“Aye, you’ll thank me after a day or two,” Griselda said. She walked to a chair, picked up a tricorn hat and thrust it at Margot. “Learn to wear it. Come on, then. I’ve only a day to teach you to ride astride and shoot.”

“Shoot!”

“Ach, you natter on, do you no’? Come on, then. I’d no’ be the least surprised if the pony had gone back to the stables for his supper by now.”

Margot would have no such luck—the pony was standing in the middle of the bailey when they walked outside. She was acutely aware of the eyes on her—or rather, her legs, the shape of them so indiscriminately displayed in the tight trews. As Margot looked on with surprise, Griselda hoisted herself onto a bay’s back.

Margot required help. The young man vaulted her up, and she landed so hard on the saddle she feared the trews had split their seams.

“Do you know how to rein?” Griselda asked.

“Of course I know how to rein,” Margot said irritably. “It’s not as if I’ve never sat a horse.”

“Hmm,” Griselda said darkly. She expertly pulled her horse around and, with a kick to her bay’s flank, set the horse to a trot.

Margot tried to do the same, but as usual, the pony was not very attentive. The man who had helped her up reached for the bridle. “Ye must tug like this, aye?” he said and, using the slack of her rein, yanked the pony’s head so hard Margot thought the equine might take exception. But in the next moment, she was bouncing uncomfortably on the back of the pony as it trotted out behind the bay.

They rode along for what seemed an interminable amount of time, with Griselda two lengths ahead. Margot could imagine that Griselda was intent on getting as far from the castle as she possibly might. She could imagine her pushing her off a cliff and dusting her hands of the bother that was her cousin’s wife. But they at long last reached a small meadow, and Griselda reined to a stop.

She squinted back as Margot and the pony plodded forward, the both of them already exhausted.

“Have we reached England?” Margot drawled. “Surely we are not far from it now.”

“On my word, if I could deliver you to England, I would,” Griselda shot back.

Margot rolled her eyes. “As you can see, I can ride. Are we done here?”

“You donna ride, Lady Mackenzie. You cling to the horse. Your arse must feel like fire, aye?”

Margot made a sound of indignation—even though it was true.

“Bring your horse to a canter, aye? It’s a smoother gait for riding. Watch me.”