Chapter 3

Some miles of fast, hard galloping later, Beckett reined up. "I think we should stop for a break, and you must need to drink something by now." Doinnean obligingly dropped to a gentle trot, and they continued peacefully along the trail until they came to a clear, rushing stream. "Looks good to me," she commented, dismounted, and took off the bridle and bit.

Heedless of any potential danger from drinking from streams, she knelt upstream from Doinnean and drank her fill of the cold water, then sat back and waited for the stallion to slake his own thirst. Suddenly she sat bolt upright.

"Did you just say Brrr?" she exclaimed.

The horse didn't answer, but stuck his nose back in the stream and drank.

Horses don't talk, the worm pointed out. You're delusional. As delusional about the horse as you are about your own feelings for Castle. Shut up.

The worm had a point. Horses couldn't talk. Doinnean must have made a whurrrf sort of noise, and she'd misheard, based on the knowledge that the stream's water was cold. Not surprising, in late October. She took a blanket from her pack, lay back down on her stomach, and contemplated the reeds sprouting from the banks of the rippling water. She thought they might be bulrushes, but botany wasn't her specialty. Plants didn't generally commit murder, though they might be the cause of death. Triffids belonged in fiction, not Manhattan.

Castle cursed his slip-up, and was massively relieved that Beckett seemed to have discounted the evidence of her own ears. He drank deeply, and stepped back delicately from the bank. When he turned, he found Beckett stretched out on a blanket, apparently half-asleep. She was amazingly, adorably cute; not buttoned-up and focused; simply relaxed. He'd never seen her so eased. A tendril of guilt at his deception tried to sprout, but he dismissed it with ease. Beckett didn't believe in anything supernatural, and made it clear with every gibe and comment about the ridiculousness of those who did believe. She was still teasing Espo because he wouldn't walk past the fortune-teller's near the precinct. Trying to tell her that he was a puca…wouldn't go well. And then she'd shoot him anyway.

Which made it totally insane that he'd just nuzzled her neck and then kissed it.

"Doinnean!" she screeched. "I'm not fodder!"

He just managed to snap his mouth shut on But I want to eat you before he really ruined everything. Instead, he whuffled, taking a step back and grazing gently on the lush grass by the banks of the stream.

"If you're going to do that, I'll put your bridle back on, remount and we'll move along," she said, but Castle heard the affectionate note below her chiding, and knew the horse was instantly forgiven. He wouldn't be, if he made another slip. He turned his attention to the grass, and munched. Beckett stood up, swung over to him, rifled her saddlebags and found a snack bar. She plopped back down and ate it in three quick bites, then drank some more from the stream. It might be late October, but the sun was warm on her back. Life was pretty good, right now. If only it could be this pleasant all the time, she thought. Sunshine, fresh air, beautiful horse, nothing to think about, nothing to fret over, and no annoying writers getting into her head.

You want him to get into your bed, the worm observed. Shut up. Just 'cause I'm right, you don't wanna hear it. Get with the program. Not my program. Sure it isn't. That's why your showers keep getting colder. "Shut the hell up!"

Doinnean whinnied, startled, and trotted over to nudge her. Oh, God. Surely she hadn't said that out loud? She petted his nose. "Don't worry. I'm just thinking. I didn't mean to startle you." He whuffed softly, so she petted some more. He nudged again. "I don't like not knowing what to do," she said crossly. "I always know what I think and where I stand." She scowled. "I do know what I think. He's annoying and pushy and irritating. And no, I don't care that he's criminally sexy. I arrest criminals." The horse whuffed and nuzzled. Beckett automatically petted. "I've arrested him before and he's the same spoilt playboy he was then. Even if he apologised, he still pushed into my private business." She slumped. "He was a pain when I arrested him." She stopped. "And I'm sure there was a second horse. I don't know where it went but I'm sure I saw it. Huge black – a lot like you, but it would be pretty old by now and certainly not up for a weekend of trail riding. Maybe you're related," she said whimsically.

