Arto's Enchantress

by Morgan Henry

  Until now.

  Until the Duke with his hand on her back showed up in her life. He seemed to embody everything she found attractive but hadn’t realized it before now. The green eyes that watched her so closely could sparkle with humour, soften with gentleness and, she would bet, be terrifying if he was angry.

  He was tall and wrapped in lean muscle. When he tucked her against him, she could feel every flex and ripple. It made her wonder what it would feel like to have his body against hers, naked.

  “Now, we will go for a ride together.” Arto’s announcement should not have surprised her.

  But she couldn’t help the way her muscles went rigid with fear and her heart fluttered in her chest like a trapped butterfly. At least she didn’t squeak like a cornered mouse.

  “Little sola,” Arto chided gently. “You must know I will not let any harm come to you.” His arm slipped back around her waist again.

  “Of course, your Grace. Which horse shall I ride?” Please, please let it be smaller than Merlo.

  “You will ride with me for now. Merlo is strong enough to carry us both.”

  With the way Arto seemed used to getting his way and his determination to get her over her fear of horses, Cella half expected him to immediately throw her up on the beast.

  Instead, he held her around the waist and waited.

  I don’t want this, she thought. I don’t want to be here. I don’t want to be near this hulking, great, smelly horse. I want to be home. I want to be back in my rooms in the Guild, quiet and safe.

  A wave of self-pity rose inside her and Cella swallowed hard to quash it. She was being ridiculous. She wasn’t a child to have a tantrum and whine for what she couldn’t have. There was a great deal at stake and she would not see her family disappointed.

  “Now, your Grace?”

  “My name is Arto, Cella. And yes, now. I will help you up, when you’re ready.”

  He stood as if he hadn’t a care in the world.

  As if all he had to do today was teach her to ride.

  “Very well, Arto.” Cella didn’t hesitate on his name this time. She took a step closer to Merlo.

  Arto bent over and cupped his hands together. Cella knew enough to put her foot in his hand and he lifted her up easily. She managed to swing her leg over the horse and set herself in the saddle. Arto handed the reins to her and mounted behind her with the swift, long-legged grace of a man who has ridden for a lifetime.

  Oh, but he has ridden for a lifetime.

  He took the reins from her and settled his arms around her body, giving her the security of a sinewy cage. Cella could feel the quiver of muscles in the big beast and the horse’s head tossed and shook.

  “He is eager to go. Merlo is not a lazy horse and likes to be moving. But we’ll start slowly.” Arto urged Merlo into a walk.

  They headed out of camp down the well-used mountain road. It was a clear day, cold with a few fluffy clouds in the sky. She supposed she should treasure days like this. As the fall advanced, there would be fewer and fewer of them.

  “Relax, Cella. Horses don’t like having a statue on their backs.”

  Cella made the effort to loosen her muscles.

  It really wasn’t bad, being on the horse with Arto. He made her feel safe. With his arms around her, she wouldn’t fall. If she didn’t fall, she couldn’t get trampled like…

  She wouldn’t think about that.

  “What went through your head there? You started to relax then tensed up again.” Arto’s voice continued to be calm, as if he dealt with silly girls like her every day.

  Cella didn’t speak.

  Should she answer? What would she say? He had been so kind, didn’t he deserve some honesty from her?

  “My brother was killed by a horse,” she managed.

  There. That was honest, but she didn’t have to think too much about the incident.

  “Ah.” Arto was silent for a minute as they walked along. “I would guess that your fears relate to him. One day, perhaps you will tell me more. When you are ready.”

  Arto began to point out more tidbits of information about Merlo and his body language. Cella began to find it a little fascinating. She was surprised how much Arto could read into the flicks of Merlo’s ears or the slight turn of his head.

  “Put your gloves on, please,” Arto requested. When she complied, “Take the reins.”

  Cella hesitated but only a second, she thought with some pride. She suddenly realized she wanted to please Arto. She wanted to somehow justify the effort he was spending to help her.

