Chapter 40 – Rowan #2
Ayer removes his hand, only to swing up behind me in one smooth motion.
With him right there, at my back, I become acutely aware of the significant tear in my dress, and how my right leg is nearly fully exposed.
I wish I could at least attempt to readjust my skirts and cover my bare skin, but my hands are still bound, and I don’t dare release the death grip I have on the saddle to even make an attempt.
I try to shift forward, inching away from him, but there’s only so much space in the saddle.
“Relax.”
Gods. He’s right there. Ayer’s dark, velvety voice in my ear sets off an unfamiliar twisting of nerves deep in my abdomen.
Dash prances beneath us, tossing his head, and I suck in a breath. Before I can panic, his arm snakes around my waist, firm and unyielding, drawing me securely against him. His grip isn’t gentle, but it’s steady—a solid band of strength that leaves no room for me to slip.
Ayer gives the stallion his head, and we set off after the others at far too brisk a pace for comfort. Every muscle in my body is stiff with tension.
Dash’s gait is irregular, and he dances beneath us, eager to catch up with the others, wanting to go faster while Ayer holds him back.
I cling tighter to the saddle, my knuckles whitening.
Terror holds me in a vise—the fear so overwhelming there’s no room for any trace of excitement I might have had.
I wanted this once. Desperately. I begged for riding lessons, spent nearly every day in the stables during the summers when I had more free time; watching the horses, feeding them treats, but despite my pleading, my father would not have it.
A princess has no need to ride astride, he’d said. It would be… improper.
“Twelve moons, Princess! Take a breath; you’re acting like you’ve never ridden a horse before.” I can hear the eye roll in Ayer’s words with no need to see it.
My cheeks burn with embarrassment. He’s right: I’ve never ridden a horse before.
And certainly not like this.
It’s not enough that I don’t feel well, or that his insane horse is dancing all over the road, fighting for control of his head. But being tucked in, so close to Ayer… It only serves to fuel my anxiety past its breaking point.
His breath is on my neck, the weight of his body shifting against mine with Dash’s every movement.
My back is ramrod straight, and I’m trying my best to keep the distance between us, but the slick leather of the saddle betrays me, and I slide back—more than once. Each time, scrambling awkwardly forward again.
The next time I scramble away from him, I swear to the gods I hear him snicker.
Asshole.
But the more tense I get, the more Dash seems to act up. My heart leaps into my throat when the stallion presses his ears back against his skull with an accompanying sharp toss of his head.
I swallow hard, squeezing my eyes and legs tight.
Dash bolts forward, and a scream tears from my throat as the burst of speed sends me flying back.
“Ayer—”
He catches me, wrapping an arm tightly around my middle to keep me in the saddle while Dash gallops forward. He holds me flush against his chest while he works to rein in his horse.
“Easy!” he barks, not at me, but at the horse.
The stallion fights his hold, tossing his head, his hooves pounding against the earth.
My pulse hammers in my chest. I can’t breathe. I cling more fervently to the horse, my legs squeezing his sides.
Another burst of speed presses me further into the captain’s chest, and he takes several seconds to bring the giant beast back to a spirited walk. His grip on me tightens like iron as his mouth nears my ear again.
“You need to relax,” Ayer hisses into my ear. “Stop squeezing your legs.”
I scoff, my breath choked up and uneven. “Says the man with the crazy horse who’s two seconds from bucking us into the dirt.”
“That’s exactly what’s going to happen if you don’t calm the fuck down.”
“I am calm,” I hiss between clenched teeth as Dash flattens his ears against his skull once again.
The exasperated sigh at my back tells me just how much he believes my lie.
I flinch when his hand comes around, landing on top of the death grip I have on the saddle.
“Relax,” he breathes lightly into my ear, pressing the soft leather of Dash’s reins into my hands.
“What are you doing?” I rush out, unable to mask the panicked edge in my voice. Especially when he drops the reins completely, leaving me in full control of the horse.
That’s it. I’m going to die.
Ayer ignores me, and I feel his hands drop to either side of my hips, applying a light pressure before he breathes softly into my ear again. “Keep your hands light, and relax your hips.”
“Take them back, Ayer,” I say, trying to shove the reins back into his hands, the pitch of my voice rising with every word. “I’ll kill us. I’ll steer us straight off a cliff, and—boom—dead. Both of us. And I know how you feel about me dying, but—”
His grip on my hips tightens.
“Rowan.”
I shudder again at the sound of my name in his deep voice.
“Relax your hips. Feel Dash’s movement beneath you, and instead of fighting it, move along with it.”
I bite back at least eight insults and try to regain control of my rapid breathing, feeling light-headed.
“The reins are in your hands,” he continues, his voice steady in my ear—calm. “You’re in control.”
My grip on the reins tightens.
“Breathe,” he reminds me, and I do, having forgotten how for a moment.
Despite my disdain for the feel of his hands on my hips, his touch is grounding, and I feel my heart rate slow as I take several deep breaths.
“That’s it. Now, focus on Dash’s long strides underneath you,” he says quietly. “One, two, three, four.” He counts the steps, and I focus.
Right. Left. Right. Left.
“Anticipate the next one.”
The rhythm starts to make sense, becoming more predictable, and slowly, some of the tension eases.
I concentrate on the movement, how we sway gently back and forth, relaxing into it. I’m also increasingly aware of the feel of Ayer’s hand on my right thigh. With the tear in my skirt, his hand rests just inches above bare skin.
I force my breaths to steady.
“Relax your legs,” he says, his tone almost patient now. “The reins guide him, but most of the communication between horse and rider is here.” Ayer’s hand trails a fraction lower, just grazing the exposed skin of my thigh.
I lift my chin, pretending not to notice and doing my best to slow my heart rate as it races again.
“Squeezing with your legs tells him to go—to run. Relaxed legs and steady hands—tells him he’s safe.”
It’s true. The more I follow Ayer’s instructions, the more Dash settles beneath us, falling into a steady, calm, and predictable gait.
After a few more minutes of calm, Ayer quietly takes the reins back from me.
“Hold on,” he warns before I feel him squeeze his legs behind mine, quickening Dash’s pace until we’re caught up with the rest of the group.
By the time my breathing finally steadies, exhaustion has claimed what little strength I had left. With every mile, I lean a little more of my weight against Ayer, too tired to stop myself.
Because falling off the horse would be inconvenient.
He’s there. I need the support.
That’s all.