Page 27 of Seducing the Sorcerer
To cheer him up, Fenn said, “She’s a prime horse, all right. Moves like silk, eh?”
“You’re right. And she’s very well behaved.”
“Can see that. Don’t reckon you’d need do more than think it and she’d been doing it for you.”
The sorcerer gave him a long look. “I expect you’ve taught a few people to ride in your time.”
“Aye. Maybe.”
Morgrim looked as if he was about to say something, but changed his mind. Instead, he said, “Shall we canter?”
Earlier, Fenn had thought not to canter, but now it seemed it couldn’t hurt. He nudged the worple horse forwards, though he kept it nice and collected.
Blaze kept pace with them, effortlessly. The sorcerer still wanted to relax. Probably someone had told him to sit straight, shoulders back, and now he was trying just a bit too hard. If Fenn had been teaching him, he would have tried to make him laugh, or got him talking about some pet topic. That got most people to loosen up. Although maybe not this man: there was something pent up about him, as if he was terminally on edge. Did he ever relax?
Maybe what Morgrim really needed was a pint of ale and a good fuck.
Fenn closed his eyes in horror and slowed the worple horse to a walk. Mustn’t think like that. Oh Gods, especially mustn’t think what it would be like to be the one doing the fucking. That was ridiculous. This was Morgrim. The most dangerous man in the country. Likely a scheming bastard who stole rain and wanted the throne. No, no, no.
Morgrim glanced over his shoulder and reined Blaze in. He really wanted to get those reins about two inches shorter. Yes, think about that. Think about riding. Think about how maybe Morgrim was afraid to jag her mouth and how that was a good fault in a rider.
Do not think about what it would be like to kiss him, to see those sharp eyes close in surrender, to find out what happened to the man when he gave up that tight control.
Do not think about whether he sometimes gave that control to someone else.
“Feel free to fly,” the sorcerer said. “Take him over the city. That would be quite a sight.”
“That’s all right,” Fenn said. “We’re fine like this.”
“I think most people would be desperate to see if the horse would fly again.”
Was that a note of scorn in the sorcerer’s voice? As if he thought Fenn was afraid? Well, and maybe Fenn was, a little, but a calm walk, trot and canter was also the sensible thing to be doing. Anyway, he’d probably imagined the scorn. Morgrim didn’t look scornful. Rather the opposite. He looked interested, curious.
He looked fucking gorgeous.
“Maybe they would,” Fenn said, as evenly as he could. “But I’ve seen horses what were galloped all over from the beginning by riders what couldn’t be bothered with slower stuff and they were right flighty. I know I lost control of him last night, so today, if I say we walk, we walk. I’m the boss, see? And I’m proving it to him. Horses want that, really. They like someone to be in charge. Makes them feel safe.”
Colour appeared in the sorcerer’s cheeks. Must be he was warming up from the cantering. God’s balls, but he looked a fucking dream on that beautiful mare. His hair was tangled on his shoulders and the breeze blew his robes against his torso. He was much slighter than Fenn, taut with sinew and bone. Fenn could lift him easy. Could have him against a wall, Morgrim’s thighs wrapped around his waist.
Oh Gods.
The sorcerer glanced away. His voice sounded a little choked when it came. “You’re a wise man, Mr. Todd.”
“Don’t know about that. This way’ll cause me less trouble in the future, that’s all.”
Fenn racked his brain for a neutral topic and young Jasper’s frightened face popped into his mind. That wasn’t exactly neutral, but in some way it was a relief because it proved that Fenn could still think critically about the sorcerer. Perhaps Fenn could have a word. In a subtle way. Perhaps Morgrim had no idea he came across a bit brusque with the lad.
Fenn said, as if continuing the conversation, “Teaching a new horse is like teaching a lass or a lad. You know, like young Jasper. He don’t want to be allowed to run wild but he don’t want to be frightened or bullied either. That way he’ll turn out steady.”
The sorcerer cast him a sharp glance and Fenn suddenly wondered at his own daring. If Morgrim did put two and two together, Fenn had as good as told him off. But out here, on horseback, it was easy to feel brave.
“Do you have children, Mr. Todd?”
“What? No. But I’ve trained enough stable hands. Know what I’m talking about.”
“I see.” Morgrim reined Blaze in. “We’re near the edge. The illusion is patchier here, though the grass is still good. Remarkable, is it not?”
Fenn frowned at the grass. What illusion was the sorcerer talking about? The grass was no illusion; the stock was good and fat.