  Oh, she knew it was for his own benefit in the end. If she could ride well, they would travel faster and she would cease to be his duty sooner. That was all.

  She didn’t want more.

  “Take the left fork,” he instructed her and dropped his hands to her waist, resting them there lightly.

  She breathed a little faster.

  Her cage was gone. She was very aware of those warm hands on her waist.

  “Tell me what Merlo is telling you,” ordered Arto.

  “He–he.” Her breathing was shaky and her voice too high. She smoothed it out. “He is listening to us. I would think he knows you no longer have the reins. His haunches are working harder because we’re going uphill now. He saw the rabbit that went across the path up ahead just now.”

  “Very good, sola. You have been paying attention.” Arto had leaned down and his mouth was by her ear. He emphasized his words with a little squeeze with his large hands.

  The tightness inside her eased a little in the warmth of Arto’s praise. Another warmth kindled low in her belly with the proximity of his mouth and that squeeze. It flamed a little higher when his thumbs massaged circles on her back.

  “Up ahead the trail widens. We will turn around and head back.”

  She helped Arto turn Merlo. Arto made her feel what his legs were doing with her hands. As they walked back, Arto commented on the various plants and made her repeat much of her horse anatomy lessons to him.

  All the while touching her gently.

  His hands moved. Sometimes he would point something out. He would touch her leg, wanting to demonstrate some bit of horsemanship. He moved her hands, correcting her grip on the reins. His palm rested on her belly, correcting her posture.

  It all made her dizzy.

  Needy for more of his touch.

  And she completely forgot to be afraid.

  * * * *

  By the time they returned to the camp, Arto was in a very good mood.

  Cella was a quick study. Oh, he knew she would have been taught most of his lesson long ago, but he was still happy with how much she retained. He knew she would know nothing of the body language of horses, but she had picked up almost all of what he wanted.

  He was also pleased with her response to him. She had trusted him enough to tell him her brother had been killed by a horse. He knew that from Ascar already, but she told him while riding. She would have had to think about the event, however fleetingly, and that would make it harder to speak the words aloud.

  She had also responded to his touching her on the way back. He knew he should feel like rock slime for practically caressing her, but she wasn’t so anxious when he was diverting her attention so.

  He had every intention of touching her even more intimately in the future.

  So it wasn’t completely dishonest.

  Cella guided them back to the post where Merlo had been tethered earlier. She actually turned a little in the saddle to smile at him.

  Her smile completely justified the pet name he gave her. She was pleased with herself and her smile encompassed her mouth, her eyes, even her nose looked happy—and the happiness shone out of her like the sunshine of her namesake.

  He stopped breathing for a second.

  What would it be like to have that smile directed at him every day?

  What would it be like to have that smile directed at him in bed?

  Shaking his head, he made sure to
smile back at her and put the thoughts of her in his bed every day out of his mind.

  He leapt down and took the reins she offered. He helped her down as well. Merlo was too tall for her to leap off comfortably. He watched her stand. Her legs didn’t seem too shaky or sore.

  Yet.

  “There is lunch ready, sola. You need to eat. You didn’t have enough breakfast.” Arto handed Merlo over to Tors, nodding his thanks, and held out his hand to Cella.

  She looked at it, then at him, as if she didn’t know what to do. He held it a little closer to her. She blushed and stepped forward, placing her hand in his.

  “Very good,” he murmured.

  The day had warmed. Arto spread his cloak over the logs at the fire as they sat and ate with many of the others in the camp. Cella edged away from him a little and spoke with the few women that were travelling with Ascar.

  It suddenly occurred to Arto that Cella did everything for herself. She served her own meals, took her dishes away, refilled her mug, and sometimes his.

  “Cella, where is your maid?”

  A schooled, politely bland look took all the life from her features. “I don’t have one.”

  Irritation licked at his insides, threatening to turn to anger.

