Page 16 of Torin and His Oath (Torin and the Princess #2)

LEXI

E very step felt like an insult to my tailbone. How was there still this much bouncing when we weren’t even going fast?

I shifted in the saddle, wincing, then discovered it was easier if I relaxed and kept my back loose instead of clamping tight.

Torin was looking all around at the sky and the landscape.

He finally, long after I had forgotten I accused him of being mean for not getting me a car, said, “I am verra nice, but ye daena want a car, Princess, hae ye seen our roads? Ye could hae the finest car and ye wouldna get tae go on it anywhere. Ye would be stuck and I would be tellin’ ye that ye must mount the horse all the same. ”

I sighed. “That’s true, so I suppose you ought to have built me a road, you should have had the foresight.”

He nodded and was quiet. Then he sort of turned on his horse, the reins carelessly held on his thighs to converse with me. “How would I build the road for yer car?”

“You would need a grader, a big truck to flatten the earth so it’s straight, then a cement truck to pave it. I suppose you don’t have any of those here?”

“The Romans built roads, smooth and straight, but that was a thousand years ago. The stones are scattered now, pinched for walls and pig pens. I could ride ye a mile or two on one, then we’d both be rattlin’ on dirt paths again, or stuck in the mud.”

We rode in silence for a while. The morning sun was rising high, it was going to be a warm gorgeous day. It smelled of fresh air, which was lovely after the human stench of the tavern and horse stink of the stables we’d left behind.

The landscape was absurdly beautiful. Rolling moor unfurled in every direction, thick with tangled heather and swaying grasses, rippling like the seagrass I’d once walked through on a summer beach trip with my parents to an island in Florida.

I had felt like I needed to stare straight ahead at the path, but as I got a little more comfortable I took in the horizon.

I gaped at a line of mountains, hovering in the distance, their peaks dusted white, as if winter were still settled up there, while down here the air was sweet with flowers and grass and the scents of spring.

The horses began to climb, hooves steady on the rough path ascending up the side of a mountain.

I said, “I’m sorry I got irritated with you back there, Torin, I was just getting used to one small little aspect of this, traveling by horse. Then you changed it on me, and… I’m not myself. It wasn’t fair.”

He twisted around in his saddle again to say, “I daena mind, Princess. All journeyin’ companions grow irritated with one another. Ye ought tae hear Max and me spar after a few days on the path.”

“I remind you of Max?”

“A great deal. I am surprised ye let me spar with ye, tis unusual for a lass tae not take it tae heart. Ye daena grow sullen when ye are teased, tis an unlikely but fine quality in a woman.”

I rolled my eyes.

Though it was a nice compliment in an odd way. I said, “I’m just irritated, I would give my kingdom for a salad.”

He glanced back, grinning. “Dost ye ken, Princess, that ye hae accepted that ye are a royal?”

“No I haven’t. That’s just a turn of phrase.”

He shrugged, turning forward again. “But though ye hae complained about everything else in the world, ye stopped complainin’ that I call ye Princess.”

“Well, I guess I kind of think you’re calling me princess less as a royal title, and more like a nickname because I’m complaining about everything. I have not accepted that it’s a title.”

He turned back around to ride.

My knees ached, from pressing against the saddle, the skin felt raw again. I needed some more balm, and my thighs shook with the effort of gripping the saddle in angst. “How much farther?”

Torin looked around at the sky, and behind us on the path. “I think twill be about five hours more.”

I sighed.

He said, “If ye feel tired ye can come on my horse.”

“I’m fine, it’s okay.” I let go of the saddle with one hand and pulled the wolf fur of the cloak away from my throat. It was itchy. I quickly replaced the hand to hold on.

A bee buzzed past my ear — lazily, like it had all the time in the world. Stupid bee.

Torin, of course, looked like he was carved onto the damn horse. He looked like he was part of the landscape, a mountain of a man, Scottish through and through.

He had only one hand on the reins, the other resting casually on his thigh, scanning the horizon like he was reading its history.

I kinda hated him a little for it, I also grew hot at the awesomeness of his back stretching his pale yellow tunic across his shoulders, and his muscular calves against the side of his horse.

I was really admiring his muscles, and thinking about his knee, growing a little flushed, when Torin turned slightly, caught my eye, and raised an eyebrow. “Ye grew quiet, what ye thinkin’ on?”

I quickly looked away. “Nothing, nothing at all.”

He grinned.

God, he was so cocky.

I changed the subject. “How’s your face? I was wondering if you were in pain?”

“Nae, I barely remember it. Tis not the first beatin’ and winna be my last. I hae had worse from Max.”

