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‘Trousers, Mr Linton. Now.’
My grin blossoming into a full-blown beaming smile, I saluted and scurried off. For once, I was happy to let myself be bossed around. In a matter of minutes, I was back in the stable. Two horses stood ready and waiting at the open doors. Mr Ambrose was already in the saddle of the white stallion that made a startling contrast to his austere dark wardrobe. My charming horsey was prancing around beside him, waiting for its next dish of bitten-off fingers.
I shut the door behind me. Mr Ambrose looked around. ‘Ah, Mr Linton. You are here.’
Our eyes met.
There was no need for words. No need for a please or thank you, or anything else. In that one look, we told each other more than other people did in a lifetime. He was here for me. He knew what I wanted. What I needed. And he was willing to give it to me. Despite this meaning he would have to give up the most precious thing he possessed: his time.
Oh dear.
I was in deep. Terrifyingly deep.
‘Quit standing there like a spare lemon, Mr Linton. Let’s go!’
‘Yes, Si-’
Before I could even finish the word, he’d given his mount the spurs, and it dashed out into the white wonderland, spraying up diamond dust with its hooves. The snowy stallion nearly disappeared into the sparkling white whirl, making it seem as if Mr Rikkard Ambrose flew across the land by his own power alone. Swallowing at the sight, I took my own horse by the reins.
‘Come on, beastie. We’d better go join him.’
And I stepped outside.
‘What are you waiting for?’ In a whirl of white. Mr Ambrose circled me and came to a stop beside me. ‘Up into the saddle!’
‘Yes, Sir!’
I was up in the saddle before the horse know what hit it. When it realised what had just been dumped onto its back, the beast pranced, whinnying in protest.
‘Hey! I’m not that heavy!’
‘The horse is intelligent, Mr Linton. It realises that you’re nervous.’ Mr Ambrose appeared beside me, grabbing the reins. Instantly, the beast calmed. ‘Show some confidence! Sit up straight.’
My first instinct was to give a biting reply. But I guessed that, as long as I wanted him to teach me, I more or less had to do what he said. Clamping my legs around the horse to get a tighter hold on it, I straightened my back.
‘No! Not like this. You’re stiff as a board, Mr Linton. Relax your back and your legs. If you clamp on like a limpet, the horse won’t be able to move freely. Relax.’
‘Oh wonder of wonders! God be praised! I’d never thought I’d live to see the day when you tell me to relax.’
‘Wipe that smirk off your face and concentrate, Mr Linton.’
‘Yes, Sir! Right away, Sir!’
‘Now, make sure your grip on the reins is not too tight and not too loose. Your arms and the reins should form one straight line. No! Not your whole arms, just your forearms. And loosen your hips. You have to move with the horse, and under no circumstances should you-’
As I sat there and listened, a strange feeling came over me. It was almost a premonition. Was I turning psychic? I suddenly had a firm feeling that Rikkard Ambrose was going to be a lot less patient a teacher than Captain James Carter.
So what, as long as he teaches me what I want to learn?
I smiled.
*~*~**~*~*
Time passed in a blur. After only a few lessons, I had passed from trotting around the yard to galloping across the snowclad meadows, hair flying in the icy air. Du
ring the next few days, Mr Ambrose and I raced each other around the manor house, rode into town, and every so often made trips into the solitary forest, watching the birds that had decided to stay and tough out the winter - all of course under the guise of helping me learn to ride. But now and again, when he would ride close to me or correct my position, his eyes and his hands would linger, and unspoken words would dance in the air with the snowflakes.
But the riding itself wasn’t even the best part: no, what I particularly enjoyed was watching the hyenas from a distance as they desperately (and fruitlessly) searched for their new, mysterious rival Miss Lillian Linton, all the while wondering why the heck Mr Rikkard Ambrose would spend all his priceless time riding around with his little bumpkin of a secretary when he had a covey of beautiful women at his beck and call.
