“Your horse will not bless us. I could shoulder these things.”
“Seven miles?”
“It is not the weight, but an awkward bale to tie on a horse’s back.”
“Here’s a sack and some cord; wrap it around the handles; we can sling the food one side and the tools the other. The horse must make the best of it.”
Her word was law for the moment, both to Martin Valliant and the beast. She stood by while he loaded the things on to the horse’s back, watching him critically and the way he used his big brown hands.
“Can you ride a horse?” she asked him.
He smiled around at her gravely.
“I have broken in colts at Paradise.”
“Was that monk’s work?”
“I was young, and even a monk is none the worse for learning to handle an untamed thing and to keep his temper.”