‘Hi there,’ I say, standing up. I must look a sight: red-faced and sweaty. I swipe the sweat away with the back of my sleeve.
James pulls on his reins, forcing his slightly less enormous chestnut horse back round in a circle, before coming to a stop facing me.
‘You’re not going to eat that, are you?’ he asks, his forehead creased with concern, as his mare kicks into a canter to run the length of the fence before settling back again. Part of me is glad to see he’s not the ace at horse-riding he seems to be at everything else.
‘No,’ I say, tossing the stem to the ground, before feeling a deep burning sensation on my fingers.
‘Well, good. Because they’re stinging nettles. Were you foraging?’
‘Maybe.’
‘Well, it’s a beautiful morning for it,’ he says, grinning.
‘Aye, the red sky was a picture earlier. Did you catch the sunrise?’ Brett asks.
‘Yes,’ I say, feeling suddenly a little woozy. The sun has some heat in it and I am thirsty.
‘You need a ride back? You look a little peaky.’
‘No.’ I fold my arms in defiance.
‘You should have water with you,’ James says, dismounting from his horse. He leads it to the side of the path and it immediately goes for some longish shrubs. Then he unstraps a flask of water from his saddle. I salivate.
‘Thanks. I didn’t mean to get this far,’ I say, taking the flask from him and gulping half down in one go. With the slight hangover and my impromptu run, I’m gagging for it. The ice-cold water runs down my throat and I almost groan in ecstasy.
‘You sure you don’t want a ride back?’ he replies, placing one of his leather riding boots on a nearby tree stump to wrestle out an irritating bunch in his socks. Then he looks across at me, and the valley falls silent as his dazzling eyes catch the morning sun. He reaches up to shield them and takes another step closer.
‘I thought I’d do some more foraging on the way back.’
‘Yeah?’ He looks suspicious.
‘Yeah.’
It must be nearly six. James is still looking at me and I imagine for a moment what he must be seeing. I’m hungover and sweaty and pink, and covered in mud. Is that sexy? I’m not so sure. It sounds a bit like how you might describe a pig.
I can feel my underpants halfway up my bum, and have a sudden urge to tweak them out, but with a superhuman effort I don’t. Instead I hand back the flask.
‘How’s your head?’
‘Youand your mother are responsible for this hungover hot mess you see before you.’
‘Come on, lass – let us take you back. You don’t want another minor foot injury,’ Brett says, grinning, as he leans down to stroke the horse’s long, thick neck.
James motions towards his horse and I look at the saddle, trying to figure out where I am supposed to go.
‘Unless you want to go with Brett?’ he says.
And so I slip my foot into the stirrup and he helps to guide me up, as he steadies the horse. I imagine what my huge bum must look like as I teeter between falling and hoisting myself up. Why are horses so bloodytall?
‘Sit forward,’ he says, and then in one swift motion he is up, sitting behind me, his arms round me, holding on to the reins, and we begin to ride back.
If I wanted to do anything to dampen my crush on James, I should not have got on this horse. It is almost comically sexy – a large horse between my legs, James’s steady arms around me, his chest barely touching my back, and the rhythmical swaying as we traverse the path. He occasionally points out a bird:an osprey circlingora kiteora golden eagle. And I make as much small talk as I can, so as not to focus on the deliciousness of being so achingly, intimately and feverishly close to this man.
When we pull into the stables, I am exhausted. My thighs hurt and I just want to crawl back into bed and rest up before service later that night.
James helps me dismount and I make a joke about how I must stink, and he shakes his head. ‘I couldn’t tell if it was you or the horse.’
‘Is that supposed to be a joke or are you serious?’
