Achille’s shoulders must have been tense; on hearing my jovial comment they dropped in relief. I followed him out of the tack room to Rosa, who was now tied up beside Nico. “My papa believed one should only ride in English saddle.” Achille’s lip curved at a fond memory. “He said that unless your legs felt the effects of your ride the next day, you didn’t do it properly.” His gaze drifted to stare at nothing. “He said that anything you did in life should be done correctly. Should be done with a full heart and pride. So we rode English saddle. It was a discipline I used to despise when I was younger and learning, but now, I could not ride any other way.”
“I like the sound of your father,” I said, every word the truth.
My comment seemed to summon Achille from inside of his mind. He stepped forward, arms stretched out to take the saddle and bridle from my hands. The faint lines around his eyes had relaxed at my compliment.
I hugged the saddle to my chest. “I may be a spoiled little rich duchessa, Achille, but I can saddle up a horse with the best of them.” I stepped around him and said, “Just watch.” I winked playfully and fought to hide my blush as Achille leaned against the wooden fence beside me, lazily watching me place the deep-purple numnah on Rosa’s freshly groomed back.
“You groomed her for me?” I asked.
“While you got the tack. You took a long time,” he said matter-of-factly, seeming to enjoy watching me fasten Rosa’s girth, put on her martingale and then move to her bridle. This bridle was simple, the bit gentle, indicating that she was not a difficult ride. Rosa took the bit with ease, her teeth chomping against the metal as she once again got used to it in her mouth.
“It’s been a while since she’s been ridden,” Achille explained. He stood straight and moved before Rosa. He ran his fingers down her nose. “She may be fresh at first, but she is well-schooled and responsive to the leg.”
I moved beside Achille, noticing the tanned skin on his arms twitch a little at my closeness to him. The sudden wave of happiness that came with that insight should have had me backing away.
I held still.
I pushed Rosa’s forelock from her eyes, untucking it from the simple leather headband of her bridle. She huffed out a breath, butting my arm with her nose. “We’ll be fine, won’t we, Rosa?” I said in a soothing voice. I smiled up at Achille. “I’m a good rider, Achille. I promise. She’s in safe hands.”
Achille stared at me for longer than normal. I wondered what was happening in that head of his when he saw me like this. When he searched so deeply into my eyes. He didn’t give much away. His actions were stiff. His responses were short and clipped. And his expressions worked hard to remain neutral. Yet I had never felt so comfortable around someone I just met as I did with Achille.
My papa always said that how a man was with his family said a lot about what made up their soul. And if they were good with animals, it proved patience and gentleness, and an understanding of what it was to be pure and kind. It was funny really. My father had always wanted me with someone who bore those traits.
I wondered if Zeno possessed them too. I wondered if my father even knew.
“Are you ready?” Achille asked.
I drew down Rosa’s stirrups and took her reins in my right hand. I brought my foot up to the stirrup and glanced back at Achille, who was standing silently behind me. “I might need a leg up today. It’s been a while since I’ve had to do this.”
Without saying a word, Achille cupped his hands together, bent down and hooked them around my foot. I used his strength to pull up on to the saddle and find my seat. Achille was tall, I noted idly. As I sat on Rosa, his head was almost in line with my waist. “Thank you,” I said and slipped my feet into the stirrups. I tightened the girth. Once I’d adjusted my hold on the reins, I looked to my left.
Achille mounted Nico effortlessly, and something stirred in my stomach as he readied his position for the ride. Nico was strong and robust, and Achille’s broad, muscled frame looked even more impressive atop the mixed-breed horse. Achille hadn’t even noticed me staring at him. And I was glad he could not detect the sudden spike in my pulse and the shaking of my breath.
They would be difficult to explain.
Achille backed Nico from the fence and looked over to me. “Ready?”
Impossibly, that already racing pulse increased in speed. I told myself it was the excitement of being back on a horse.
This self-deception was so very easy to conceal.
“Ready.”
The minute I felt Rosa push forward, it triggered a feeling of coming home. Of belonging. Of contentment.
Achille led the way, his back muscles bunching with the strain of working his reins. I knew I was smiling. My cheeks ached with just how much I was smiling. My lungs were taking in long deep breaths of air, yet my chest felt light. The breeze ruffled the loose strands of my hair and the sun kissed my skin.
I felt as if I were lost in the most beautiful of dreams as we bypassed the edge of his fairytale cottage, the fall shrubbery sprouting their flowers—burnt oranges and deep greens—and the trees hanging low. I steadied my seat and let Rosa sense my calmness.
It was hard to believe I had only been in Italy a few short days. I’d expected this courting period to be more hectic, the societal pressure on me much greater. And I wasn’t naïve. I knew the madness was yet to come. This brief reprieve was simply the prelude to my future married life, of my expected royal duty for the pretender crown. For now, I let this mysterious, fascinating winemaker lead me through his award-winning vines. Doing the thing I loved most, in the most serene of surroundings.
This isn’t so bad, I thought. In fact, this simple embracing of passions with a beautiful like-minded soul . . . it was like a dream come true.
So I intended to cherish every moment, for as long as I could.
With Rosa, Nico and Achille, and the scent of sweet freedom in the air.
Chapter Six
Achille
Nico’s ears were flicking in all directions as we passed through the entrance to the vineyard. His heavy hooves padded like distant thunder on the soil. But that wasn’t what was soothing my ever-present grief right then. That was down to a secondary set of hooves pressing into the same ground, and the other rider accompanying me on this ride.
I glanced behind me, and my breathing stuttered when I saw Caresa casting her big brown eyes over my land and the rolling hills of Umbria beyond. I allowed myself to look down to her body. She hadn’t been lying or even exaggerating. Even from this light trot out, I could see that she could ride, exceptionally well, I would guess. Her seat was solid and her legs at the perfect angle, her heels pressing low in the stirrups. Her back was straight, and her hands held the reins in a way that only came with years of practice.
And it was even more obvious that she was proficient in dressage. Her entire posture was elegant in a delicate way. Even Rosa, who had not been ridden for more than a year—and even then it was simply around the paddock—was calm. She had submitted naturally to Caresa’s control, trusting the rider to keep her in check.
Caresa must have felt the heavy weight of my stare, as her wandering eyes snapped back to clash with mine. I needed to say something. I needed to speak, so I simply asked, “Good?”
Caresa’s responding smile was as bright at the afternoon sun. “More than good,” she replied. I measured her height to Rosa’s build and frame. They were a perfect match. Rosa was a good size, fifteen-three hands, strong but not too heavy. And I’d guess that Caresa was five foot five to five foot six, slim and athletic, perfectly proportioned to her Italian curves. My skin prickled as I allowed myself to notice that about her.
I steered Nico right at the end of the first row. A wider track stretched out over acres and acres before us. It was the main road of my land. Nico’s hooves padded harder, wanting the chance to stretch his legs on the open field.
Caresa trotted beside me; her rising trot was impressive. Excitement flared in her eyes. She looked at the field ahead and the level track, which was straight and well worn. A knowing smirk tugged on her mouth. “So, Achille?” she said, an air of levity to her soft voice. “How good a rider are you?” My eyes narrowed as she tipped her head to the side, awaiting my answer.