“You are doing well.” Tristan’s deep voice broke into her thoughts. His manner was soothing and if the man didn’t make her pulse pound simply by being nearby, Mirrie might have found his presence something of a comfort.
They had already left behind the well-trodden tracks leading down from Ember Hall. Gone was the familiar scent of woodsmoke and the contours of the land that she loved so well. Soon even the local village would be but a memory.
This is my last chance to turn back.
“Give the mare her head and lengthen your legs down her sides.”
She could feel his eyes upon her. His unfamiliar attentiveness did little to calm her anxiety.
“I am trying,” she replied through gritted teeth.
“You are succeeding,” he corrected her. “And if I am being a bore, please tell me. My only aim is to keep you safe and happy.”
She silently digested this as they passed a group of villagers who stood aside and bowed. Usually she would have smiled and spoken in greeting, but her concentration was solely on the horse beneath her. After a while, greatly daring, she allowed asection of rein to slip through her fingers. The little mare, happy to gain a sense of freedom, strode out with more conviction.
“There you are,” said Tristan.
She glanced up at him. He was riding close, but his height atop his bright bay warhorse meant that he towered above her.
“I am sorry for being such a coward.”
“You are no such thing.” His horse skittered at a clump of gorse but Tristan held him steady.
Mirrie found her lips turning up into a smile. They were passing through open moorland. Above them, the sky was a deep blue. Bluer even than Tristan’s eyes. Aside from the steady beat of their horses’ hooves, all they could hear was the occasional call of a curlew.
Mirrie remembered her determination to snatch at happiness whilst it was within her reach. Here was a lovely day, and the man she loved was by her side. She would allow herself to enjoy it.
“I oft wish I had learned to ride as early as you and the others.”
“Before we could walk, you mean?” Tristan’s grin was almost enough to make her forget she was perched atop a horse, at the mercy of its whims.
She nodded. “Before fear and reason had chance to set in.”
“Well, none of us had a choice in the matter.” He held his reins loosely with one hand, the other arm hanging down by his side. “As you will know, having met my mother.”
They shared a smile. “Your mother is the only reason I can ride at all.”
Lady Morwenna, Countess of Wolvesley, loved horses almost as much as she loved her husband and children.
“Did she have you up on a horse the first day you arrived in Wolvesley?”
Tristan’s tone was light, but Mirrie’s answer was serious.
“Nay. The first day I arrived in Wolvesley, I had hardly the confidence to speak my name, let alone ride a horse.”
Tristan shook his head, his lips pressed together regretfully. “I hardly remember, though I know I should. We had both of us seen near enough ten summers at that time.”
“Eight,” she corrected him.
“To me, it is as if you were always there.” Tristan treated her to one of his widest smiles, but when she found herself unable to return it, contrition filled his eyes. “Forgive me, Mirrie, ’twas a thoughtless thing to say. You must have had a full life before you came to live with us.”
She had. One with loving parents and a happy home. But she had had years to grieve the life she had left behind, and to come to terms with the one she’d been given instead. Her voice was quite steady as she replied.
“I was blessed with kind and caring parents. When they died, I was blessed again to be taken in by your family.”
The small of her back was aching. Mirrie summoned all her courage and placed her reins in one hand so the other could rub at it. The chestnut mare scarcely altered her stride, but her furry ears flickered back and forth, showing she was aware of her rider’s movements.
“Good girl,” Mirrie tried.
