She glanced at the donkey, standing patiently with Miguel. “So I see. What for?”
“For your luggage.”
“But I only have this.” She gestured to the bag.
“So I see.” The conversation was getting ridiculous. Luke cupped his hands to give her a boost up. She placed a booted foot in his linked hands and sprang into the saddle. A slender featherweight.
She seemed comfortable in the sidesaddle, hooking her leg around the pommel and draping her skirts as naturally as if she’d ridden only the day before instead of eight years ago. Luke handed her the riding crop and adjusted her stirrup. As he did, he noticed something that made his mouth twitch. Under the skirt she still wore her breeches.
The docile and obedient bride of his imaginings was fading fast.
“What are you going to do with the donkey?” she asked.
Luke mounted his own horse. “Miguel can take him.”
The boy, hearing his name, looked up. “Take him where,señor?”
“Wherever you like. I don’t need the donkey after all.”
The boy’s eyes widened. He clutched the donkey’s lead in his grubby fist and glanced from Luke to Isabella and back at Luke. “How much?”
“Nothing. It’s a gift,” Luke told him.
“A gift?” The boy’s eyes gleamed, then the excitement faded. “Señor, my mother would not allow such a gift. You paid her already, most generously.”
“They may be poor, but they have their pride,” Isabella said softly to Luke. She said something in the boy’s language, and Miguel turned to Luke in surprise. “Is true,señor?”
“Tell him it’s true, Lord Ripton,” Isabella said with a hint of a smile.
“It’s true,” Luke said, hoping it was. He had no idea what she’d said.
Miguel’s face split in a brilliant grin. “What a place England must be! Thank you,señor, may you have many fine sons,manyfine sons!” he told Luke enthusiastically. “My mother will be so happy. With a donkey I can collect more wood for winter. With a donkey we can carry goods to market. With a donkey I can—”
“Become the man of the village,” Luke said dryly. “I have no doubt of it.” He glanced at Isabella. “Ready?”
She nodded, and they set off, the convent community clustered in the gateway calling last good-byes and waving.
Miguel and the donkey ran along beside them for a short while, waving, whooping, and wishing them even more fine sons, until Isabella called to Luke, “My mare is a little fresh and needs a run. Shall we canter?” Without waiting for Luke’s response, she shouted a final good-bye to Miguel and urged her horse into a canter. She had an excellent seat.
Luke followed, and in a few minutes they were alone on the narrow, winding road, heading down the mountain, leaving the convent and the village far behind.
After a while the track broadened and Isabella slowed to a walk. Luke brought his mount alongside her mare so that the horses were walking side by side.
“Not finding it too tiring?”
She gave him a surprised look. “Not at all.”
They walked on in silence for a while. To Luke’s surprise she didn’t seem to feel the need to fill the silence with aimless chatter. Of course, it could be shyness, in which case it was incumbent on him to converse. Only he couldn’t think of anything to chat about.
He pulled out a flask of cold spring water and passed it to her. She unstoppered it, drank, and handed it back to him with murmured thanks.
He was about to drink, when a question occurred to him. “What did you tell Miguel about the donkey?”
She gave a little huff of amusement. “Just that it is an English tradition for a bridegroom to give a male donkey as a gift…” She added with a glimmer of mischief, “To ensure a son, you understand, donkeys being… well endowed.”
Luke, in the act of drinking from his flask, choked. She gave a gurgle of laughter and rode ahead. His demure convent bride.
More and more he was looking forward to the night.
