around her shoulders. “You didn’t bite me when I explained it, so I assumed we were in agreement.”
Jane scrambled off the saddle and landed in an undignified heap on the ground. She tried to get up, but her legs were wobbly after the sudden transformation.
Gifford dismounted and knelt beside her. “Are you all right?”
She nodded.
There’d been so much she’d wanted to tell him before, when she’d been locked in the Tower, but now (possibly for the first time in her life) Jane felt tongue-tied.
Gifford looked like he wanted to say something, too. He took her hands in his, fingers grazing the rings of cuts and bruises on her wrists from the shackles, and she sucked in a sharp breath. Her wrists hadn’t hurt so much as a ferret, though there’d been a shadow of pain. Now they felt like they were on fire.
“You’re wounded,” Gifford observed.
“It’s nothing.” She tried to smile at him. “So, I suppose I can’t control the change yet.”
He arched an eyebrow at her. “What’s that, you say? You can’t control the change? How’s that possible, when you’ve read so very many books on E∂ians?”
Her face felt hot. She sat up straighter. “Well, these are just less-than-ideal conditions. I will be able to perfect the change with a bit of practice, I’m sure.”
“Oh, I’m sure you will. You should try. Change back, and we’ll go,” he said.
He was teasing her. She wasn’t sure if she liked it. She took a deep breath and concentrated on the idea of becoming a ferret again, because that was the plan, but nothing happened. She tried again. Nothing.
Gifford’s gaze dropped to her collarbone. Then the shape of her under the cloth. “Wait. Never mind. Stay just like that.”
Jane yanked the cloak more tightly around her and jumped to her feet. “Gifford Dudley! Eyes to yourself.”
He laughed and began taking off his boots. And then his socks. And then his belt.
“What are you doing?”
“It’s morning,” he explained as he continued undressing. “These are my only clothes—the guards gave them to me when I was moved from the stables to the Tower—so it would be a real shame to ruin them in my transformation.”
His shirt went next, revealing the contours of his chest. Jane tried not to stare. When he began tugging at his trousers, she meeped, clapped her hands over her eyes, and spun away. “Have you no shame?”
“None at all.”
“And I don’t suppose you brought clothes for me?”
He whinnied in reply.
Jane turned around. “No clothes for me?” she repeated to her husband, the horse.
Gifford didn’t answer.
She bit her lip and eyed the clothing strewn over the ground. Trousers. How degrading. But less degrading, possibly, than spending the day wrapped in a thin cloak and nothing else.
A sharp bark pierced the air, startling her. Pet had circled back to find them all just standing around doing nothing. She barked again, and Jane remembered the soldiers still pursuing them.
They had to hurry.
Gifford’s plan had been all well and good, but what kind of plan was go somewhere safe? Now that she was the sole human of the group, the decisions were up to her, she supposed. Because no one here was capable of talking back.
First, she decided, she would get dressed.
“Gifford.” She cleared her throat. “I don’t want to question your honor, but that’s exactly what I’m doing.” She threw the cloak over his head so that he couldn’t peek at her while she put on the clothes he’d just discarded.
Gifford-the-horse made a huffing sound, but held still as she dressed. His clothes were warm and slightly sweaty. They smelled of horse. Everything was much too big, but she tightened the belt as small as it would go and rolled the hems of her pants and sleeves. Then she tied her hair into a quick braid and freed Gifford of his blind.
“So I’m to ride on your back?” she asked nervously. “And break Horse Rule three?”
He tossed his head in the affirmative.
She tromped over in too-large boots to inspect the other horse’s saddle.
She’d read about saddles in The Great Saddle Controversy: Pros and Cons of Various Saddles and the Best Choice for a Patriotic Englishman. This saddle only vaguely resembled the ones she’d seen sketched in the book, but how hard could it be? Seat, saddle tree, girth, blanket. There was a small saddlebag as well, but Jane didn’t open it to inspect its contents. No time.