Miller eyed his other customers, then set aside the glass he’d been drying, stepped closer and lowered his voice. “You’re saying young Lord Russell’s up and taken Paddy’s old job?”

Pris managed not to hiss through her teeth. “Yes. I thought perhaps Paddy could tell me about Lord Cromarty’s stables.” She shrugged as if it were perfectly normal for an earl’s son to become an assistant stableman, and equally mundane for his sister to ride for two hours cross-country to inquire of the previous incumbent as to the conditions of his erstwhile employment. “I’m just curious.”

And concerned over why a man like Paddy O’Loughlin would leave what should have been an excellent position. He was a local legend when it came to horses and horse flesh; he’d helped train a number of exceptional race horses over the years. She hadn’t met him, but had known he lived outside this village, known, therefore, where best to inquire for him.

Miller studied her, then angled his head at a large man in workman’s garb nursing a pint at a table in the dimmest corner. “You’d best ask Seamus O’Malley. He and Paddy were best mates.”

Pris’s brows flew up at Miller’s use of the past tense.

He nodded portentously. “Anyone can help you, it’s Seamus.” He stepped back, adding, “And if it were my brother in Paddy’s old shoes, I’d ask.”

Concern transformed to outright anxiety. Pris straightened. “Thank you.”

Turning, she regarded Seamus O’Malley. She knew nothing of him. Quitting the bar, she walked across the room.

O’Malley sat hunched over a table, nursing a pint pot between work-roughened hands. Pausing beside him, she waited until his gaze rose to meet hers. He blinked owlishly at her, clearly recognizing her but at a loss as to why she was standing there.

Quietly, she stated, “I’m looking for Paddy O’Loughlin-Miller suggested I speak with you.”

“He did?” Seamus shifted to peer at the bar.