Don't think that, Beckett, Castle thought frantically.

Beckett didn't notice the horse's flinch. "Anyway. He irritates the hell out of me, and just when I think he has a good point, he does something dumb and spoils it."

You like the flirting, the worm contradicted. You'd definitely miss it if he didn't flirt.

"Why can't he just…I don't know."

Try kissing him, advised the worm. Then you'd know. As if you don't already. You sizzle every time you're near him, and I bet he sizzles too. In fact, you know he does. You can see it in his eyes. He has no poker face at all when it comes to you.

Beckett ignored the worm in favour of her complaints. "And Lanie just keeps telling me to take him for a spin in the sheets, like that's going to help anything. He'd just be even more insufferable and put another notch on his bedpost, which has so many notches it's fretworked." She could feel her mouth twisting unhappily. "I don't want a roll in the hay with Casanova. I want someone who's actually – who cares. About more than a one-night-stand and a conquest." She flumped face-down on her blanket. The horse folded his legs up and lay down next to her, whuffling.

She sat up, and propped herself against the big, warm barrel of his pure black chest. "I don't know what to do. Maybe if I did just go with a one-night-stand I'd get rid of him and everything would just go back to how it was before." She paused. "But if it meant more to me and not him, it would just be horrible and he'd be sure to stay around for inspiration." She sighed. "I can't deal with that." She sighed again. "Or he'd be bad in bed and then he'd be drooping around like a lost puppy hoping I'd give him another chance when I wouldn't."

Castle just barely stopped himself turning back to man-form and informing her that he'd never, never, never had any complaints – and had had many compliments – on his ability and skills in bed. Bad in bed? No way. He was excellent in bed. The rest of Beckett's commentary gradually percolated, and left him even less happy. She wasn't going to leave him after a one-night stand, and he wasn't in it for one night and then they parted. What sort of lowlife did she think he was, that she could think that? The one that's on Page Six, a cynical little voice said in his head. How's she supposed to know it's mostly fiction? He didn't like that voice, mostly because it had a good point that he also didn't like. Voices had no right to make good points.

Beckett, entirely missing the slight tension in the horse's neck, devolved further into her ditch of despondency. "There's no way he'd want more than a one-night-stand," she humphed. "He has the attention span of a crack-addled flea" –

Well, that was insulting. Castle wasn't enjoying listening to Beckett and hearing no good of himself.

" – and anyway I'm not a battleground to be conquered. Outdated sexist rubbish." Her lips pinched angrily. "Matches right up with his playboy reputation." She fell silent. You haven't seen a single woman with him – except for the two Black Pawn paid for that photoshoot – since his ex-wife turned up and he got rid of her. After he slept with her. That was six months ago, and he hasn't been seen with a woman since. Though since he's been shadowing – Stalking! – shadowing you every minute of every day, so when he's writing I do not know – I think it's pretty obvious there's only one woman on his mind. "Don't believe you," Beckett sulked, and pouted. "So what? Just 'cause he hasn't found any arm candy since his bitch of an ex."

Oooh, Beckett. That sounded like jealousy to Castle, and jealousy meant feelings. In which case…anyway, tonight she would be in the hostel, and he needn't stay in horse form. He hadn't been able to research the hostel, but he was sure it wouldn't only be for trail riders. Anyway, he could tap dance through her inevitable interrogation while still telling the complete truth, since he really didn't have the faintest idea where they would stay tonight. The spriggan knew, but Castle couldn't contact him – and was better off by not contacting him. Honesty was always the best policy.

The funny thing was, Beckett sounded as if she were responding to someone, but there certainly wasn't anyone else around. Castle's busy brain leapt to the insane conclusion that she was arguing with herself, and grinned internally. Just like the jealousy, that was a good sign.

