But Theon had spent ten years in Winterfell, and did not intend to go to war without a good mount beneath him. Lord Botley’s misjudgment was his good fortune: a stallion with a temper as black as his hide, larger than a courser if not quite so big as most destriers. As Theon was not quite so big as most knights, that suited him admirably. The animal had fire in his eyes. When he’d met his new owner, he’d pulled back his lips and tried to bite off his face.
“Does he have a name?” Esgred asked Theon as he mounted.
“Smiler.” He gave her a hand, and pulled her up in front of him, where he could put his arms around her as they rode. “I knew a man once who told me that I smiled at the wrong things.”
“Do you?”
“Only by the lights of those who smile at nothing.” He thought of his father and his uncle Aeron.
“Are you smiling now, my lord prince?”
“Oh, yes.” Theon reached around her to take the reins. She was almost of a height with him. Her hair could have used a wash and she had a faded pink scar on her pretty neck, but he liked the smell of her, salt and sweat and woman.
The ride back to Pyke promised to be a good deal more interesting than the ride down had been.
When they were well beyond Lordsport, Theon put a hand on her breast. Esgred reached up and plucked it away. “I’d keep both hands on the reins, or this black beast of yours is like to fling us both off and kick us to death.”
“I broke him of that.” Amused, Theon behaved himself for a while, chatting amiably of the weather (grey and overcast, as it had been since he arrived, with frequent rains) and telling her of the men he’d killed in the Whispering Wood. When he reached the part about coming that close to the Kingslayer himself, he slid his hand back up to where it had been. Her breasts were small, but he liked the firmness of them.
“You don’t want to do that, my lord prince.”
“Oh, but I do.” Theon gave her a squeeze. “Your squire is watching you.”
“Let him. He’ll never speak of it, I swear.”
Esgred pried his fingers off her breast. This time she kept him firmly prisoned. She had strong hands.
“Does he have a name?” Esgred asked Theon as he mounted.
“Smiler.” He gave her a hand, and pulled her up in front of him, where he could put his arms around her as they rode. “I knew a man once who told me that I smiled at the wrong things.”
“Do you?”
“Only by the lights of those who smile at nothing.” He thought of his father and his uncle Aeron.
“Are you smiling now, my lord prince?”
“Oh, yes.” Theon reached around her to take the reins. She was almost of a height with him. Her hair could have used a wash and she had a faded pink scar on her pretty neck, but he liked the smell of her, salt and sweat and woman.
The ride back to Pyke promised to be a good deal more interesting than the ride down had been.
When they were well beyond Lordsport, Theon put a hand on her breast. Esgred reached up and plucked it away. “I’d keep both hands on the reins, or this black beast of yours is like to fling us both off and kick us to death.”
“I broke him of that.” Amused, Theon behaved himself for a while, chatting amiably of the weather (grey and overcast, as it had been since he arrived, with frequent rains) and telling her of the men he’d killed in the Whispering Wood. When he reached the part about coming that close to the Kingslayer himself, he slid his hand back up to where it had been. Her breasts were small, but he liked the firmness of them.
“You don’t want to do that, my lord prince.”
“Oh, but I do.” Theon gave her a squeeze. “Your squire is watching you.”
“Let him. He’ll never speak of it, I swear.”
Esgred pried his fingers off her breast. This time she kept him firmly prisoned. She had strong hands.
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