”Precisely. Tighten your thighs. Heels down.”
After half an hour, Malcolm let her trot. That was worse: The gait jolted her from top to bottom. Learning to post a trot put cramps in her thigh muscles. He brought her back down to a walk again to let her rest.
”I hate this!”
”That’s because we haven’t tried the canter yet,” Malcolm smiled.
”And when we get to do that? Next week?”
Malcolm laughed. “Patience, Miss Smythe. Patience. You can’t fly until you’ve learned to flap your wings properly. Now, the post again.”
Margo held back a groan and kicked her horse into the posting trot that jolted everything that could be jolted. She missed her timing, rising on the wrong swing of the horse’s withers, and discovered that was worse. She jolted along for a couple of paces before she got it right again. Eventually, Margo mastered it.
”All right,” Malcolm said, drawing up beside her, “let’s see if the nag will canter.”
Malcolm clucked once and urged his horse forward with thighs, knees, and heels. He leaned forward.
And shot away in a thunder of hoof beats. Belatedly Margo licked her own horse to greater speed. One moment they were jolting through a horrendous trot. The next, Margo was flying.
”oh!”
It was wonderful.
She found herself grinning like an idiot as her horse caught up with Malcolm’s horse.
He glanced over and grinned. “Better?”
”wow!”
”Thought you’d like that!”
”It’s …it’s terrific!” She felt alive all over, even down to her toes. The horse moved under her in a smoothly bunched rhythm, while hedgerows whipped past to a glorious, stinging wind in her face.