She ignored it, pushing herself up and dusting dirt and crumbs from her skirts while the dogs sniffed hopefully.
“Come. Stables. Now.”
“’Tis nae proper. Me faither?—”
“I dinnae give a damn what yer faither said.” The words came out sharp, and he let out a small apologetic grunt. When he spoke next his voice was quieter. “He’s nae here and he’s nae protectin’ ye. And besides, tomorrow ye’ll become me wife and ye’ll never have tae answer tae him, or anyone else ever again.”
Ragnar turned and walked toward the stables before she could argue further. Behind him, he heard her huff—sharp and indignant—followed swiftly by the determined click of her boots on stone.
The stables were quiet when they stepped inside. Ragnar led her past the stalls until they reached the massive stallion who’d been with him since the beast was a yearling.
Isolda stopped dead. “Ye expect me tae ridethat?”
“He’s a decent size fer his breed.”
“Is he descended from ancient giants?”
“He’s steady and that’s all that matters.” Ragnar ran a hand along Tðmr’s neck and the horse snorted softly.
“That’s because he’s too busy scarin’ the livin’ daylights out of everythin’ else!”
Ragnar’s mouth quirked before he could stop it. “Is that yer way of admittin’ thatye’rescared, little wolf?”
Isolda glared at him.
The stallion stretched his neck, nose sniffing in Isolda’s direction. “He likes ye.”
“Looks like he’s decidin’ if I’m edible.”
“He willnae bite.”
“Ye cannae promise that.”
“He’s never bitten anyone who didnae deserve it.” Ragnar unlatched the stall, leading Tðmr out into the wider aisle. The stallion moved with placid acceptance, clearly used to that routine. “Come here.”
“Why?”
“So ye can meet him properly, let him smell ye. Horses like tae ken who’s climbin on ‘em.”
She extended one hand—slowly, like she expected the beast to lunge. The stallion lowered his head, nostrils flaring as he investigated her fingers before softly nuzzling her palm.
“See? Nae teeth involved.”
Ragnar stepped to Tðmr’s side, gesturing for her to follow. “First, ye’re goin’ tae mount. Ye need tae climb on from the left. Foot in the stirrup, then pull yerself up intae the saddle. Simple.”
“If I fall and break me neck, I’m hauntin’ ye.” She stood there, staring up at Tðmr with barely concealed trepidation, making no move to mount.
“Left foot in the stirrup,” he repeated quietly. “Grab the saddle. Pull yerself up.”
“Easy fer ye tae say.” She grabbed the stirrup, tried to pull herself up and failed. Tðmr stood perfectly still, ears swiveling backward.
“Isolda—”
“I’ve nearly got?—”
His patience snapped. Two strides brought him behind her. “Arguin’ with ye is like tryin’ tae push rope, woman!”
Ragnar caught her around the waist and hoisted her off the ground. She weighed almost nothing, and the startled gasp that she uttered made his pulse kick. He kept his grip gentle even though his hands wanted to tighten and never let go.