He hasn't been looking, dumbass, the worm snapped at Beckett. Stop assuming the worst. He's not the devil incarnate – though I understand Lucifer is pretty damn good in bed – he's a man who's interested in you. If he wasn't interested he'd have been off shadowing someone else, because God knows you haven't been nice to him.

"Oh, whatever!" Beckett grumped. "Okay. I'll think about it." About time, the worm muttered, and wriggled off to lurk in whatever dark recess of her brain it occupied. Just as she was celebrating its departure, it popped up again. And do something about it. Kiss the man. "Shan't!" Beckett said childishly, out loud. The horse neighed. "Sorry, Doinnean," she said, and petted. "Give me a moment, and we'll get moving."

She stood up, stretched from scalp to toes, which Castle watched with considerable appreciation only tainted by his regret that she was fully clothed, then riffled through one of the packs and disappeared for a moment, returning rapidly and rinsing her hands in the stream.

Back astride Doinnean, Beckett pushed away the infernally irritating worm and any thoughts of kissing Castle. Unfortunately, the thoughts refused to be pushed away, and pushed right back into her head. She flicked the reins to encourage Doinnean to gallop, as a result of which she had to occupy her entire head with hard, fast riding.

You'd like some other hard, fast riding. Beckett ignored that comment too.

As a consequence of their stop for water, which neatly balanced out the speed of Doinnean's full gallop, they arrived at a conveniently horse-friendly diner at lunchtime. Beckett ensured that Doinnean was divested of his tack, supplied with a good mash – he had to have burned a lot of energy in his gallops – hay and oats, and then went to have her own lunch. "I'll check your hooves before we go," she said. "I don't want you lamed, even for a minute. You're far too good of a horse for that."

Castle had to admit that he loved Beckett's care and cossetting. She'd made sure that the horse was fully provided for before she took any thought for herself. She'd be the same with their children, he thought fondly – what? Children? They weren't even dating yet, not for want of his trying…oh. Had he ever, since he'd invited her to dinner after their first case together and she'd turned him down, actually asked her out to dinner? Or had he just assumed that because she was a detective, she'd detect the changed nature of his interest? It sure hadn't sounded like she'd detected any difference from the day they met.

Okay. He had a place to start. In the old-fashioned parlance – woo her. So much softer than dating…up to a point, that was. The hard point being after the wooing. He nibbled at his hay and oats, and dreamed gently about ways to woo Beckett, starting that very night.

Beckett, having satisfied herself that Doinnean was properly dealt with, wandered into the dining area and found, much to her delight, that there was pizza and even delicious looking chocolate brownies. She collected her food and a soda, and installed herself at a window table, looking out towards the next stage of the trail, already planning the best way to take another trail ride, preferably the following weekend. She'd forgotten just how much she loved riding a really good horse, and Doinnean was certainly the best horse she'd ever ridden: responsive, powerful, smart, and pretty much perfect for her in every way. If only Castle was just a little bit more like the horse, he'd be a whole lot nicer to have around.

You like having him around. Even if you snark at him, he's fun. More fun than anyone else. If he showed up right now, you'd be pleased to see him. Wouldn't. Would so. I can feel your happiness at the idea. Can't. Can. I'm you. Beckett growled. Brainworms were so not part of her. They were an illusion because she hadn't slept well. And she certainly would not be pleased to see Castle if he appeared. She firmly commanded her lips to stop turning upward at the thought. Her lips had no business contradicting her perfectly reasonable, perfectly reasoned thoughts. Your lips have more intelligence than your brain, the worm said, and hid from Beckett's attempt to flatten it.

Lunch finished, Beckett tidied herself up and went back out to check Doinnean before tacking him up and remounting. Thoughts of Castle's fine form tried to enter her head, but were blocked at the door. Undeterred, they tried a flank attack, and then sneaked in through her hind-brain, under the guise of reminding her that she'd been boyfriend-free for far too long.

