Page 11 of The Cornish Mermaid

That was a relief. At least he could do as Jago wanted now and return her to where she’d come from. A tiny, confusing ache formed in his heart that she wasn’t to benefit from their hospitality any longer. Shoving that to one side, he mentally shook his head. That could never have been an option, as she had no abigail with her to give propriety to her stay in a household belonging to two single men. His gaze fell on Jenifry. Not that Jago was technically single.

As if Kit’s thinking of his uncle had called him, Jago chose this moment to reappear, grim-faced still. However, his expression changed to one of relief when he saw Miss Lucas adorned in proper attire for a lady, although the frown that followed probably signified disapproval of Jenifry’s choice of the pink and white silk for a stranger.

“Horses’re ready,” he huffed at Kit. “Jowan’s holding onto ’em by the trough. Best get her off to Penzance. I need you back here sharpish.”

Kit extended his arm to Morvoren. “If you’ll come this way, Miss Lucas, I’ll have you back in your lodgings within an hour or two. Penzance isn’t more than eight miles, and we can ride across the moors and keep up a good pace.”

Like a wary fawn, Miss Lucas took his arm, her wide blue eyes regarding him in what looked like open curiosity mingled with a touch of trepidation as he led her out into the farmyard. As soon as she saw the two horses being held by old Jowan, though, she stopped so suddenly she let go of his arm.

*

Morvoren

A sidesaddle. Morvoren stared. They’d put a sidesaddle on the horse they intended her to ride. Okay, she’d ridden a lot as a child and teenager, but never on a sidesaddle. Who had? Who rode like that nowadays unless at a posh horse show? Who would even want to? Not her.

The squat little man holding the horses turned a baleful eye on her and spat copiously onto the flagstones. He made the nefarious Jago look like a benign old grandfather. Grey hair had been shorn as short as his stubbly beard, and his face had the appearance of the knobbliest old potato that had grown wizened and shrunken at the bottom of the sack. The only thing that was missing was a hunchback and he would have been Dr. Frankenstein’s helper, Igor, to a tee.

Kit, unfazed by this vision out of a Hammer horror film, had stopped beside Morvoren. Now, he turned to look at her, confusion, and a touch of irritation, on his handsome face. “Is something wrong, Miss Lucas?”

She sighed. “Please call me Morvoren, not Miss Lucas, or I’ll have to call you Mr. Carlyon.” She jerked her head at the horse. “Do you really want me to ride sidesaddle? I’ve never done it before.”

The confusion only worsened. “But you said you could ride,” he protested, sounding a little affronted, as though he thought she might have lied.

“I can,” Morvoren replied. “Just not like this. Astride. On a saddle like this one.” She indicated his own saddle, although even that wasn’t quite like the kind of forward-cut jumping saddle she’d had for her pony as a teenager. She looked back up at him. “Never on a sidesaddle. Don’t you have a different one I could use?” Although even astride, riding eight miles in a voluminous frock and those dreadful knickers would not be comfortable.

Now his expression changed to one of horror and shock. “But I can’t escort you into Penzance riding astride… in a dress. You’re a lady.”

Why the heck not? Was she going to have to comply with all these silly rules in order to get away from here? “Very well,” she said, setting her jaw and resigning herself to having to humor him. “I’ll give it a go.” She glanced around. “But I’ll need a hat.”

The light of realization brightened Kit’s face. He turned back to the still open farmhouse door, from where Jenifry was watching. “A hat for Miss Lucas.”

Jenifry was not gone long, returning in a couple of minutes clutching something that did not look at all like a riding hat. In fact, it was a faded straw bonnet. With ribbons.

She held it out to Morvoren with an air of pride. “Lucky I did know where there was one. But you’re right. You can’t go riding into Penzance without a bonnet on your head, Miss Lucas.”

Morvoren took the hat—the bonnet—and stared down at it. No protection at all were she to fall off. Did they not know about riding hats and how dangerous it was to ride a horse without one? With extreme reluctance, she set the bonnet on her head and did up the ribbons under her chin, feeling like a medieval soldier going into battle without a shield.

“Now,” said Kit, that hint of annoyance lurking in his tone. “Let me give you a leg up onto your horse.”

The stone mounting block had caught Morvoren’s eye. “I’m perfectly capable of getting on by myself, thank you,” she said, before remembering she was wearing a long dress and a lot of petticoats.

Ignoring Kit’s offered hand, she climbed, with some difficulty thanks to all those skirts, onto the stone block by herself, the bones of that dratted corset digging into her flesh. Stays. Corsets, or stays, whatever you wanted to call them, were not meant for active young ladies, that was for sure.

Jowan threw a sideways glance at Kit, who was tapping his boot on the flagstones, and led the horse in the sidesaddle over to the mounting block, his rheumy old eyes sparkling with something that could have been amusement. How dare he laugh at her?

Morvoren ignored him. Now, how to mount and end up sitting on the saddle in the correct position?

She gathered up the reins. There was indeed a stirrup, so she experimentally set her left foot in it, but after that, she was lost.

Kit stepped closer. “I think you’ll need a leg up,” he said in a low voice. “Take your foot out of the stirrup, come down off that mounting block, and I’ll give you one. Ladies can’t mount unaided.”

Feeling like an idiot—again—Morvoren hitched up her skirts and managed to get down from the mounting block without his help and without ending up in a crumpled heap. Oh, the indignities being forced upon her.

Kit held out his hands linked together to make a step. “Other foot. Put it here. Up you go and hook it over the saddle horn.”

She set her right foot in his cupped hands, and he gave her a strong boost up onto the saddle. Jowan released his hold on the reins, and she shortened them up to take control of her horse, who stepped sideways.

She stroked his neck with one hand. “What’s this horse called?”