Chapter Three
Larkspur had ridden horses a few times, but never with reins and a saddle and stirrups. The horses she’d ridden had been working horses, stolid, amiable creatures used to pulling ploughs or wagons, as far removed from the mare she rode now as a farmer’s crude scythe was from a perfectly balanced sword.
Cadoc Ironfist looked utterly at ease in the saddle. His horse was a huge beast, twice the size of the dainty mare she rode. It could easily pull a plough, but it was no workhorse; even her inexperienced eyes could see that. The horse was agile in its muscularity, and there was nothing placid about it. It was obedient to Cadoc’s slightest wish, but there was spirit in the way it held its head, and intelligence in its dark, liquid eyes.
Cadoc looked at ease on the horse—but n