“Really? Your closest friend? He’s punched you?”

“Aye, he was mad enough, and I deserved it.”

“What did you do?”

His jaw tightened. “Naething, daena want tae speak on it.”

Before I could ask more questions, he reined in and lifted a finger to his lips. “Wheesht.”

The sudden quiet made my skin prickle. His eyes swept the hills, searching both ahead and behind. The horses shifted beneath us, catching his tension.

We sat frozen for a few moments. Then he asked quietly, “Ye hear it?”

I strained to hear, but caught nothing but wind. “What? I don’t hear anything.”

“Drovers tae the south, I hae heard them, but couldna tell if they were comin’ toward us or away. I can tell they are nearin’ now.” He clicked his tongue, turning our horses. “Remain quiet, we will take the pass over Monadh Caoin.”

Our path narrowed onto a rising track hemmed in by two craggy hills. The wind funneled through, carrying the scent of wet earth and flowers.

We climbed in silence for a half hour, then Torin pulled to a stop and looked back.

We were a distance away, looking down, as men and a herd of cattle moved along the road below us.

He said, “Those men are the reason we strayed from the road, but this way is shorter, and more private. Ye daena hae tae be quiet anymore.”

He set our horses walking again on the narrow track, the climb steepened and my ears popped. The air grew thin and cool. I pulled the fur-trimmed cloak tighter around my shoulders and asked him, “Are you cold?”

“Nae, tis fine.”

I breathed in deeply. “What flowers am I smelling?”

“Tis fraoch — heather. It fills the moors, though it winna bloom till midsummer. Then the hills will burn purple with it.””

“Oh, right, like from the song.”

“Aye,” he began to sing, “…oh all around the bloomin’ heather, oh my Lassie, will ye go? I will twine for thee a bower...”

When he got to the chorus, I sang along with him, “...and cover it wi’ flowers from the mountain... Will ye go, Lassie, will ye go…?”

He turned in the saddle, to watch me as I finished singing. “Och aye, lass, tis lovely tae hear ye. Dost ye hear how the song rings from the mountains? Dinna ye hear it echoin’ on the moors?”

“I do, I really do.”

“Tis a good ridin’ song.”

I smiled, then burst out with a line of Dave Matthews. “… crash into me…” And added, “It fits a lot better blasting from my Beamer through the Blue Ridge mountains. Maybe I just need the CD. Do these horses come with a CD player?”

He chuckled, brow furrowing. “I daena understand any of yer words.”

“Want me to explain?”

“Nae, I hae the substance. What dost the song mean by crash?”

“It’s a love song, written for his wife. It’s about that feeling of… kinda…” I slapped my hands together, then laced my fingers to show entwining. For one stupid second I had both of my hands were off the saddle.

The horse shifted.

My stomach lurched and I panicked, grabbing hold of the horse’s neck. “Oh God, oh no, that was scary, holy smokes, I thought I would fall.”

Torin leaned toward me, with a calming hand on my knee. “Ye winna fall, but keep yer hands where they belong. We are comin’ on the crest, and the wind will be buffetin’ us.”

As if on cue, a gust whistled over the ridge, whipping my hair. I held on. And hunched my back against the wind.

It was hard to talk and so we were quiet as the horses made their way along the path. We were high enough to have a sweeping view of a valley beyond, but the biting cold air and wind made it difficult to see, and then the wind got even stronger.

I got scared. “Are we going to fall? Is it going to push us off, Torin! Is the wind going to push us off?”

“Nae!” He had to yell to be heard over the wind. “There is a windbreak just ahead!”

Shit. Shit. Shit. I didn’t like this. At all.

I hunched down, burying my head into the fur of the cloak, eyes clamped shut. “I don’t like this one bit!”

“Almost there!”

Almost there. For twenty endless minutes.

With gusts of wind blasting us from the side, causing me to squeal each time they hit.

The only reason why I didn’t stop and refuse to go on was because I had to get off the mountain top.

Now. My fingers ached from gripping too tight, my teeth chattered from cold and terror.

Then, suddenly, we were through.

We pulled behind the curve of a cliff face, a narrow stream cascading down its side. The stillness felt shocking.

Torin swung down from Lambo, steady as ever. “I dinna realize the wind was so fierce. But we are done with it now. We descend, and then only a few more hours.” He held out his arms. “Come, I’ll take ye down.”

I let him lift me, my legs shaky as they hit solid ground.

“There’s a bush there for ye tae relieve yerself,” he pointed, calmly, as if we hadn’t just had a near-death experience. “I will unpack our food.”