirteen. Sam had been chosen to represent Hampshire in the Junior National Championships at the age of fifteen and together with the rest of her team, had won against fierce competition. But despite her talent for show jumping, she had turned to eventing and, on a trip coming back through France, had bought a German-bred gelding named Jetsetter. His price reflected his inexperience and Sam was lucky to buy this "promising eventer" at a bargain price. For a couple of years she schooled and jumped Jetsetter at small cross-country events, leaving Malaika and show jumping to take a backseat, until finally the pair accumulated a sufficient amount of points to be nominated for the Thornbrooke Eventing Championships. Runner up there and winning most of the local competitions made Sam and Jetsetter the sixth highest-rated eventing duo in the country. Everybody had suddenly taken note of her and nodding their heads, had agreed it wasn't bad for an eighteen-year-old girl. Now Sam had invested in another horse Hellfire, very green but with loads of potential.
Hellfire, Sam discovered, was naturally excitable and the slightest distraction could break him out in a sweat. He also needed a gruelling amount of flatwork, but when he settled down and concentrated on his rider, Sam found he was an absolute dream to ride. She was contemplating this on one afternoon in the exercise arena as she rode the bay in circles. Sporadically, he would go on the bit, but then small things, like a bird on the other side of the fence or the distant growl of a tractor, kept wavering his attention. Vigorously, she cantered him around the ring. It was unusually hot for late spring and she was wearing lightweight jodhpurs, chaps and a loose-fitting T-shirt. Sweat glistened on Hellfire's hard neck and hindquarters, partly from the humidity and partly from nervous excitement. Immediately surrounding the pair were jumps made from rustic poles and battered and rusty oil drums, and encompassing those was a dirty wooden rail fence. Sam's narrow shoulders moved as her muscles flexed, when she sought a tighter hold on Hellfire's reins and her slim, misleadingly strong body moved rhythmically in the saddle with the action of her mount. Hellfire snorted with each stride and tossed his finely-chiselled head, eager to break out of the slow canter to which his mistress held him. He suddenly thrust his nose forward, demanding more freedom and bolted forward, his quarters bunched together, his muscles like coiled springs. Sam wasn't unduly alarmed and proceeded to perform a half halt. Still circling, she found Hellfire especially disliked going on the bit on the left rein and the two fought a battle of stubborn wills. It was late afternoon by this time and the air was heavy with humidity. Hellfire wasn't the only one sweating profusely; great damp patches had joined across Sam's shoulder blades but so intent on winning this battle, she desperately ignore this wilting-flower-feeling. Continually, she pressed with her hands, seat and legs until her fingers ached and her calves felt like chewed string. Hellfire didn't appear to be annoyed by her insistence, only apparently unphased.
By doing scores of serpentines and figures of eight at a medium trot, Hellfire at last submitted to Sam's urgings. So sweetly he crested his neck, his mouth softening on the bit and he rounded his back. Nothing could describe the immense feeling of satisfaction Sam felt as he accepted the bit, arched his poll and drove forward with his hocks. It was a feeling of togetherness, like pieces of a puzzle slotting into place and Sam couldn't think of anything better than teaching a young horse the ropes when this was the result. She kept him in this position for a whole circuit then brought him back to a walk. Patting him rewardingly, she let him drift over to the arena gate. He had just earned his ticket to a day out on Saturday.
The stables were positioned against a slope shaded by fir trees. In front of the stables was a small shady exercise paddock in which Hellfire, Jetsetter and Malaika usually spent their lazy afternoons. Sam let Hellfire stroll homewards, his reins swinging loose around his neck. The sound of his shod hooves striking the cobbled yard floor brought a young boy to the door of the tack room. He had dark curly hair, tousled and unruly and a cheeky smile. His youthful body was stocky and bow-legged and his arms were strong from physical outdoor work.
"Hi, Jem. How're you?"
Jem Fielding helped out part-time at the stables. His father worked as a farmhand for Keith, Sam's brother and lived on the smallholding with his family. Three horses wasn't a lot of work, and Sam knew she could do the job fine by herself, but as far as she could remember, Jem had always been near the stables, fussing and loving the horses, and along with the frightening fact that he had just failed his GCSE's, it only seemed right to give him the job. He lavished attention on the horses, had a caring and patient nature and was always cheerful.
"Allo, Sam. Go all right, did he?"
