was more to make it blend in with the Manor than to be defensible. The wall, too, looked as if it had been built more to keep the worst of the weather off the forecourt than to provide any real defense.
Once they were outside the wall, Eric reined in his impatient horse to ride along beside her. He eyed her with some disapproval, and she wondered what she was doing wrong when he spoke.
“I really cannot imagine how you women keep your balance, riding aside like that,” he said. “Your weight is all on one side of the beast, and you are in danger of falling off at any moment.”
“Well, I told you I am not a very good rider,” she reminded him, as the mule’s ears swiveled to catch what both of them were saying. “My father isn’t the sort to waste money keeping horses in the city. The twins are better, but that is because Genevieve paid for lessons so they can ride with the people she thinks they should see.”
Eric’s brows furrowed a moment, but one corner of his mouth quirked up. “Not ‘their friends’?” he asked. “I thought your father was wealthy. Why didn’t you get lessons, too?”
“Because I’m not Genevieve’s daughter. I suppose I could have had lessons if I wanted them, but riding didn’t really interest me when I was little, and after my mother died, I was too busy.”
“Sounds complicated.” Eric dismissed her entire family situation with a shrug that said he really wasn’t interested in hearing more. “Have you any objections to riding astride?”
“None,” she said firmly. She was truly enjoying riding, much to her surprise. The mule’s gait was quite smooth enough for conversation, and she wasn’t jouncing in the saddle as if the beast was trying to ram her spine up through the top of her head.
“I’ll see about getting a real saddle for you, then. I got this beast from an old bird in the Beauville market who swore she had been owned by some sort of pious old woman who only rode her out to do good deeds twice a week.” He chuckled at Bella’s snort of disbelief. “That was my reaction, too, but I checked to make sure there were no records of any such mule being stolen, and otherwise she seemed to measure up, so I bought her. Maybe for once the story was true.”
“Stranger things have happened,” she agreed. The mule’s ears swiveled back to catch her voice again. “I think she likes me.”
“That’s not important. What is important is that you like her.” Eric’s horse shook its head restively, and he reined it in with a hard hand. “Settle, you. We’re not going for a gallop today.”
“What are we doing?” she asked.
“Seeing how this beast goes for you, and checking where poachers usually set traps, for another,” he replied. “I haven’t made my rounds for a few days. They’ve probably gotten bold.”
He sent his horse a little ahead of her mule, and turned down what looked like a game trail worn into the snow. The mule followed the gelding without a qualm.
They rode in silence for some time; Eric’s horse was slowed to a walk by the snow, and the mule was perfectly content to follow in its wake. Eric glanced back at her now and again to be sure she was keeping up, but otherwise ignored her. He was definitely looking for something, though she couldn’t tell what.
Then he was off, forcing his way through the snow into the trees. He came back a few moments later with a handful of what looked like thin wires, which he coiled up and tucked into a small saddlebag. “Snares,” he said, by way of explanation, and climbed into the saddle again.
“I’ve never understood how a bit of wire was supposed to catch anything,” she said, to break the silence, as he started down the trail, which now only he could see.
“Rabbits and hares make trails they follow. Otherwise it’s too much work for them to get through the snow. When it’s deep enough, they tunnel through it. Find the narrowest part of the trail, just wide enough for the beast to get through. Make a noose of wire, then tie it to a bit of twine or gut. Position it in the middle of that narrow part, tie the gut to brush overhead or a stick you cut and ram into the snow or the ground. Use a couple of twigs to keep the noose in place and open. Then wait. The beast comes along, has to stick his head through the noose to get down the trail, but the noose feels just like grass or twigs at first. Then it tightens on him, he gets frightened, tries to bolt. That’s all. Sometimes you can catch pheasants the same way — they often use the same runs. Sometimes weasels, sometimes foxes, though foxes will generally break free and claw the noose off.”
“The rabbit strangles?” she asked, a little taken aback by the matter-of-fact way he described it all.
“Or breaks its neck. Either way, you have a rabbit, and you don’t have to hunt for it. Most poachers work that way. It’s easy enough for even a woman to do. That’s why I thought you were a poacher.” There was amusement in his voice. “Most of the women I catch poaching generally try to buy me off with favors.”
“And you let them?” She tried her best to keep any accusation out of her voice, but she couldn’t help the resentment that crept in.
“Depends on how hungry they look.” Now he turned to look at her. “This is my duty, you know. I am supposed to keep poachers from hunting the woods bare to preserve the game for the landowner. As it happened, you are a skinny enough wench I thought you might need the meat. I don’t take anything they aren’t perfectly willing to part with. The law allows me to whip them, toss them in Sebastian’s dungeon for a few weeks, turn them in to the Sheriff of the nearest city or use my own discretion. Depending on the Sheriff, they might get put in the stocks, thrown in gaol, get a branding on the face for rabbits or lose a hand for a deer.” He turned his attention back to the horse and the trail. “Generally I don’t actually catch the poacher, I only find the snares.”
She was shocked into silence by the litany of punishments. She’d had no idea…
“How often do you turn poachers in to the Sheriff?” she asked, finally.
“Never,” came the laconic reply. “It’s almost half a day’s ride to the city, and longer than that to walk, since I sure as hell would not be putting a poacher on a horse. It’s too much trouble. Sebastian’s dungeon is not an option. Easier to just to give them a couple stripes and scare them off, or use my — discretion.”
“I see.” She was torn. If the law was that harsh, shouldn’t it be changed? And how was he excused for taking advantage of women who were desperate and hungry enough to take the risk of poaching? But if the law presented a worse punishment, was he doing them a favor by allowing them to negotiate with the only thing they had to trade?
