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“Good. Come.”

He strode from the hall at a brisk pace, assuming Hannah would follow. It was only when he began to descend the stairs to the ground floor that he looked behind him. Where was she?

“Right now?” she said, rounding the corner. He was pleased to see the hint of a smile on her face. “Will we not break our fast first?”

He laughed. “At least you have the right of it today. When I first heard the term breakfast—”

“And don’t forget lunch.”

He shook his head as he continued down the steps. “It truly is as if we speak different languages at times.”

“Honestly,” she called from above him. “It doesn’t much matter what you call it. I’m famished.”

He assumed that meant some form of hunger.

“I’ve had Cook prepare food for us,” he said as they exited the main keep. He pointed to their mounts. “There.”

Hannah stopped. “I cannot ride myself. You know I do not—”

“We will take it slow,” he said, thanking the groom who had chosen the perfect horse for Hannah. “Her name is Arwen.”

For someone who had no experience with horses, Hannah had done well on their journey—enough so that she was likely ready to ride herself. At least he hoped she was ready. He couldn’t bear the torture of having her body cradled so close to his.

“She was a gift from Kenton,” he said. “To my mother.”

Hannah’s hand froze on the Spanish mare’s shoulder.

“Your . . .”

“Mother,” he repeated. Nodding to the groom, who helped Hannah mount, Tristan climbed atop his horse. “That’s it,” he said. “Sit up straight, just as you did with me. Hold the reins only as firmly as needed.”

Hannah glanced over at him, and Tristan could not hold his laughter at her expression.

“Well done,” he said, despite her glare. And it was true—her posture was perfect. “Now squeeze with your heels and tell her to walk.”

Hannah did exactly as he instructed. “Keep your chin up and look forward.”

As he rode alongside her, instructing her on how to guide the horse’s movement—“Press your calf gently on the right.” “And now the left.” “Stay with her.”— an audience began to form. Someone shouted a word of encouragement while another clapped as she began to get the hang of the horse’s movements.

Once she had mastered a few basics, they rode toward the gatehouse, cheers echoing in their ears. If his people thought it odd a lady did not know how to ride, they would know better than to comment on it in his hearing.

“Now squeeze your thighs.”

Tristan inhaled. Best not to visualize that. “See? She is slowing down.”

“To stop completely, pull back on the reins,” he said as they rode through another gate along the North Mere. Saxford was surrounded by the North Sea on one side and three meres on the others. Additional gatehouses guarded the small areas between each of the lakes.

“Don’t pull back too quickly,” he said. “Easy . . . there you go.”

She looked at him as if she’d been granted a boon. “I’m doing it. I’m really doing it!”

Indeed, she was. She looked magnificent atop Arwen’s back, her eyes sparkling and her back straight.

“Remember,” he said when Arwen reared a bit. “Every movement should be slow, deliberate.” If his voice sounded different, it was because his imagination had conjured an image of her riding him. Tristan looked away, concentrating on the landscape in front of them. “Are you hungry?” he asked, remembering that she’d asked him about food.

“No . . . nay,” she said. “I’m too excited to eat.”

A comfortable silence fell between them as they rode side by side, enjoying the warm weather. They would not reach the village until midmorning, but he waited until Hannah looked comfortable enough to talk.