Shadow War: Book 3 of the Shadows Rising Trilogy (WIP Rough Draft)

13: Dovan's Leap

11th of Eylestre, Continued

"Take-ee, leave-ee, makes nowt difference my end. Plenty souls wantin' clear o' this mess." The hostler spat a thick rust-red gob of liphys chew in the dirt, narrowly missing my shoes.

I ground my teeth and glared at him, but Arramy nodded and dug his wallet out of his back pocket. "Fine. We'll take the bay."

Surprised, I watched him shell out several notes – much more than the horse in question was worth, and nearly half the money we had.

The hostler took the notes and thumbed through them, then turned and ambled off toward the filthy shed he called a barn, aiming a gruff, "Leave 'im Old Tarrister's Pub," over his shoulder.

Arramy glanced at me, got one look at my expression and shook his head, his lips lifting in a terse curl as he began untying the reins of the half-draft gelding he had just rented. The horse was more suited to pulling a wagon, but it was the larger, sturdier of the two animals the hostler had tied to the line. "What was I supposed to do? We don't have time to find anything else."

He reached out, plucked my valise from my hands, and buckled one of the straps through the saddle bag loop. Then he swung himself up into the saddle, reined the gelding around, leaned down, and held out his hand. "Right. Up you come."

I gave the gelding a dubious once-over. The saddle was a continental style with a high pommel. There was no way I would fit in front of him, and riding pillion on that beast would be like sitting astride a dinner table. Not to mention the fact that I would have to hold onto Arramy's very lean, very masculine middle the entire time, which was a great deal closer to him than I had been in quite a while.

My only other option would be to walk the remaining eight miles to Dovan's Leap in boots that were already chafing after the trek to the hostler's.

Pinching my lips into an unamused pucker, I took his hand, trying not to gasp out loud when he hauled me bodily off the ground, pulling me up to sit behind him.

I had been right. The half-draft gelding was as broad as the average table, and about twice as tall. I muttered some unkind things under my breath as my skirts bunched up at my knees, and I had to wriggle in a very unladylike manner until everything was adjusted so I could fit between my valise and the cantle. Then it was time. There was nothing else for it. Ever so gingerly, I slid my arms around Arramy's waist.

Arramy craned to look back at me. "Good?"

I gave a haphazard nod and a mumbled "mmmphhh" against the back of his coat, infinitely glad he couldn't see my face. Heat was radiating from my cheeks in waves. His coat was open. It was impossible not to feel the firm lines of muscle beneath his shirt no matter where I put my hands, and I bit my lower lip as he kneed the gelding forward, his spine flexing loose and easy with the movement of the horse as we headed out of the hostler's muddy stable yard and onto the road.

Closing my eyes, I tried not to let my imagination wander where it shouldn't, memories of what those muscles looked like proving entirely too easy to summon. It was only Arramy. Grumpy, silent, steel-eyed Arramy... who had kissed me once in a faraway lobby... and lost his mother and his brother because he wouldn't give me to the Coventry.

As if to illustrate some sort of unconscious point my heart was making, he chose that moment to place his free hand over my wrists, holding my hands more securely against him.

It wasn't a romantic gesture, more practical than anything, but that new, fragile spot in my armor melted a little bit more.

This was going to be a very long ride.