Nena by Ann Boelter (red white royal blue txt) 📗

gods had ever created. So prized by the Bedouin who bred them, they even slept in their tents with them as family. Nena had heard all the stories, but never that they were so beautiful.

The mare wore a Dor sheepskin saddle. It was plain, with no adornments of ivory or zebra hide as her tournament gift had been, but the thought behind the additional gift moved her even more. She approached the mare and took her bridle. The mare lifted her tiny muzzle and sniffed Nena’s face. The two stood bonding, exchanging breaths for a long moment.

Nena turned to Jarl, unable to hide the emotion his gift had elicited. “She is for me?” she asked in disbelief.

“Yes.”

She held his gaze, looking deep into his eyes. “But she can outrun your stallion.” She said the words quietly, her eyes searching his face the entire time. It was a simple observation to an outsider, but both of them understood the significance.

“Perhaps not on a short stretch, but yes,” he nodded. “She could outrun him—if she wanted to. Would you like to ride now?”

Nena nodded and smiled a small smile, still deeply affected by his gift and trying to overcome it. “Yes,” she said.

Compared to the other thick tribe horses, Nightwing had been sensitive and willing, but this mare was even more so. Jarl had no way of knowing that her beloved mare had been killed in the raid. And yet he had chosen the one gift that would move her more than any other. How had he done it? How did he know her so well in so little time?”

After miles of riding, when even Jarl’s stallion had a sweat, the mare seemed as fresh as if she had just been saddled. What the Teclan warriors could do with horses like these. She was a weapon beyond value. What Nena herself could do with a horse like this to escape.

They rode for many hours, stopping at a turn in the river where trees grew tall and the water pooled in a lazy slow moving current. There, they unsaddled the horses and turned them loose to graze on the lush river bottom grass. They did not fear them running away. Jarl’s stallion was trained to many commands, and coming to Jarl’s whistle was one of his lesser ones—the same trick that Nena had thought unique to her previous mare, Nightwing.

They watched the bay stallion circling the gray mare, bowing his neck and striking high with his foreleg in the air, trying to get her attention—trying to impress her. The mare regarded him coolly while she nibbled the tender blades of grass, but was quick with a reprimanding sharp nip or kick when he pushed too close. Finally, the stallion, too, began to graze, though he remained ever hopeful. Taking short anxious bites, he kept his eyes fixed on the mare and nickered softly at her whenever he raised his head.

Jarl laughed at his antics. “It seems my great warhorse has also found a southern beauty who rejects him. He’s almost embarrassing to watch.” He turned and smiled at Nena. “Though I’m sure I never acted quite so foolish.”

Jarl pulled off his tunic, revealing his well-contoured chest and arms. He turned and stepped to the water’s edge, then bent to remove his boots. The sun danced on the rippling muscles of his back and shoulders, and Nena felt an overwhelming urge to run her hands over his skin—to feel the firm ridges of muscle beneath her fingers.

“Do you swim?” His voice interrupted her reverie, and she flushed guiltily. Jarl grinned at her obvious thoughts and her embarrassment at having been caught in them. He stood with one hand carelessly resting on the front of his half undone trousers, his eyes laughing at her.

“I…uh…yes, though not since I was a child,” she answered. “The water in the mountains is cold.”

“It’ll be much warmer here. And if you get a chill, I’m here to warm you. Though you look quite warm, now,” he teased, referring to her flushed face. With that he shed his trousers and turned to wade out into the water. He stopped when it was just above his knees.

While his attention was focused on his next step on the river bottom, Nena resumed her admiration of his naked body, safe for the moment from being discovered again. Her eyes started at his broad shoulders and worked their way down to his muscular buttocks and lean, haired thighs.

Suddenly he leaped into the air. His body curved into a perfect arch as he dove, his hands and arms slicing through the surface of the water. With barely a splash, he was gone. There was no sign of him for many seconds. Nena looked with consternation at the water that had swallowed him without a trace. Still no Jarl. She ran to the water’s edge. There was no sign of a struggle, no thrashing that she could see. She didn’t know what to do. If something were to happen to him now....

Then, as suddenly as he had disappeared, he resurfaced on the far side, spitting out a mouthful of water and shaking his soaked locks like a great bear would shake his mane. “You’re still dressed,” he observed. “Hurry. Come join me. The temperature is perfect.” He called out encouragement to her and began to lazily make his way back toward her with slow sure strokes.

Nena tentatively undid her dress, not at all looking forward to the frigid water. But Jarl was not gasping or shrieking from the shock of the cold that she still remembered vividly from her swims as a child. She had told him she could swim, and it was true, but her rapid frantic dashes and splashes in the water did not resemble what he was doing.

Nena tested the water with her toe. Jarl was right; it was quite warm in the shallows, almost the temperature of the baths. Slowly, she waded out further, feeling the temperature drop with every step, though