  No horse, no maid, inability to ride, helping cook meals. What in the God’s name had Ascar been thinking with this journey?

  At every turn what should have been looked after for Cella, had not been done. Surely, she should have brought a maid for herself.

  “Why do you not have one?”

  Cella eyes opened a little wider, the bland look fading just a little. “I couldn’t ask anyone to leave their home and family for a year! Why would they wish to do that?”

  “So you have no one to look after your needs?”

  She stuck her chin out a little. “I have very few needs, your Grace. I can look after myself.”

  Arto barely managed to tamp down another flare of irritation. His nostrils flared as he breathed a bit heavier. Now she sticks up for herself.

  He suddenly had another thought that would complicate matters further. “Where are your clothes and personal items packed, Cella?”

  “In a trunk in the wagon.”

  Of course.

  Horses don’t carry trunks and there was no maid to pack her things while she rode this afternoon.

  “Please excuse me, Lady Cella. I have a few things to see to, but I will return for you shortly.”

  Arto stood and bowed stiffly to her and the other ladies in the group. He went to find Tors, his hand gripping the pommel of his sword.

  His man was repairing a tear in one of his tunics. The small, wiry man sat in the sun, chatting with Ascar’s man as they worked together.

  Tors quickly stood, but Arto waved him down and took a seat himself.

  “Tors, I’m afraid I have a favour to ask,” Arto began, the tightness in his jaw making his words terse.

  “Of course, my Lord.”

  “Lady Cella has no maid and her belongings are packed in a trunk. I would ask you to see that her things are packed for the horses and to take care of her on the journey. We’ll find her a maid as soon as I can, but until then see to her needs before mine, please.”

  Ascar’s man spoke up. “Your Grace, we have already repacked Lady Cella’s belongings. The Nomara set aside what she would need daily and that is in the bags for her own mount. The rest is ready for the packhorses.”

  “I have it all with our belongings, my Lord,” added Tors. “From the sounds of it, she won’t be much of a burden on any of us.”

  “Oh?” Arto gestured for him to go on.

  Tors looked at Ascar’s man, who was smart enough to give more details to Arto.

  “There seemed to be a mess from the beginning, your Grace. We were told at the last minute to escort Lady Vallant and that she’d have all she needed. When we arrived there were extra guards, but all she had was her trunk. She declined a maid rather forcefully and Nomarch Ascar couldn’t persuade her otherwise. We were pressed for time, so we bundled her up and set out.”

  “Where are the guards?”

  “The Nomarch didn’t want to draw too much attention, so he dressed them down, but they’re with us. Lady Vallant has looked after herself. She said she’s used to it. She didn’t have a maid at the Guild.” Ascar’s man shrugged. “She seemed happy and dresses fine. The Nomara’s maid says she does little for the Lady.”

  “Our journey will be a little rougher for her. Please help her, Tors. Even if she resists.”

  “Aye, my Lord.” Tors nodded then pursed his lips. “Ah, my Lord?”

  “Yes?”

  “The Lady apparently only has one set of riding gear.”

  Arto looked to the sky. “We’ll have to hope it doesn’t rain, then. Unless you have a set of ladies skirts in my things, and I devoutly hope you don’t, we’ll have to remedy that when we get to a town or estate. If we can.”

  “Rest assured, my Lord, I would not be putting you in skirts. With your permission, I may see what Normara Sette may have to help the situation.”

  “Good plan, thank you, Tors. And you as well.” Arto nodded to Ascar’s man.

  Arto stood, again waving the two servants to stay seated. He had little use for such formalities when in a travelling camp.

  He was still irritated as hell with Ascar. Even though this all seemed somewhat last minute, Arto felt Cella deserved better.

  He looked over to Merlo. The big warhorse was saddled and ready. Beside him was the little dappled gray mare he had purchased, also saddled. Merlo seemed to be getting along with her. He was calm and they were nose to nose, communicating something horse related.

