“Ready to go?” he asks.
My heart is beating faster than I would prefer, but I nod. I may not have ridden a horse quite this size before, but I’ve ridden plenty. I’m not a complete novice.
I’ve got this.
I give the stable hand a small nod and he releases Silver’s reins. She shifts beneath me, powerful and warm, and I lean down to stroke her neck.
“We’re going to be good friends, you and me, Silver,” I murmur.
When I sit upright again, Frederic is watching me, his expression unreadable.
He probably thinks I’m ridiculous, needing to be hoisted up onto my horse and now talking to it like I did the dogs that day in the glass house.
I square my shoulders.
Our horses clomp across the courtyard, and we bid farewell to Mr. Timbale and his stable hands. The stable hands opened a gate to the adjoining field for us. Frederic leads the way, and I follow, guiding Silver carefully through.
I’ll admit, from where I am sitting, the view is rather excellent. Frederic’s cropped riding jacket accentuates his broad shoulders, tapering to a narrow waist. His seat in the saddle is steady and controlled, every movement economical. Even the way he rides, so confident and in control, has a certain appeal.
Frederic eases Chestnut back until he’s riding beside me. Goodbye view.
“How are you doing?” he asks.
“I think I’m doing all right. Silver’s lovely.”
“Good.” He studies my posture. “You’re a natural.”
“I’ve ridden many horses,” I say. “We have a stable full at home.”
“Good,” he repeats, satisfied. Then his gaze sharpens slightly. “In that case, how about we increase the pace? I usually ride at quite a clip in the mornings. Are you up for it?”
There’s a spark in his eyes now.
I lift my chin. “Of course I am.”
I only hope that I am, in fact, telling the truth.
“Right then,” Frederic calls over his shoulder as he trots ahead. “Let’s kick this up a notch.”
He doesn’t wait for my answer.
With a subtle press of his heels, Chestnut surges forward. Horse and rider move as one as they dash across the open field.
“All right, Silver,” I say in a murmur. “Let’s catch them up.”
I press my heels in gently and we move from a walk to a brisk trot. Another nudge, and she responds beautifully, lifting into a canter. I rise slightly from the saddle, knees bent, finding the rhythm as we trail behind Frederic.
He glances back at me.
“I’m catching you!” I call.
In response, he merely urges Chestnut on. They lengthen their stride, racing ahead like a bolt of lightning toward the edge of the forest.
I may not have ridden a horse quite this size before, butSilver’s still a horse. Four legs. One tail. A heart eager to run.
And run we do.
The wind rushes past my ears as we fly across the field, the distance between us shrinking by degrees. For a few glorious seconds, it’s nothing but speed and sky and the steady thunder of hooves beneath me.
