“I do.”
“That is unfair.”
“Nay. I am just telling ye beforehand. That horse isnae stable enough for a race.”
The mischievous smile on her face widened, and Ciaran braced himself for whatever came next. “Whatever ye say, me Laird.”
“Ava, wait?—”
Before he could finish, she kicked her heels in and let the mare surge forward.
It was not reckless in the very least. She rode well. Better than he had expected. Her seat was light, her hands steady, and the look on her face when she turned to see whether he followed was full of bright challenge rather than panic.
He raced after her because he had no choice left but to do so.
When he drew level again, she was laughing.
“I used to beat Isobel every time,” she revealed, as if continuing a conversation. “She always swore I cheated.”
“Did ye?”
She looked up at the sky. “Constantly.”
He glanced at her with an arched eyebrow.
She snorted. “All right, nae really, but I let her believe it because it made winning sweeter.”
That coaxed a rough breath from him that should not have been as close to amusement as it was.
Ava noticed.Of course,she noticed.
“I kent it,” she said, the laughter in her voice still evident. “There is a sense of humor buried in ye somewhere.”
“Daenae grow too hopeful.”
“Too late.”
They rode on at a brisk pace after that, the horses pleased with the exercise, the morning broad and clear around them.
Ava kept speaking, her voice mingling with the wind in the gentlest way. She told him how Isobel used to accuse her of leaning forward like a jockey, which made her horse go faster.
“And did ye? Lean like a jockey?”
“That isnae the point of this discussion, me Laird.”
“Sounds like it should very much be the point.”
Ava turned to him, her eyes narrowed and her eyebrows raised. “Why? Because ye also think it is quite unladylike?”
Ciaran shrugged in response.
Ava shook her head. “I cannae believe ye. Ye ken, to win, sometimes ye have to disregard things like posture. The competition doesnae care how ladylike ye look.”
A smirk curved his lips as they rode even faster. She told him she once rounded a corner too sharply and landed in mud before she could enjoy her victory, while Isobel laughed so hard she nearly fell as well.
Ciaran found himself listening not out of duty, but because he wanted the next part. That was the first real warning.
Ava smiled more when she rode. Not prettily, but openly. It changed her entire face. Worse, there was no sign she did it for him. She was not trying to charm or coax him. She was simply enjoying herself, entirely occupied with the horse beneath her and the memory of old races and the pleasure of movement.
