Page 52 of Lawless Rivals

I don’t look back. “Arms.”

She goes rigid. “What?”

“You won’t stay on without putting them around me.” I reach behind me and tug her right wrist, bringing her hand to my hip. “And the other one.”

“I’ve got my balance.”

“That’s not what I said.”

Keira hesitates, then slides her left arm around me.

“Do it properly,” I order.

She swears under her breath and tightens her hold. There’s no avoiding how close she is now.

Her chest presses flush to my spine as Bran breaks into a trot, the contact of her plastered against me warm despite the wintry chill.

“Don’t lean away,” I add. “You’ll throw him off.”

“I’m not leaning,” she snaps, adjusting to the horse’s rhythm.

By the time we leave the yard, she’s holding on because she has to and I’m counting sheep, because touching her any other way would mean breaking rules written in blood and land.

Tallon land stretches to the gray horizon. Fields give way to the old paths my grandfather rode long before fences mattered, before anyone thought they could take what wasn’t theirs.

Bran knows them as well as I do. He settles into a steady canter and eats up the ground without caring for the extra load he’s carrying.

Some days I come out this far just to let him gallop. Today, I keep the pace measured for the princess fixed to my back.

Miles from the yard, I slow him to a walk near the boundary by the heath. Clusters of trees stand together, and the ground slopes down toward the river.

Our fence cuts across the land at a crooked angle. Stone sections break it up where the soil refuses to hold posts for long.

“Off ya get,” I say. “We’re stopping here.”

She takes her arms away, shuffles behind me and slides off. Her boots hit the dirt after an agile dismount, and she inches away, removing the helmet.

I wait until she’s clear, then swing down, pull the reins over Bran’s head and loop the reins once over the fence rail.

Someone’s definitely been here.

Boot prints litter the mud, wires tangle, several posts tilt at the wrong angle, and someone’s moved the boundary markers.

Keira comes to my side and crouches, her fingers brushing the wire where it’s cut.

“There’s no way an animal did that,” she says.

“Sure didn’t.”

Her gaze drifts to mine for half a second, then she looks at the wire and reaches for it. I move without thinking, catching her wrist and yanking her back hard enough that she wobbles into me.

“Don’t,” I say, my grip firm. “That edge will slice off your fingers. And I’m not wasting time dealing with it.”

“I was trying to help,” she says, heat riding the words.

“Right.” I tug my gloves free and hold them out to her. “Use these if you’re gonna help.”

The wind agitates her hair, strands blowing across her pale complexion while she stares at them. Then she accepts them without a comment.