Free Princess In Denim by Jenna McKnight Page A

my horse all right?"
    "She is fine, Your Highness," an escort answered, and led her forward so that Chloe could see for herself that the mare was neither frightened nor limping.
    William followed closely as she circled the mare. "You are limping, Moira. Let me carry you back to the castle now."
    Chloe waved his concern away. "I'm fine. If I could have the girth from one of your —"
    Carry me back? As in, ride double?
    "Well, my leg is a little sore from that tumble."
    William snapped his fingers; his horse was instantly led forward. He mounted from the high side of the hill, then reached for her. A man-at-arms gave her a boost, but she barely felt him touch her leg as William settled her sideways in the saddle, while he himself moved to sit behind it.
    They started downhill.
    Chloe had ridden in many different positions, but sideways down a steep hill wasn't one of them. As a trick rider, she'd always been in control, but it wasn't possible this way. "Oh, this is awful," she complained with a groan.
    "What, Moira?" William asked, his voice warm and husky in her ear. "Am I holding you too tight?"
    Yeah, right.
    "Oh, no, Your Majesty...William."
    "What then?"
    "Nothing. William..."
    "Yes?"
    "Would it be all right if I laid my head on your shoulder?"
    "Of course."
    His neck was warm from the sun, his shirt as soft as chamois. A week ago she'd been a plain American nobody, and this week she was cradled by a hunk of a king who wanted to help people by building a health care facility on top of a hill.
    She couldn't help wondering whether it was possible for him to be as interested in her as he was in his people. She wanted him to be, but given the circumstances into which she'd been thrown— royal princess where the boy next door was a grown-up monarch—she'd be wise to keep rein on her emotions and see if they could be friends first.
    Not that that sounded nearly as interesting as what she was feeling at the moment.
     
    * * *
     
    It was just as King Albert had feared. William hated to admit it, but Moira's father might be right. He had said Moira could be in danger if she came home, and William had promised to protect her.
    He would not go back on that promise.
    She was warm and cozy in the circle of his arms, and silent enough to give him time to think. Had she adjusted her own girth because she was meek and did not want to trouble anyone, or because, as he now suspected, a measure of American independence had rubbed off on her? After all, she had not lain on the ground and wept. She had not winced when he felt for broken bones. She had not begged for a well-sprung carriage to carry her home, or for the immediate presence of a physician.
    He could like this new side of Moira, too. As long as she did not try to forestall what he knew was best for their countries.
    He guided his stallion past the stable, to the castle entrance where Emma waited.
    She greeted them with concern. "Your Highness?"
    "We had a little mishap," William answered for her. He turned over his reins to his groom, slid backward over his horse's hindquarters, then stood beside Moira's knees and reached up for her.
    Her eyes were clear and bright, showing no pain, no anger. She rested her hands on his shoulders, slid off the saddle and allowed him to take her weight. Reluctantly he let her slide down in front of him, when he would have preferred to drag her up against his chest and feel her against him again, face-to-face this time. When her feet touched the ground, he held her for another moment to be sure she was steady, but she had no difficulty and did not even pretend to lean on him.
    Good, she was fine. Now he was free to find out who was responsible for her "accident."
    "Are you all right?" Emma asked her.
    "Yes, I just took a little tumble."
    "You?" Emma visibly composed herself. "I'll see you to your quarters, then, Your Highness. Just to be certain."
    Moira turned and looked up at William with a warm, soft gaze that told him that maybe, in spite of