Nightstorm and the Grand Slam by Stacy Gregg Page A

shook her head. She gave a whistle and a moment later, in the box next to Bonaparte’s a striking bay stallion stuck his head over the door.
    â€œThis is Nightstorm,” Issie said, reaching a hand up to stroke the stallion’s broad white blaze.
    â€œWow,” Marcus looked genuinely impressed. “He’s really something, isn’t he?”
    â€œI think so,” Issie said, looking doe-eyed at her horse. “I’ve known him from the moment he was born. His mother was my old pony-club mare and his sire was one of the dressage stallions from El Caballo Danza Magnifico.”
    â€œWith bloodlines like that he must be pretty good at dressage, then?” Marcus asked.
    Issie sighed. “Yes – and no. Storm is capable of pulling out a great test, but he’s unpredictable. Five minutes before we entered the arena at Badminton he’d actually just bucked me off! I got lucky and he behaved himself after that, but I need to figure out a way to make sure he’ll always perform – to get some certainty with him, you know?”
    â€œI know,” Marcus agreed. “The best ones are always so complicated.” He reached up to stroke Nightstorm’s muzzle, and Issie could see the genuine love and understanding of horses that he possessed.
    â€œDo you want a tour of the rest of the stables?” she asked.
    As they walked around the yards, Issie filled Marcusin on everything that had happened over the past months since they’d last seen each other. The loss of Victory to Natasha Tucker and the fickle departure of Issie’s sponsors left him stunned.
    â€œEven with all of those trainers working for her, she’ll never get up to speed for Burghley,” Marcus concluded. “Not if she’s never ridden a four-star course before.”
    Issie wasn’t so sure. “She’s going to ride Victory at the Luhmuhlen Horse Trials as a warm-up. Apparently – according to the papers – I’m too chicken to face her!”
    Luhmuhlen was a famous four-star eventing track in Germany. The timing of the event meant that many of the top UK-based riders used Luhmuhlen as a test run for Burghley.
    â€œIt’ll be my first competition on Velluto Rosso,” Marcus told her. “If you can’t face Natasha then I’ll do it for you.”

    â€œSo why exactly did Marcus Pearce drop by?” Stella asked when they were all sitting down to dinner that evening.
    Issie kept her eyes on her plate, “I don’t know. He was in the neighbourhood, I guess, so he came to say hi.”
    â€œThe Goldin Stables aren’t exactly ‘in the neighbourhood’,” Stella said doing air quotes. “They’re about twenty kilometres away.”
    â€œHe was just being polite,” Issie said.
    Stella gave a smirk at the stiffness of Issie’s reply. “He likes you!”
    Issie could feel herself blushing. “He’s just a friend,” she said. “And he’s leaving for Germany at the end of the week and by the time he gets back we’ll both be frantic in the lead-up to Burghley…”
    Issie had a training schedule and it didn’t leave any time for boys – not even a boy like Marcus Pearce.
    She didn’t see Marcus again before he left for Luhmuhlen. She did get a text a couple of weeks later saying that Velluto Rosso had travelled fine in the horse truck to Germany, and that the chestnut mare had settled in well.
    Issie had read the papers that weekend hoping that, since Marcus was riding for Great Britain, there might be news on how he was doing. But the only stories were about Natasha Tucker.
    The writers in The Sun’s sports section had a field day over the so-called scandal when Natasha was banned from wearing her trademark bright purple jodhpurs to ride her dressage test.
    â€œUptight equestrians!” one Sun columnist opined. “Stop being prissy and let smasher Natasha wear