Bran signaled to one of the stable lads he’d brought with him from the Roost. “Let’s remove the stirrups.”
Lafferty’s eyebrows crashed together in confusion. “Remove the stirrups?Won’t I be needing those?” The last was said with a nervous laugh.
Bran had never been a leader who demanded blind obedience. He was willing to explain his reasoning. “You’re pumping in the saddle, and as a result, Radish is starting to ignore you. Have you noticed?”
“Now that you mention it, aye.”
“You need to reach an accord. So, we’ll remove the stirrups so you can gain an independent seat, and you two can tune a rhythm with each other. Let’s try it, shall we?”
Lafferty nodded. “Aye, that could work.”
“Good man.”
Movement caught the corner of Bran’s eye. In the distance, through a white cloud of mist, a horse and rider had appeared.
He didn’t need to check his pocket watch.
It would read noon—sharp.
From where Lady Artemis had stopped, she would have a perfect view of the training session she was so keen to observe.
Perhaps she would stay where she was.
The instant theperhapscrossed his mind, she squeezed her knees and urged her chestnut bay into a walk. When had Lady Artemis Keating ever heeded any but her own inclinations?
Dressed in an aubergine riding habit that complemented her sable hair and olive complexion, she cut a dashing figure on her mount as she caught every eye on the course.
Not that she would notice.
She never had.
Bran remembered that about her.
Though she wasn’t a traditional English beauty—she was too tall … her figure too robust … her nose too aquiline … her skin a few shades too dark—she was, indeed, a beauty. Ten years ago, he’d told her as much, and she’d always laughed. A laughter that sounded less like delight than a deflective shield. He’d never thought to ask then, but he wondered now.
What had she been protecting herself from?
From his place on the platform, he held her in the corner of his eye as she approached. At last, she came to a stop beside the stand, but remained mounted and silent. It was a tetchy silence—aloudsilence—one that announced her presence without a word.
It wouldn’t hold, of that he was certain.
In the distance, the lad gave Bran a thumbs up, his task complete, while Lafferty remounted Radish. “Now,” Bran called out. “Walk Radish around the curve, and I’ll signal at the post.”
Lady Artemis’s head tipped to the side, her gaze fixed straight ahead. “Your jockey doesn’t have stirrups.”
As greetings went, Bran had been the recipient of worse. “Aye.”
When Lafferty reached the post, he called out, “And trot,” from low to high. As Radish increased his pace, Bran kept his attention on Lafferty’s center. Already, he was more balanced in the seat, and Radish looked more at ease in his shoulders.Good.
He felt eyes on the side of his face. “Lord Branwell?”
Lady Artemiswas on the tip of his tongue, but he stayed it. If they were to spend any amount of time together over the next few weeks, he must say something. “Bran.”
Her brow crinkled. “Pardon?”
“Just call me Bran.”
She looked no small bit displeased. “And I suppose you’ll be calling me Artemis?”
