“Are you sure I am ready for a different horse?” Mari asked as she eyed the large roan gelding the groom led from the stable. “The little mare and I were getting along just fine on the last two rides.”
“Aye, ye were. Ye may just make a fine horsewoman yet.”
“I will never ride like Jillian.”
“Ye dinnae have to, lass. From what Ian says, horses are second nature to yer sister. Still, ’tis good for ye to be able to handle the wee beastie should ye need to.”
“Wee? There is nothing small about any horse, but this one is huge.”
“Have nae fear. He’s a docile mount.” Jamie put his hands around Mari’s waist, lifting her up to the saddle before she could issue a protest. The horse shifted his weight, causing her to grasp his mane with both hands.
“Easy,” Jamie said.
Mari was not sure if he was speaking to her or the horse, and then the thought was lost as he slid his hand up her calf, lifting her right leg to fit over the horn of the side-saddle like he had the last time. Jamie smoothed her riding habit down to cover her half-boots as though it was the most natural gesture in the world. That mere brush sent heat racing up her thigh to that little tingly spot that she hadn’t even known could tingle until recently. The familiarities the man took. She could see the groomsman was smiling, even though he was walking away. “Really. This is most improper—”
“Ye have an odd idea of what is improper, Mari.” Jamie grinned up at her, his dimple showing. “Would ye like me to show ye the difference?”
“You are incorrigible, sirrah.” The gelding shifted again, this time pawing the ground and distracting her. “Are you sure this horse is gentle?”
“He will be fine. Dinnae show fear.” Jamie vaulted on to Nero’s back and gave her another grin. “Beggin’ yer delicate ears fromimproper talk, ’tis nae a good idea to take the mare out when I am riding a stallion. If ye understand what I am saying.”
“I believe I do. Apparently male horses are not that different from their human counterparts. Picking on a sweet, little mare—”
“The mare wouldna mind, if she were inclined to accept him.”
For a moment, Mari stared at Jamie. “Are we discussing…breeding? In the middle of the day in a courtyard? This is hardly acceptable conversation.”
Jamie remained affably unaffected by her admonishment. “’Tis nae wrong to discuss what comes naturally to man and beast. ’Tis nae wrong todowhat comes—”
“Stop!” Mari covered her ears and then quickly grabbed for the reins as the roan moved forward. “Will you maintain a civil tongue in your head, please?”
“For now.” Jamie winked and turned Nero toward the front road. Mari was left to view his broad shoulders, well-defined under the close fit of his riding coat, the tails of which did little to hide the way his posterior fit his saddle—or how all those muscles in his back moved in rhythm with the horse’s gait.
Jamie’s breeches fit tightly too, Mari noticed as the gelding caught up with Nero. A thought from nowhere struck her. Where did his male appendage fit when he was in the saddle?
Lud! Mari felt her face flame. Why was she thinking about Jamie’s private parts? First, a totally inappropriate conversation with him, and now—completely on her own without any risqué comments from Jamie—atotallyindecent thought. Where had it come from anyway?
It must have been the pictures in that book Abigail had dropped.
On the short ride over to Hyde Park, Jamie had to admit Mari was handling her mount better than he expected. The gelding was a good hand-and-a-half taller than the mare had been and his gait much looser.
“Ye are doing fine,” Jamie said as they ambled along Serpentine Road around the small lake.
Mari smiled tentatively. “I think I am beginning to see why Jillian likes riding so much—not that I will ever be that good.”
“Ye might. It takes practice and being familiar with your horse.” Jamie ran a hand along Nero’s silken neck and the stallion nickered softly. “Ye need to think of the animal as yer friend. He depends on ye for food and care, and ye can depend on him for the good sense God gave horses.”
“Good sense?”
“Aye. When a mon is travelling in the Highlands, he trusts the surefootedness of the steed, as well as its ability to seek shelter in times of need.”
“What kind of need?”
“Storms mostly. They rise swiftly in the mountains. The wind can howl like a demon through the passes and the rain comes hard and fast, turning a safe path to a slippery, muddy slope before ye can even wrap yer plaid around ye to stay dry. Nature does nae take kindly to those who get caught out. ’Tis the time to trust the horse to find its way.”
“Well, we do not have to worry about such in London,” Mari replied.
“Nae,” Jamie agreed as they reined in to watch two yellow barouches align themselves nearby on Rotten Row. Both teams of horses were bays with silver-mounted harnesses. The young men holding the reins were dressed identically in drab coats offset by huge mother-of-pearl buttons and yellow-striped blue waistcoats.
