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Pyotr scowls. “I really pushed you too far,” he observes, his tone colored with concern.
“I’ll be fine. Really. We don’t have an entire hour to ride back, though, do we?” I ask more hesitantly. I’m not sure I can stay on the horse that long.
“No. Maybe fifteen or twenty minutes since we’ll head straight.”
I sag with relief. “Perfect.”
This time when I mount, Pyotr gives me what he calls a leg up. Lacing his fingers, he lets me step onto his hands and launches me up onto Nezhnyy’s back with no effort at all on my part. Setting my foot in the stirrup near him, Pyotr lingers, keeping his hand on my ankle.
When I look down to see him stalling, his striking eyes are tracing an appreciative path up my body, inch by inch.
“You look like a proper horseman,” he observes.
The growl of his voice makes my stomach tighten. “Thanks.” I flash him a winning grin.
Then he’s gone, leaving me to watch as he swings his body up onto his considerably larger dark-brown horse with ease. I pat my gray mare’s neck, thankful she’s been so sweet and calm for me all day.
“What does Nezhnyy mean?” I ask as Pyotr leads me through the trees, back toward the house.
“Who says it means anything?” he challenges, glancing over his shoulder. But his eyes twinkle, warning me he’s giving me a hard time.
“Well, it’s Russian, isn’t it? I hope you didn’t name her something as lame as ‘Spot’ or ‘Whitey,’” I tease right back.
“Hey, don’t go blaming me. My sister named her. Besides, what’s wrong with ‘Whitey’?” Pyotr’s eyebrows fall into a frown that makes my stomach drop.
“Oh my gosh, is that actually it? Please don’t tell your sister I said that.”
Pyotr laughs, the sound rich and warm as it carries through the trees. “I’m just giving you a hard time. My sister did name her, and it means ‘Gentle’ in Russian.”
“Nezhnyy,” I murmur, looking down at the sweet horse’s mane. “That’s so perfect.”
Pyotr nods. “She loves naming animals. And she’s good enough at it that I let her name Korolevskiy too.”
“What does his name mean?”
“Royal.”
I study Pyotr’s horse and have to agree. He carries himself with a strength, his muscles bunching purposefully with each stride, and his neck arches in a beautiful, regal curve.
“That definitely fits too.”
“Yeah.” Pyotr grins. “Because he’s a royal pain in my ass.”
That makes me laugh. “That is not why she named him that.”
Humor dances in my betrothed’s eyes. “Maybe not to begin with, but she is the one who pointed out the dual truth to his name.”
When we enter the impressive, high-raftered barn a short while later, several hands come to take our horses’ reins as Pyotr dismounts before coming to help me once again. I’m conflicted over just how embarrassingly bad I am at getting off a horse, but anticipation also zings through my veins at the thought of being in Pyotr’s arms again.
This time, when I start to lower myself from the saddle, strong hands grip my hips, keeping me steady and taking most of my weight. Still, he lets me finish the maneuver myself, and I’m surprised to find that I make it back onto my feet without losing my cool.
“Ideal’nyy,” he murmurs close to my ear as his chest presses lightly against my back.
I don’t know what it means, but it sounds like a good thing, and I’m not sure I have enough control over my voice right now to ask. My heart seemed to leap into my throat at his first touch and is currently almost strangling me.
I manage to stay on my feet as Pyotr has a short exchange with the groom holding Korolevskiy’s reins. Then he guides me toward the impressive manor the Veles family calls a house.
“What were you saying to Korolevskiy’s groom?” I ask.
