A pretty black mare waited beside Stephen’s roan stallion. The mare pranced, lifting her feet high in excitement to be away. Before Stephen could help her, Bronwyn vaulted into the saddle. The heavy, full skirts were awkward, and she cursed the English manner of dress for the hundredth time. She was glad Stephen had not given her one of those absurd sidesaddles like Roger had.
Before Stephen had even mounted his horse, she urged the mare forward. It was a spirited animal, as anxious to run as Bronwyn was. She guided the horse, full speed, toward the path Roger had shown her. She leaned forward in the saddle, delighting in the wind on her face and throat.
Suddenly she saw a movement out of the corner of her eye. Twisting around, she saw that Stephen was close behind her, gaining on her. She laughed aloud. No Englishman born could beat a Scotswoman on a horse! She talked to the mare and applied the crop to her flank. The horse sprang forward as if it had wings. A feeling of power and exultation coursed through Bronwyn.
Glancing over her shoulder, she frowned at seeing Stephen still gaining on her. Ahead the path narrowed, too narrow for two horses side by side. If he wanted to pass her, he’d have to leave the path, go into the forest, and risk running his horse’s legs into a rabbit hole or hitting a tree. She guided the mare to the middle of the path. She knew what a Scotsman would do if she blocked his path, but these Englishmen were soft things, lacking guts and stamina.
The mare ran at a hard run. Stephen was nearly on her now, and Bronwyn smiled in triumph at his confusion. It was when her mare reared slightly and screamed that Bronwyn had her hands full keeping her seat. Stephen’s war-trained stallion had nipped the mare’s rump as it crowded the smaller horse.
Bronwyn worked hard at controlling the mare and cursed the English for taking her own horse from her. This animal was a stranger to her and not as receptive to her commands.
The mare screamed again as the stallion bit it a second time, then, against Bronwyn’s commands, it pulled aside and Stephen went thundering by. The look he threw Bronwyn made her utter a horrendous Gaelic oath. She jerked the reins and led the mare back to the center of the path.
Through all of the race Bronwyn had never allowed the mare to slow down. It was only through her extraordinary affinity with horses that she was able to control the animal as it jumped into the forest, away from the charging stallion.
When sh
e came to the stream and jumped it, Stephen was there, waiting for her. He’d dismounted and was standing calmly by his horse as it drank. “Not bad.” He grinned up at her. “You have a tendency to pull the right rein harder than the left, but you could be quite good with a little training.”
Bronwyn’s eyes shot blue fire at him. Training! She’d had her own pony when she was four, had ridden with her father in cattle raids since she was eight. She’d ridden at night across the moors, up the rocks by the sea coast…and he said she needed training!
Stephen laughed. “Don’t look so stricken. If it’ll make you feel any better, you’re the best woman rider I’ve ever seen. You could give most Englishwomen lessons.”
“Women!” she managed to gasp. “I could give all Englishmen lessons!”
“From where I stand, you just lost a race to an Englishman. Now get off that horse and rub it down. You can’t let a horse stand in its own sweat.”
Now he dared tell her how to tend to her horse. She sneered at him, raised her riding whip, and bent forward to strike him. Stephen easily sidestepped the lash, then gave her wrist one sharp, painful turn, and the crop fell to the ground. Bronwyn was caught off balance by the unexpected movement. The heavy English dress had wrapped around her leg in such a way that she lost her footing in the stirrup and pitched forward.
She grabbed the pommel and would have recovered herself but Stephen’s hands were already on her waist. He pulled her toward him and she pulled away from him. For a moment it was a struggle of strength, but what infuriated Bronwyn was that Stephen seemed to be thoroughly enjoying her humiliation. He was playing with her, letting her seem to win before he pulled her down again.
He laughed and gave one powerful tug and lifted her from the saddle, lifting her high above his head. “Did you know that that hole in your chin gets deeper when you’re angry?”
“Hole!” she gasped and drew her foot back to strike him.
Considering that her feet were a yard above the ground and her sole support was Stephen’s hands on her waist, it was not a wise move. He laughed at her again, tossed her in the air, then, as she struggled for balance, he caught her in his arms. He hugged her to him and kissed her ear loudly. “Are you always so entertaining?” he laughed.
She refused to look at him even though he held her aloft. Her arms were pinned to her sides or she would have struck him. “Are you always so flippant?” she retorted. “Do you never have a thought besides that of pawing women?”
He rubbed his face on her soft cheek. “You smell good.” He looked back at her. “I’ll admit you’re the first woman who’s affected me like this. But then you’re the first wife I’ve had, a woman who was completely and totally mine.”
She stiffened even more in his arms, if that were physically possible. “Is that all a woman is to you? Something to own?”
He smiled, shook his head, and set her down, his hands on her shoulders. “Of course. What else are women good for? Now pull some grass and get that sweat off your horse.”
She turned away from him gratefully. They didn’t speak while they unsaddled their horses and began rubbing them down. Stephen made no attempt to help her with the heavy saddle, pleasing Bronwyn because she would have refused him. She might be a woman, but she was far from helpless as he seemed to think.
When the animals were tethered, she looked back at him.
“At least you know something about horses,” he said. He laughed at her expression, then went to stand beside her. He ran his hand down her arm, and his face became serious.
“Please don’t start that again,” she snapped and jerked away from him. “Do you never think of anything else?”
His eyes sparkled. “Not when you’re around. I think you’ve bewitched me. I’d make you another proposition, but the last one made you too angry.”
Mentioning the scene in the garden made Bronwyn look about her. Rab lay quietly by the stream. It was odd that he’d not threatened Stephen when he’d touched her. The dog still growled whenever Roger got too near. “Where are your men?”
“With Sir Thomas, I assume.”