Sam halted the big bay in front of the saddling fence and jumped off before replying.
"Yeah, he went great. He found it a bit tough to begin with but he tries hard."
"Bet he found it really boring. Didn't you, boy?" Jem cooed, rubbing Hellfire gently on his muzzle.
"He'll thank me one day when all that boring schooling pays off. He might not know it yet, but this flatwork is going to make him a top-class eventer one day."
Sam lifted off the saddle and placed it on the fence. Jem shook a magazine he had had in his hand coming out of the tack room and Sam looked at him enquiringly.
"You're in The Equine."
"Am I? What for?"
"See here on Page Twelve. They're talking about your goals for the next show jumping season. They've even got a photo of Malaika. Where was that taken?"
"Southern Counties Agricultural Show it looks like. That article must be from quite a while ago."
Jem flipped back to the cover.
"Oh, it's last month's edition. I just found it in the tack room, that's why. But is it true, you're going to Huntingdon next year?"
"If I can qualify, then yes. Only the top twenty go through to the final. I'm going to have to find another horse soon though."
"What, you're going to buy another one?" Jem asked excitedly.
"Good God, no. I couldn't afford that. But there are plenty of owners out there with some good A Grade horses."
"But you'll have to be in the top twenty, so what are you now?"
"Qualifying shows don't start til later in the year but last year I got up to about thirtieth. That horse, Life Guard, whom Carroll Bellamy-Charles lent me last season was a Godsend when Malaika was out for that month with a bad tendon."
"D'you think she'll lend him to you again this season?"
"Dunno," Sam pondered, shrugging her shoulders. "I don't see why she shouldn't."
She stood for a moment, wondering the same thing which had plagued her on restless nights recently. Last season, with the huge Irish Sports Horse, Life Guard, Sam's ratings had rocketed. Malaika had missed valuable qualifying shows when she was lame, and her final placing of twenty eighth had been on the merit of Life Guard's ability. If she got that ride and Malaika stayed sound this coming season, she surely had a chance of reaching Huntingdon.
Huntingdon was a show jumping tournament that went on for four days during the month of January, held in a massive indoor arena in North England, and was every rider's dream of winning at. But it all depended on how well Sam performed up until then and at the end of the day, how Mrs Bellamy-Charles felt. Shaking her head she took Hellfire's reins and turned him towards his loose-box. Jem scuttled after her.
"I'll do that, Sam. Don't worry. Hey, Hellfire, big guy. Are you hungry? Do you want your supper?"
"Thanks, Jem. Just give Hellfire a drink before you feed him. Have the others been fed?"
"Eating now."
"That's great. Thanks a lot."
She stepped out of the stable and along the walkway. The whole stable was built in an 'L'-shaped structure, with one loose-box, a tack room and feed room along the one side and another three boxes made up the adjoining side. All of these looked onto a small square patch of grass with a water trough and mounting block and tack rail on it. The three horses were stabled next to each other along the one side. Going to the one nearest Hellfire's, Sam looked over the door to see, in the dimly-lit room, Jetsetter noisily eating his feed from the manger at the back. Sam's experienced eye ran over the bay's big-boned body. Nothing, she decided, was so beautiful as a fit, well-built horse, and Jetsetter was certainly that. His shoulders rippled with muscle and sloped down to strong forelegs. He was all an eventing horse should be. And hopefully this weekend he would prove it. Not wanting to disturb his meal, she carried on silently to see Jetsetter's other neighbour.
This horse, on the hand, was much more lightly built, but still shared a well-proportioned frame. Malaika had been Sam's first horse and they had learned to show jump together. The mare was a chestnut Anglo-Arab with four white socks and a blaze running down her delicate and pretty face. When she saw Sam standing at the door, she whickered softly and immediately left her food to greet her. Sam stroked the mare's muzzle, brushing off some of the crumbs on her lips and whiskers and fondly murmured to her horse, telling her about her day and asking the chestnut about her own. The two had an incredible bond, formed through a partnership over the years and not through brute dominance. It was something Sam appreciated very much.
She at last called goodnight to Jem, and breaking into a jog, headed back across the exercise paddock towards the house in the fading light. Sam enjoyed running, enjoyed most things which were physical and involved speed and her slender figure belied the strength which she really had. She had a gruelling season of show jumping and eventing ahead of her, starting this Saturday and she would need that strength to keep up with the pace, both physically and mentally.