  Now to the rest of Lady Cella’s lessons.

  Chapter 5

  Cella closed her eyes and tilted her head back to enjoy the sun on her face. They were stopped for a moment, allowing the horses to rest before heading back to camp.

  The day had warmed and she didn’t have her cloak on. Arto had looked at her loose hair before they set out and had pulled a bit of leather from his pocket and tied it back. His touch had set something fluttering inside again. His fingers lingered on her cheek, leaving her wondering what he thought.

  They had ridden side by side on the wider road. Arto had watched her like the hawk he was and corrected her posture repeatedly. He would lean over and touch her back to force her to sit straighter, or touch her thigh to make sure she used them to hang on.

  She was doing a bit better, she thought. The little mare, who she had named Marta, seemed to be quiet and not prone to startling. Cella thought she might come to like her.

  Eventually.

  “Cella.” Arto’s gentle voice brought her back to attention. “Sola, do not fall asleep on your horse. That’s a good way to fall off.”

  “Sorry, your—Arto.” Cella opened her eyes and brought her attention back to the moment.

  “You’d be sorrier if your bum was on the ground.” Arto smiled at her. “Do you think we can risk a trot or canter on the way back?”

  No, was Cella’s immediate thought. But that wasn’t going to get her ready for the journey ahead. “Yes, I will try.”

  “Good.” That oh-so-attractive smile flashed again and he turned Merlo around.

  Cella followed. Arto gestured for her to lead and she urged the little mare into a trot.

  “Sit deeper in the saddle, Cella!” Arto called as she bounced around on the poor mare’s back, her head flopping like a fish on the line.

  She tried wedging her bottom further down as he had taught and things improved somewhat. She rolled her back and stopped bouncing so hard.

  “Better. Use your legs, too.”

  She did as instructed and the ride evened out for her.

  “Faster now!” Arto called.

  Cella gritted her teeth and tapped Marta’s sides. The horse sped up.

  Oh, this was too much.

  Cella was keeping her seat, but she felt she was barely in control. The trees
sped by in a blur. Knives of fear pierced her lungs and it became harder and harder to get air in.

  This was definitely too much.

  Her heart pounded and it wasn’t with exhilaration.

  She pulled on the reins and gripped harder with her legs.

  Marta slowed and eventually stopped. Cella sat and panted and shook. She was barely aware of Arto and Merlo sidling up to the two of them.

  “Cella. It’s all right.” Arto’s calm voice usually made her a little calmer, too, but not now.

  “Cella. I need you to breathe.”

  His voice was a little more forceful. He took her hand and pulled it to his chest.

  “With me, Cella. Feel my chest move and breathe with me.”

  The command in his voice could not be ignored. Cella tried to match her breathing with his, Arto’s voice quietly instructing her on in and out. She was still trembling a little, but her breathing and heart rate returned to something approaching normal.

  “Tell me what happened.” Arto’s voice returned to his normal gentle tone.

  “It was too fast. Everything was a blur. I was afraid I was going to fall.” The fear of falling and being caught under hooves made the shaking in her hands and legs worse again.

  “So, what did you do?”

  “I pulled on the reins and sat down harder.”

  “And what happened?”

  Cella blinked at him. “She stopped.”

  Arto was silent and let her think about that for a minute.

  “So, you were afraid, you asked Marta to stop, and she did.” Arto made it sound so damn reasonable.

  Cella studied the pommel of her saddle closely, her finger tracing designs on it. “Yes.”

  “Perhaps it would be good if we practiced that. On the rest of the way home, I want you to speed up and then bring Marta to a stop. I’ll be right behind you, but I want you to set the pace. Understand?”

  “Yes.”

  “Lead then, little sola. I’ll be with you.”

  When they arrived back at camp, Cella felt she and Marta had a better understanding of each other. Cella had managed to canter twice and get Marta stopped. It wasn’t as terrifying the second and third times.