He took the mule’s reins and led her to the mounting block. Bella scrambled into the saddle as best she could, and while Eric was busy mounting his horse, got her legs and skirt arranged in the peculiar configuration demanded by the sidesaddle.
The mule stood with perfect patience while she did so. As soon as she got herself arranged, Eric put heel to his horse and rode out of the stable without looking back to see if she was going to follow.
Well, she wasn’t a good rider, as were people who lived out in the middle of nowhere, or nobles who could afford to keep horses in stables in the city were, but she wasn’t a novice. She lifted the reins a little, gave her mule an encouraging chirrup and touched her with the heel of the leg that wasn’t wrapped around the high pommel.
The mule stepped out neatly and obediently, her head bobbing a little with each step as she stretched her legs to keep up with the taller horse. Her gait was easy and comfortable, and rather than moving into a trot to keep up, she merely sped into a faster walk.
“How is she?” Eric called back, looking over his shoulder as they moved out of the forecourt and through the gates in the wall. The forecourt, paved with bricks, had been swept completely clean of snow — though it wasn’t very big, just large enough for a carriage or two. Nothing like the grand forecourt of the Royal Palace.
“I like her!” she called forward, excited now. They passed beneath the walls and came out into the snow and sunshine, and for the first time she saw what the Manor looked like from the outside.
The wall only enclosed the forecourt, and it looked like a later addition. Still later was a stout gatehouse of two stories built up against the wall. This must be where Eric lived. From the outside, at least, it looked to be about twice the size of her suite of rooms. The gatehouse looked like a little fortress itself, although she suspected that was more to make it blend in with the Manor than to be defensible. The wall, too, looked as if it had been built more to keep the worst of the weather off the forecourt than to provide any real defense.
Once they were outside the wall, Eric reined in his impatient horse to ride along beside her. He eyed her with some disapproval, and she wondered what she was doing wrong when he spoke.
“I really cannot imagine how you women keep your balance, riding aside like that,” he said. “Your weight is all on one side of the beast, and you are in danger of falling off at any moment.”
“Well, I told you I am not a very good rider,” she reminded him, as the mule’s ears swiveled to catch what both of them were saying. “My father isn’t the sort to waste money keeping horses in the city. The twins are better, but that is because Genevieve paid for lessons so they can ride with the people she thinks they should see.”
Eric’s brows furrowed a moment, but one corner of his mouth quirked up. “Not ‘their friends’?” he asked. “I thought your father was wealthy. Why didn’t you get lessons, too?”
“Because I’m not Genevieve’s daughter. I suppose I could have had lessons if I wanted them, but riding didn’t really interest me when I was little, and after my mother died, I was too busy.”
“Sounds complicated.” Eric dismissed her entire family situation with a shrug that said he really wasn’t interested in hearing more. “Have you any objections to riding astride?”
“None,” she said firmly. She was truly enjoying riding, much to her surprise. The mule’s gait was quite smooth enough for conversation, and she wasn’t jouncing in the saddle as if the beast was trying to ram her spine up through the top of her head.
“I’ll see about getting a real saddle for you, then. I got this beast from an old bird in the Beauville market who swore she had been owned by some sort of pious old woman who only rode her out to do good deeds twice a week.” He chuckled at Bella’s snort of disbelief. “That was my reaction, too, but I checked to make sure there were no records of any such mule being stolen, and otherwise she seemed to measure up, so I bought her. Maybe for once the story was true.”
“Stranger things have happened,” she agreed. The mule’s ears swiveled back to catch her voice again. “I think she likes me.”
“That’s not important. What is important is that you like her.” Eric’s horse shook its head restively, and he reined it in with a hard hand. “Settle, you. We’re not going for a gallop today.”
“What are we doing?” she asked.
“Seeing how this beast goes for you, and checking where poachers usually set traps, for another,” he replied. “I haven’t made my rounds for a few days. They’ve probably gotten bold.”
He sent his horse a little ahead of her mule, and turned down what looked like a game trail worn into the snow. The mule followed the gelding without a qualm.
They rode in silence for some time; Eric’s horse was slowed to a walk by the snow, and the mule was perfectly content to follow in its wake. Eric glanced back at her now and again to be sure she was keeping up, but otherwise ignored her. He was definitely looking for something, though she couldn’t tell what.
Not that I would be likely to see anything even if I knew what to look for. Finally, he must have seen it, whatever “it” was. He reined in his horse and jumped down out of the saddle. He started to hand her the reins, then must have thought better of the idea and tied them to the trunk of a tree.
Then he was off, forcing his way through the snow into the trees. He came back a few moments later with a handful of what looked like thin wires, which he coiled up and tucked into a small saddlebag. “Snares,” he said, by way of explanation, and climbed into the saddle again.
“I’ve never understood how a bit of wire was supposed to catch anything,” she said, to break the silence, as he started down the trail, which now only he could see.
“Rabbits and hares make trails they follow. Otherwise it’s too much work for them to get through the snow. When it’s deep enough, they tunnel through it. Find the narrowest part of the trail, just wide enough for the beast to get through. Make a noose of wire, then tie it to a bit of twine or gut. Position it in the middle of that narrow part, tie the gut to brush overhead or a stick you cut and ram into the snow or the ground. Use a couple of twigs to keep the noose in place and open. Then wait. The beast comes along, has to stick his head through the noose to get down the trail, but the noose feels just like grass or twigs at first. Then it tightens on him, he gets frightened, tries to bolt. That’s all. Sometimes you can catch pheasants the same way — they often use the same runs. Sometimes weasels, sometimes foxes, though foxes will generally break free and claw the noose off.”