Page 40 of How the Duke Saved Christmas

Before she could protest, he scooped her into his arms, carried her to the right side of the horse, and set her onto the saddle. Her eyes were nearly as big as the mare’s at mounting from the opposite side as normal, but because of her leg, it couldn’t be helped.

Clara grabbed for the special-built pommel horn to steady herself, although Michael would never have let her fall. Her fingertips were nearly white as she clung to it. So was her face.

“All right?” He rested his gloved hand against her right hip as she sat sideways on the saddle, facing him.

“Yes,” Clara whispered, sounding not at all certain.

Beneath her, the mare had stopped chewing her hay and stood patiently still, curious to see what the two of them would do with her next.

He said gently, “Now, let’s settle you into the proper riding position, shall we? We need to turn you forward and put your left leg across the pommel and your right leg into the leather binding.”

Taking a deep breath, with her hands never loosening their hold on the saddle, she slowly turned in her seat to face the front of the horse. Every tiny move was careful but determined, and through it all, he kept his hand on the small of her back, not so much to steady her as to reassure her that he was there if she needed him.

But she didn’t and wouldn’t for the rest of the ride. His chest relaxed even has his heart somersaulted with happiness for her. The fierce, brave woman he remembered was slowly returning.

“All right?”

This time when she nodded and said, “Yes,” she was much more confident.

“We’re going to have to fuss with your skirts a bit to adjust your legs.” He gestured at her lower half. “Do you mind if I help?”

She inhaled sharply, but then the air eased from her as she realized that moving into position would be far faster and easier with his help. “I don’t mind.” But any attempt at nonchalance was undercut by her breathlessness.

He gently freed her skirts from where they’d caught beneath her legs when she’d turned. Then, through the wool skirt, he took her left knee in one gloved hand and her calf in the other and carefully positioned her leg against the specially made pommel. In the correct position, she could tighten her left thigh against the pommel, just as she was used to doing. But an additional protruding horn of smooth wood, located about forty-five degrees off the right side of the saddle, was positioned perfectly to fit into the angle formed by her ankle if she flexed her foot. With both the top pommel and this secondary horn, she could easily clench her left leg against the saddle and keep her seat if she lost her balance.

He looked up at her, letting his hand rest on her leg far longer than he should have. “Good?”

She bit her bottom lip and nodded.

Not at all a resolute answer, but he’d take it. “Then let’s position your other leg and readjust your skirt after, all right?”

She grimaced. “It would be easier if I were properly dressed in a riding habit.” She valiantly freed one hand from gripping the saddle and grabbed at her skirt to pull it down into place. “If you had told me we were going riding, I could have made arrangements to find one.”

“If I had told you we were going riding,” he corrected as he fussed with the leather guard beneath her right leg as it dangled down the side of the horse, “you would have made arrangements to flee.”

When she glared at him, his heart soared. He knew, then, that she would be just fine on horseback.

He avoided meeting her gaze as he gently positioned her leg into the thick leather guard that would both protect it and keep it in place, especially once she found the courage to trot and eventually canter. “Besides,” he admitted, “I think you look wonderful.”

Her face pinked in embarrassment, but it was the God’s truth. Even dressed in layers of bulky wool and a sturdy coat to stay warm, she was more beautiful than most princesses in their palace finery and jewels.

But then, he might also have been biased. After all, he’d always thought Clara the most beautiful woman he’d ever known.

He grinned and handed her the reins. “Are we ready, then?”

“Absolutely not.”

Her answer stretched his grin wider.

He unfastened the rope from the horse’s bridle and performed a last check to make certain the bridle and saddle were properly in place. Then he untied his own horse and swung onto its back. The old gelding was as calm and quiet as Clara’s mare, with no intention to break into anything faster than a plodding walk. Michael had picked him because the two horses were stable mates and well used to each other. Both animals should have been sold years ago, but now he was very glad he’d kept them.

They rode off slowly from the stables and turned away from the house toward the greater expanse of the deer park. Soon the buildings were behind them, the woods and fields lay ahead, and the rolling hills surrounded them on the horizon.

They rode in silence except for the muffled noise of hooves crunching on snow, the occasional creak of leather, and the complaining panting of the rotund mare. Always, his horse led, with the mare keeping her nose glued to his gelding’s right hindquarter and content to let the other horse go first as she plodded along in his wake.

Michael stole glances behind at Clara to make certain she was all right, but he needn’t have worried. She’d found her seat again after only a few minutes, quickly getting her feel for both the new saddle and the horse beneath her, and her posture stayed balanced but relaxed, exactly as it should have.

He’d been right about the mare’s docility. At one point, he would have sworn the poky, old beast had even closed her eyes and lumbered on asleep.