Page 97 of Miss Flibbertigibbet and the Barbarian
If The Barbarian had taken refuge in the valley, he would have had to come via the same route. As she followed the small stream deeper into the shadows, she scanned the earth, less sunbaked and a bit softer there, for any impression of hooves.
She was about halfway along the valley, a little past where she’d climbed over the fence above, when she spotted a likely indentation. She crouched, traced the mark, and measured it against her palm, then she smiled, straightened, and looked up the valley. She squinted into the shadows. “I know you’re there.”
The hoofprint wasn’t old, and few horses had such large shoes.
With renewed enthusiasm, she strode forward.
Twenty yards on, in a small clearing just before the valley narrowed to an impassable cleft, she found The Barbarian. His glossy bay hide stood out in the gloom cast by two old trees. He had his head down, cropping the lush grass beside the stream.
“There you are!” Knowing better than to rush toward him, she walked calmly forward, then spotted the long leading rein trailing across the grass. She diverted to it, bent and picked it up, then gathering and looping the leather strap in her hands, she followed it to the horse, crooning in the way she usually did when she fetched him for a ride.
The Barbarian raised his huge head and watched her close in. When she stopped beside him, he bobbed his head at her, exactly as he always did, almost as if inviting her to climb on his back.
She patted his glossy neck. “Unfortunately, I have no saddle, so I’ll have to walk you out.” Smiling, she met his horsey gaze, then with one last pat, she turned. “Come along.”
She walked forward, but The Barbarian didn’t budge.
She tugged just a little. When he moved not an inch, she turned back and fixed him with an exasperated look. “I can’t ride you.”
The horse stared implacably back.
Stubborn met stubborn, and the horse won.
Addie let out a frustrated groan and looked around. “I need a mounting block.”
Nearby, a boulder jutted from the valley wall, which was approaching vertical at that point.
She played out the leading rein, which proved long enough to allow her to scramble up and stand atop the boulder. Balancing there, she looked at the horse, then drew the rein taut and tugged. “If you want me to ride you, you’ll have to come closer and stand over here.”
As if he understood every word, The Barbarian consented to amble across. She nudged his head around, and he obligingly lined up beside the outcrop.
She regarded him with a great deal of suspicion. “Now hold still while I get on.”
She had to hike up her riding skirt and, still holding the leading rein and with the heavy train over one elbow, balance on one leg, throw her other leg over, and more or less jump on.
“Oh!” She caught herself with both hands spread on the horse’s back. After confirming that she was safely astride the broad expanse, she shook her head. “I’m amazed I didn’t go right over.” His glossy hide was decidedly slippery.
Taking stock, she arranged her skirts as best she could, tucking the train beneath her, then settled. When Phillip had taken the horse from his paddock at the Grange, he’d used a simple rope halter to which to attach the leading rein, correctly guessing that The Barbarian was choosy over whom he would allow to bridle him. Consequently, when they’d taken the horse to be collected by Kirkwood in The Drove, knowing he might be leading the horse on, they’d once again fitted The Barbarian with the rope halter and leading rein.
From her perch on the huge horse’s back, she stared at his head as a twinge of fear wormed down her spine. With the halter and leading rein, she had only one rein and no bit with which to manage a massively powerful, unpredictable horse.
But she was on his back already, so…
“You had better behave yourself,” she muttered and tapped her heels to his sides.
He obligingly fell into an easy walk, and she breathed again. She was familiar with his stride and swayed to his rhythm well enough. But it had been a long, long time since she’d ridden astride, and she’d never before ridden without a saddle and a proper bridle. Luckily, The Barbarian’s girth was so massive, settled on his back, she felt reasonably safe.
As for the absence of bridle and reins and the consequent lack of control, she tried not to think too hard about what might go wrong.
“All we have to do is walk out of this valley and make our way back to the church.” She continued talking, babbling about the countryside, knowing the horse was listening and that the sound of her voice would calm him and, she hoped, distract him from thinking of what else he might do.
They came to the end of the valley, and using the leading rein, she directed The Barbarian in a slow upward arc, climbing steadily and not too sharply to reach the level of the fields above.
She skirted the old orchard, avoiding the trees and their low-hanging branches. “You’re doing well,” she assured the horse. “It’s mostly flattish from here.”
She’d got used to the oddness of the familiar gait without a saddle and was starting to relax when the wall at the end of the orchard came into view. Eyes widening, she quickly said, “There’s a gate near the corner.”
Even as she said the words, she knew it would be no use. The Barbarian didn’t like gates. Instead, he loved fences and walls, delighting in clearing them with a powerful leap. He had to have jumped several walls to reach the orchard and the valley below.
