Megan Frampton by Hero of My Heart

a horse by the bridle. Even to Mary’s unschooled eyes, the horse looked past its prime. Its head was bowed, and every aspect of its demeanor looked like it had been worn out past all bearing.
    “Wonderful horseflesh,” Alasdair muttered. He strode up to the mare and patted her on the nose. “I know how you feel, old gal,” he said, his voice sounding surprisingly soft.
    Mary watched as he nuzzled the horse’s neck, then smoothed its mane with gentle fingers. He turned and caught Mary staring, then frowned as if embarrassed. “Shall we?” he asked, gesturing to the horse.
    “No time like the present,” Mary replied, eyeing the horse’s height nervously. She’d never ridden on horseback before. Riding double holding on to Alasdair didn’t seem like an auspicious start to her riding experience.
    Alasdair didn’t even bother asking her if she was ready, he just hoisted her up onto the horse’s back, then stepped back and gave her that arrogantly amused smile.
    If she could have budged an inch, she would have swatted his face. “We are up awfully high,” she gasped.
    Alasdair just grinned. The pommel poked into her outer thigh, and she felt off-balance, since it was a man’s saddle and she was perched sideways on it.
    Alasdair placed the basket on her lap and leapt up behind her, pulling her snug into him so she was almost sitting on his lap. He wrapped his arms firmly around her, taking the reins from where they lay on the horse’s neck. “What’s her name, then?” he asked the stable hand.
    “Primrose.” Mary heard a low chuckle, and felt Alasdair’s breath stir her hair atthe back of her neck.
    “Primrose, let’s go.” He slapped the reins down on the horse’s neck, and Primrose started forward. Mary yelped in surprise and grabbed hold of Primrose’s mane, steadying herself on the saddle. Alasdair’s legs tightened around her thighs, and she knew he wouldn’t let her fall, no matter how much it felt as if she were going to.
    “We’ll head south for a bit, then double back toward Berwick,” Alasdair murmured into her ear. His breath was warm, and it made her skin prickle.
    She didn’t think she could speak just at that moment, so she nodded. And bumped his nose with the back of her head.
    “Ouch,” he said, pulling one of his hands away from her body to rub it. Mary half-turned to look at him.
    “Are you all right?” she asked, seeing his pained expression. He shook his head as though to clear it, and gave her a half smile.
    “I am fine. I’ll try not to ask any more questions requiring a yes or no answer,” he said ruefully.
    They were past the inn’s gates now, and Primrose had them on a slow but steady walk to the main road.
    After her initial hesitation, Mary felt almost comfortable on the horse’s back. Of course, it could have something to do with the fact that Alasdair was holding her against him, every slight misstep causing him to clutch her tighter.
    She could get used to this. Although it was the last thing she should get used to.
    “I take it you’ve never ridden before,” Alasdair said after a while.
    “No. Is it that obvious?”
    “Besides the fact that every time Primrose here stumbles, you gasp, no, not obvious at all.”
    Mary bristled. “We come from two very, very different worlds—I have never ridden a horse, and I am guessing you have a stable full of the beasts, all of them in better shape than Primrose here.”
    “But none of my horses—or prospective brides, for that matter—are as sweet as you and Primrose here.”
    Mary’s brows rose in astonishment. Sweet? Hadn’t he heard anything she’d said?“I am not sweet, my lord. I cannot speak for Primrose,” she added. It wouldn’t be fair to the horse to categorize her along with Mary.
    “Oh, but you are, love. I’ve tasted you, remember?”
    His words, uttered in a low rumble, sent a lightning thrill up her spine. “My lord, you promised you wouldn’t—we wouldn’t …” Her words trailed