Another long, hard gallop later, Beckett and Doinnean drew up at that evening's hostel. Fortunately for the continued existence of the hostel and possibly the entire state of New York, her reservation was intact. She breathed a rather too heavy sigh of relief, and led Doinnean round to the excellently appointed stables, to be greeted by a lad who, if she'd looked closely, bore a remarkable resemblance to the stable-lad at her usual riding area.

"Hey," she said, with a brilliant smile. "This is Doinnean. Where can he go?"

"Bhoy, he's a foine big fella," the lad said, in an accent which was as thick, but very slightly different from, that of the other stable-hand. "We'll be needin' a good-sized stall for t'is laddie."

"Yep. He's a lovely mount, and I want some space to groom him before I fix myself up."

"Oi could do t'at for ye, miss."

"I'd rather do it myself," Beckett said briskly. "I'm sure you'd do a great job, but he's my horse." It wasn't exactly – or at all – true, since she didn't own so much as a hoof of Doinnean's, but she justified it to herself by remembering that she was responsible for the stallion until she brought him back to his home stable.

"Sure, t'at'll be grand. Oi'll show ye where everyt'ing is." He led the way to a large stall. Doinnean practically pranced into it, whuffing happily. He turned a couple of times, proving that the stall was big enough for him, and then stood still.

Beckett followed the stable hand to a well-appointed tack room, and took calm possession of a curry-comb and hoof pick. She had one in her saddle-bags, but this one was gleaming clean, like everything else in the room. "You keep it neat," she approved.

"Course oi do. Oi wouldn't want me horses goin' sick or lame."

"No," Beckett agreed. "Shall I put everything back in here – is there a hook for my tack?"

"Aye. Just here, miss. Oi'm Oisin, if ye need anyt'ing."

Beckett cleaned the tack, put everything away neatly, then spent some soothing quality time grooming and currying Doinnean into shining ebony. She finished by letting him lip a handful of oats from her palm, and then patted him. "See you in the morning," she said. "Rest well." He whinnied happily, and nudged her gently. She patted again. "Night."

"Well, puca?"

"Very well indeed," the horse said.

"Fergal's made sure yer room's reserved, an' yer pack's here. Oi'll put it in the stall, an' ye can change when ye're settled an' sure she won't be comin' back to check."

"If she does, you can tell her you let me out into the big paddock – there's plenty of brush and trees to hide behind, and it'll be dark shortly anyway." He smiled. "I'll give it a little while, and then I'll go in."

"Are ye sure 'tis a good plan?" the spriggan asked.

"It's the best one I have. We don't do kidnapping humans any more."

"Shame. T'ose were the good times."

"We've all moved on. We had to."

"To be sure. But Oi can still miss the old days." The spriggan put down Castle's pack at the back of the stall and ambled away. Castle watched him go. He, Castle, didn't miss the old days. He liked modern conveniences, modern life, and certainly modern women. One particular modern woman. He meditatively chewed on some hay, and thought about his particular modern woman, with predictably impressive results. He was, after all, a full stallion.

After a good while, when the dusk had turned through twilight into almost full dark, Castle shrugged out of his puca form, blinked a couple of times, and dressed. Here goes nothing, he thought, and hoped that Beckett wouldn't shoot or otherwise murder him. He'd check in and go to his room first, make sure he was suitably suave and groomed – no scruffy stubble tonight – and then attempt to find Beckett.

So, some half an hour later, Castle sauntered into the bar.

"What the hell?" arose from a corner table. "What are you doing here?"

He spun around, feigning complete shock. "What are you doing here?" he countered. "I came for a night away from Manhattan. I need some space from my mother and Alexis is at a sleepover."

"You followed me!"

"How could I have done that? I didn't know where you were going this weekend – because you never tell me what you're doing when you're off-shift, which is just totally unfair – so how could I have possibly known that you would be here?" He produced a scowl. "Anyway, I'm not going to bother you. I'm going to get a drink and sit in peaceful solitude, just like I thought I would be doing." He turned back to the bar, and mentally crossed his fingers.

Thank you to all readers and reviewers.