Chapter 13
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
“Ye’re spoilin’ them.”
The kitchen yard smelled of wet stone and yesterday’s cooking fires as Ragnar stepped toward Isolda, who was surrounded by three wolfhounds, two terriers and a scruffy mongrel.
She jumped, nearly dropping the bread she’d been tossing to the dogs in front of her. “They looked hungry.”
“They’re always hungry, lass. ‘Tis their life’s work.” He said as one of the dogs raised an expectant paw at her. “Seems ye’ve won yerself admirers.”
“Was there somethin’ ye needed?” she asked. “Or did ye come out here just tae criticize me relationship with yer hounds?”
“Dae ye ken how tae ride.”
She didn’t look up. “Aye?”
“Aye?” Ragnar leaned against the stone wall, arms crossed. “Since when?”
“Since I was eight.” She tossed another scrap and a grizzled wolfhound missing half an ear caught it mid-air. “Me faither insisted.”
“Sidesaddle?”
“’Tis how ladies ride.” Her hand paused.
“Nae around these parts.”
She looked up, her eyes flashing. “I’m quite aware of where I am.”
“Then ye ken,” he said evenly, “that if Douglas decides tae come fer ye, yer fancy sidesaddlin’ willnae help ye much.”
Her hands stilled completely. The dogs sensed the shift and pressed closer. “’Tis still a form of ridin’.”
“Och, aye. Just like pourin’ water on yer head is still a bath.”
“That’s nae the same thing. I’ll be just fine if I need tae—”
“Prove it, then. Get on a horse and show me this fine ridin’ of yers.”
Her chin came up, eyes sparking and Ragnar had to bite back a smile.
“Now?”
He glanced up at the dogs, who’d started nosing around her feet again. “I’m sure the mutts would understand if ye abandoned them fer a wee bit.”
She waved a dismissive hand. “I willnae need tae flee. Ye’ll be there protectin’ me. Or is that nae part of this arrangement?”
“And if I’m elsewhere? If somethin’ separates us?
” he pushed off the wall, stepping closer.
The dogs’ ears pricked up but they didn’t scatter.
Ragnar crouched beside her, close enough that the wolfhound pushed his massive head under his hand.
“I’d sleep better kennin’ ye could handle a horse if it came tae it, if ye ever needed tae flee this keep—”
She threw the last piece of bread harder than necessary and the scruffy mongrel yelped dramatically as it bounced off his nose. “If I wanted tae hear the same thing over and over I’d go stand next tae the kirk bell.”
“Well, if ye’d just stop avoidin’—”
“I’m feedin’ the dogs.”
“Nay. Ye’re learnin’ how tae ride astride. Right now.”
Her cheeks flushed. “Ladies dinnae ride astride.”
Ragnar stood, offering his hand.
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 ride that?”
“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 Temr’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’ that ye’re scared, 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 Temr 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 Temr’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 Temr 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. Temr 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.
“Ragnar!” she gasped, hands flying to him for something to balance with. “What are ye… put me down!”
Isolda grabbed for the pommel, but her hand missed entirely. She tipped precariously and Ragnar swerved her around, but her hand was still searching for an anchor and it closed around his belt, tugging.
They both froze.
Her fingers gripped the leather at his hip, her thumb grazing the bare skin above his belt. Heat blazed through him—sharp and wanting.
She stared down at where she had gripped him, lips parted around words that wouldn’t come.
Her breath hitched—sharp an audible in the quiet stable—and Ragnar forgot how to breath.
He noticed the smattering of freckles across her nose, wondering how he had missed it before.
Her breath came in quick, shallow gasps against his mouth, each exhale threatening to unravel him while her fingers flexed against his hip.
The movement sent another wave of heat straight through him.
Och, fer the love of… Gods help me!
“Hold still,” he managed, the sound strangled.
“I’m tryin’ tae…” She shifted, and the movement dragged their bodies against one another, her breasts pressing against his chest.
“Ye’re makin’ it worse.”
“I…” she swallowed hard. “I need…”
“Hmmm” his voice came out in a deep rumble. His free hand moved, thumb pressing below her navel. He felt her shiver. “What dae ye need, little wolf?”
Her eyes snapped to his face, wide and startled. Vivid color rushed up her throat, flooding her cheeks and she yanked her hand way. “That was… I didnae mean tae…” She gestured vaguely at his belt, where her fingers had just been moments before. Where his skin was still searing from her touch.
“Ye lost yer balance.” He forced the words steady.
“Aye.” She wouldn’t meet his eyes. “Just so.”
He moved to Temr’s front, checking the bridle with hands that refused to remain steady. He stepped back, putting necessary distance between them before he did something foolish.
Like pull ye against me and kiss ye just tae find out if ye’ll resist.
“So,” Isolda said from behind him. “What happens now?”
“Now,” he said, his expression impish, “ye learn tae ride like a Viking.” He came back around to face her. “Which means ye’ll need tae hitch yer skirts.”
“I can manage!” The words burst from her. She was already gathering the fabric, pulling it to her knees with movements that suggested she was deeply mortified but too stubborn to back down.
When she’d finished, Ragnar forced his eyes away from pale calves and delicate ankles that would no doubt leave him sleepless and aching with want later.
Ye’re her teacher, nae some ruttin’ stag!
He cleared his throat. “Ridin’ astride is about balance and rhythm. Move with the horse, nae against him.” He demonstrated with his hands, carefully avoiding contact with her skin. “Squeeze gently with yer thighs, lean forward slightly. The power comes from here, nae from yer hands on the reins.”
He gathered Temr’s reins and clicked his tongue. The stallion moved forward, smoothly and steady. Isolda swayed in the saddle for balance.
“Relax yer hips. Let them follow his motion.”
“I’m tryin’, I’m just—och!”
The horse’s gait shifted and she latched onto the pommel.
“Ye’re doin’ well.”
“I feel ridiculous.”
“Ye look like ye belong.”
She glanced down at him, surprised. “Truly?”
“Would I lie tae ye?”
Her mouth quirked. “Ye might.”
“I wouldnae.” He couldn’t look away—mortification shifting into concentration, then cautious pleasure settled over her face. “Want tae try goin’ a wee bit faster?”
Her eyes widened. “How much faster?”
“Just a trot. Enough tae feel the difference.”
She bit her lower lip, then nodded. “All right.”
“Squeeze harder with yer thighs. And trust the horse.”
Isolda nodded, every muscle rigid with concentration.
“On three.”
“Wait, I’m nae—”
“One, two, three—now!” he slapped Temr’s flank and the stallion surged into powerful, rhythmic strides.
Isolda gasped and grabbed onto the horse’s mane. She found the rhythm, her body moving in sync with the horse’s gait. “I’m daein’ it!” she laughed-breathlessly and delighted. “Ragnar, d’ye see? I’m actually daein’ it!”
He stood there watching her circle him, joy replacing fear. She completed the round and pulled the horses reins to a halt, her cheeks flushed and eyes bright.
“That was incredible!”