“She won’t bite,” Baldwin said, his deep voice carrying a hint of amusement that made her cheeks warm.
“That remains to be seen,” she muttered, adjusting the heavy wool skirts Eleanor had insisted she wear for riding. The deep forest green fabric was beautiful but cumbersome, especially with the tight-laced bodice that made breathing a challenge even without the prospect of being hoisted atop a thousand-pound animal.
Baldwin stood beside her in his riding clothes. A simple linen shirt beneath a leather jerkin that hugged his broad shoulders, and breeches that displayed the muscular contours of his thighs. His dark hair was tied back with a leather cord, revealing the sharp angles of his jaw and cheekbones. Beth forced herself to look away, focusing instead on the intimidating animal before her.
“In my time, I drove a Subaru,” she said. “It had seatbelts and airbags.”
“I know not these words,” Baldwin replied, “but I assure you Rosalind is gentle as a lamb.”
“A lamb the size of a small house,” Beth grumbled.
She narrowed her eyes as his mouth twitched. If he laughed, she’d push him into the mud.
“Come. The hunting party awaits, and we must make haste if we’re to join them before midday.”
He positioned himself beside her, his hands hovering near her waist. “I’ll need to lift you.”
Beth swallowed hard. “Right. Of course.”
Even through the layers of clothing, she felt the heat of his touch like a brand. With seemingly effortless strength, he lifted her, and she found herself suspended in air for one heart-stopping moment before being deposited onto the saddle.
“Sweet mother of—” She grabbed the pommel, her knuckles white.
Baldwin’s hands remained at her waist, steadying her. “Breathe.”
She hadn’t realized she’d been holding her breath until he commanded her to release it. The air left her lungs in a rush, and her shoulders relaxed marginally.
“That’s better,” he said, his voice low and close to her ear. “Now, sit straight. Your back must align with the horse’s spine.”
His hand pressed against the small of her back, guiding her into the proper position. Beth’s heart thundered in her chest, and she wondered if he could feel it through his palm.
“Like this?” she asked, her voice embarrassingly breathy.
“Almost.” His other hand came to rest on her shoulder, gently pulling it back. “You must appear as if you and the horse are one, moving in harmony.”
Beth bit her lip. The only harmony she felt was the synchronized racing of her pulse with the brush of his fingers against her neck as he adjusted her posture.
“Your feet go here,” he continued, seemingly oblivious to her inner turmoil as he guided her boot into the stirrup. His hand wrapped around her ankle, and Beth nearly jumped out of her skin.
“Sorry,” she said.
Baldwin’s gray eyes met hers, and something flickered in their depths. Amusement, perhaps, or something warmer. He stepped back, assessing her position, then nodded with satisfaction. “You look born to the saddle.”
“I feel like I’m about to topple over at any moment,” Beth admitted.
“Then I shall ride close,” Baldwin said, mounting his own steed, a massive black stallion, with a fluid grace that made her envious. “Should you fall, I’ll catch you.”
The words sent an unexpected thrill through her that had nothing to do with horseback riding.
The hunting partyconsisted of Baldwin, Sir Roland, three other knights whose names Beth couldn’t remember, and a handful of servants with hunting dogs. Eleanor said she would rather work on her embroidery, though Beth would bet a hundred dollars that she was going to practice with her bow and arrow. The forest was alive with birdsong and dappled sunlight filtering through the canopy of leaves. The earthy scent of moss and fallen leaves filled her nostrils, occasionally punctuated by the sweeter fragrance of wildflowers.
Beth’s thighs ached from gripping the saddle, but she’d managed to stay mounted for over an hour without incident. A fact she took considerable pride in.
“You ride well for a novice,” Baldwin said, guiding his stallion alongside her mare.
“I’m pretty sure Rosalind is doing all the work,” Beth replied. “I’m just trying not to fall off.”
His laugh made her stomach flip. “You sell yourself short. Many ladies require weeks of training before venturing beyond the castle walls.”
