Every time she moved the leather, he jerked away, pulling her with him. Her knuckles scraped against the stone wall, tearing the skin. She bled onto the leather. She didn't care.
When the buckle finally clicked into place, Basia dropped her forehead against the thick muscle of his shoulder. She was exhausted, and she hadn't even brought him out of the stall yet. "All right." She panted, gripping the lead rope. "Let's go show the lordling how to walk in the mud." She turned and kicked the lower latch open.
When Basia stepped out into the gray light of the courtyard, looked like she had been in a brawl. There was a smear of dirt and blood across her cheek from her torn knuckles. Her coat was covered in pale oats and filth. She was limping slightly from where she had slammed into the wall.
But behind her, at the end of the taut lead rope, came the beast. Ruin stepped out of the isolation stall. The light hit his iron gray coat, highlighting the massive coiled tension in his muscles. He tossed his head a violent snap that lifted Basia onto her toes, but she didn't let go.
She jerked the rope back hard. "Walk." She snapped. The horse snorted a wet rattling sound, but he took a step forward. Henry Cavendish stood exactly where she had left him.
The boredom was entirely gone from his face. His dark eyes tracked her slow, limping progress across the cobblestones, moving from her bleeding hand up to the wild rolling eyes of the horse. "Fetch a saddle, Mr. West." Basia called out, her voice raspy but ringing clear in the cold air. She didn't stop walking until she reached the center of the yard, the horse blowing hot nervous breath against the back of her neck.
She looked directly at the Duke. "And make sure the girth isn't rotten." "I don't intend to die because your tack room is as neglected as your horses." Henry's jaw worked. For the first time all morning, a faint dangerous smirk pulled at the corner of his mouth. "Bring her the McClellan saddle, West." Henry ordered softly.
He stepped closer, his boots immaculate against the muck, his eyes locked onto Basia. "Let's see if she can keep her seat." West dumped the saddle onto the top rung of the paddock fence. It hit the wood with a heavy dead thud. The saddle was a monstrosity of thick unyielding leather and brass hardware built for the cavalryman who expected to ride through artillery fire.