Page 10 of Apples Dipped in Gold

I knew how to ride a horse.

I put my left foot in the stirrup and held the pommel as I swung my right foot over, sinking into the saddle with ease. When I met the prince’s gaze, his cheeks were tinged with pink.

“You,” he said and then cleared his throat. “You do not want to sit sidesaddle?”

“No. Why would I?”

He rubbed the back of his head. The redness had spread to his ears.

“Well, you are in a gown,” he said. “And riding astride shows your…legs.”

“My legs?” I looked down, seeing that my dress had ridden up to the tops of my knees. I hadn’t noticed it because I was used to it, but suddenly I realized why the prince was so embarrassed.

“Haven’t you ever seen a woman’s legs before?” I asked.

“Well, yes, but—”

“But mine make you nervous?”

“Not nervous,” he said.

“So they offend you?”

“No, of course not,” he stammered. “They are very nice legs. You…have very nice legs.”

I stared at him, smirking.

“Forget I said anything at all,” he said, putting on his hat.

“I will never,” I said, as he mounted River, but my amusement died as soon as he was seated behind me.

I had never been so close to a man before, never felt another body against my own like this. He was warm, and as he reached past me to take the reins, I felt like Icould sense his strength in the hard muscles of his chest and arms. It was the first time I found myself thinking about what was beneath the finery of his clothing.

Suddenly, I was the one blushing.

“Ready?” he asked.

I went rigid when I felt his breath on my ear, and all I could do was nod, humiliated by my sinful thoughts.

He chuckled as he tugged on the reins. I didn’t dare ask him what was so funny, because I knew that if he tried to guess my thoughts this time, he would finally be right.

I did not speak beyond offering the prince directions to the cottage, too focused on every part of my body that touched him. It was an odd feeling, to be so close to a stranger. I found myself studying his hands as he held the reins before me. They were…normal. Not overly large but graceful. His nails were trimmed short and clean, and he had no cuts or scars.

A strange disappointment blossomed in my stomach.

“Do you have a sword?” I asked.

“Why? Already planning my demise?” he asked.

“I just wondered if you used it,” I said.

“When the occasion calls for it,” he said. “Why?”

“Because…your hands are soft.”

“You think my hands are soft?”

“It isn’t a thought,” I said. “I know.”

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