“Here’s the keys, Angela. I’ll text you when we are heading back.” Art pops open the boot to grab his helmet.
His voice brings me back to reality.
“Take your time.” Angela leans against the car. “I’ll just be reading my tablet near the Serpentine.”
“Understood.” He closes the boot, tucking the helmet under his arm.
“Have fun kids,” she teases.
I need to stop staring at the blokes. I hope my face isn’t too beet-red. I clear my throat. “Right. Uh, I’m guessing that Amanda arranged to have my groom bring over one of Eddie’s horses for you, Eric. Just to warn you, they can be a little spirited.”
He puffs out his chest. “That’s no problem for me. I can handle anything you throw at me.”
I almost miss it, but I swear I hear Art mutter under his breath, “We’ll see about that.”
I wonder if something happened between Art and Eric when I was with Angela. My eyes dart to Eric. He’s relaxed and chatting about how the cavalry exercise their horses on the track we’re aboutto ride. He knows it well. I doubt he’s heard anything Art may have said.
My security guard, on the other hand, is moody. His jaw is clenched and he’s carrying his shoulders high. Maybe a ride is just what he needs to relax. I know it does wonders to help me clear my head when I’m stressed.
As we reach the stables, the scents of hay, leather, and horses hit my nostrils. I’m home. From the stall closest to the door, a dapple mare has stuck its head out as far as it will go and neighs as if she’s shouting at me to hurry up and get on with greeting her.
“Athena.” I jog over and rest my head against her muzzle. It’s coarse and wet. The horse butts her head right back against me. “How’s my girl? I hope you didn’t make any trouble on the way over.” I find the soft spot on the side of her neck, just above her front leg, and scratch it.
“She’s been no trouble at all,” Danny, my groom, responds, placing down a bucket of water.
“Oy, Danny. It’s good to see you.” I hug the man tightly. He has been working in the royal stables for as long as I can remember. He’s the one who taught me how to ride.
“The feeling is mutual, Princess.”
I release him. Art clears his throat. I’ve already forgotten about the men I’ve brought with me. Oops. I make myself an inch smaller. “This is Art and that’s Eric. They’ll be riding with me today.”
“Nice to meet you both.” Danny appraises them before returning his attention to me. “In addition to Athena, I brought Sefton and Poseidon with me.”
Hearing his name, Sefton, my bay gelding, pokes his head out a few stalls down to see what’s going on. He blows out air in jealousy, wanting his turn with me.
“I’ll come see you in a moment, boy,” I reassure my horse. “Brilliant, thank you, Danny. I’d like Art to have Sefton and for Eric to ride Poseidon.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“Is Poseidon that massive black-and-white fellow down at the end?” Eric asks.
“Indeed, he is. He’s in a right mood though,” Danny says. On cue, he stomps his hoof impatiently on the ground.
“I’ve dealt with moody mounts. Leave him to me; I’ll show him who’s boss.” Eric claps his hands together.
His words rub me the wrong way. Horses aren’t supposed to be shown who’s boss. They’re not creatures who can be forced to do anything. They’ll win every time if you challenge them. It’s about building a trusting relationship and rapport with your mount.
Danny furrows his brow, not liking Eric’s boast either. “If you two will come with me, I’ll show you where the tack is. Your Highness, I left Athena’s gear near her stall.”
“Thanks, I see it. I’ll take care of kitting her out after I greet Sefton.”
The men follow Danny while I head over to my brown beauty. The gelding neighs softly when I open the stall door. I scratch the sensitive skin under his jaw. “I need you to be your charming, handsome self today for a good friend of mine. His name is Art. Do you think you can do that for me? I’ll bring you some apples next time if you do,” I whisper.
I helped raise Sefton from the day he was born from my aunt’s favorite dam. I can still vividly remember helping Danny bottle-feed him every two hours when his mum wasn’t able to produce enough milk. He’s my big baby, and we’ve always shared a close bond. Sefton can read my moods well.
Art clears his throat. I glance over my shoulder. He’s holding the bridle, saddle blanket, and saddle all with one arm. Those are heavy! His arms must be ultra strong. I notice his sleeves have been rolled up to the three-quarter mark. My throat goes dry. Compared to Eric, he’s much tanner and brimming with muscle.
“What ifIoffered him an apple?” he says softly. He joins me inside and carefully places the tack on the ground, approaching us with slow, even steps. He holds up a hand for Sefton and allows him to sniff it.
