Cursed by Ice by Jacquelyn Frank Page B

his neck.
    “There, now. Is this so difficult?” he asked her.
    “I find it bitterly difficult,” she said. But after a moment she did concede, “But thank you just the same.”
    “You’re most welcome.”
    Before long, they were in the courtyard and a powerful grey stallion was being led up to Garreth. Thinking he would put her down, mount, and then have someone hand her up to him, she made ready to be put on her feet. But to her shock, he barely broke stride before putting his foot in his stirrup and swinging them both into the saddle in one tremendous movement of strength. The next thing she knew he was pulling the skirt of her robe up between her thighs. Feeling his hand between them, his knuckles a hairsbreadth from touching her bare woman’s flesh, she cried out and tried to push him away. But he ignored her and threw her leg over the saddle so she was riding astride, her robe bunched up around her. She flushed to find herself in such a position. Women, especially slave women, were not allowed to ride astride. It was commonly thought that it would give a woman ideas of independence their male counterparts would rather they not have. This was doubly the case when it came to slaves. Slave males were allowed to ride, but only sidesaddle, and slave women were not allowed to ride at all. They must be carried in a litter or, more commonly, must walk. Only the most expensive slaves rode in litters.
    She was a most expensive slave.
    Had been.
    She allowed herself to think on the possibility of freedom for a moment. For the likes of her? It was too alien a concept for her to fully grasp. Like riding astride, it was simply one of those things she had never entertained, because to do so meant facing the dissatisfaction of not having it.
    She found too much about being in the saddle disconcerting. Riding astride. Being forced to sit upright in spite of the pain in her midsection. The feel of a hard wall of muscle at her back and more muscle on eitherside of her hips. Her bottom was drawn back on the leather until she was notched into him like a hand would fit inside a glove.
    With a single hand he grabbed the reins of the massive horse while his other arm banded beneath her breasts and held her back against him. He was, she realized, very careful not to hold her around her wounded midsection.
    He spurred the horse hard and they leapt forward.
    “We will ride around the city in ever-widening circles until we track them. Keep your eyes keen to any sign of their trail,” he said in her ear.
    “It has been a dry summer,” she said a bit breathlessly. “There should be tracks leading away from the city. They will be fresh and clear because no one has left the city since it was said you were moving toward us.” She gasped at the pain rocketing through her with every stride, but she also laughed.
    “What is it?” he asked, bemused.
    “Is this what it feels like? I had always wondered!”
    “What what feels like?”
    “Riding on horseback!” she cried, her delight apparent in every word.
    “You’ve never ridden on horseback before?”
    “Never! Slaves are not allowed! Woohoo!!” she cried out, laughing into the wind. She had never felt anything so exhilarating in all her life. Never except once …
    Garreth was delighted by her in spite of himself. They were not out there to have fun or to be entertained; a great deal was riding on them having success. But just the same, he found himself taking pleasure in her joy. He kicked Draz, his grey stallion, into a hard gallop, sliding himself under her bottom as best he could to alleviate the impact of her rear against the saddle. But she would feel the pain of it when her excitement wore off no matter what he did.
    He followed Dethan’s lead, watching the ground as it flew by beneath them.
    “There! Wagon tracks!” she cried out suddenly. Garreth whistled sharply to Dethan, and his brother reeled around and rode back to them. He looked to where she was pointing but saw