Page 91 of Ravenrose

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.