Devoted 2 : Where the Ivy Grows (22 page)

Marc smiles. ‘No. A male. He’s called
Taranu. It’s a Welsh word. It means thunder. And he’s extremely strong and wilful, like his namesake.’

‘Marc – I can’t ride him.’

‘You can and you will. And he’ll teach you a lot.’ Marc slaps his shiny, black flank. ‘With Taranu, you’ll have to be strong. Control him or you’ll be thrown.’

I think of my mother and the times we went riding together. I rode a pony called Daisy, and it was the gentlest creature you could ever hope to meet. Mum and I would trot together through the woodlands and along country paths. They were magical, those Saturday mornings.

‘I’m not sure this is such a good idea,’ I say.

‘You don’t have a choice,’ says Marc, resting his hand on
Taranu’s rear. ‘When I’m teaching you, you do as I say. You’re riding him, and that’s final. So let’s get you dressed.’

Taranu snorts and kicks his feet against the hard concrete behind the stables, and I watch him warily, thinking now would be a good time to change my mind.

Marc has fitted
Taranu with a shiny brown saddle.

I’m wearing the beige riding trousers, fitted black polo neck and black boots from the boutique clothing store bag.

I’m shivering, both with cold and fear.

Come on, Sophia. Come on, you can do this.

‘Ready?’ Marc asks, holding the reins.

I nod, putting my foot in the metal stirrup before I have too much time to think about it. I put my hands on
Taranu’s soft coat, and he gives a little twitch that knocks me off balance.

I nearly fall, but Marc catches me. I try to ignore the electricity that zips through my body at Marc’s touch, and plant my feet firmly on the ground.

‘Easy. Easy, boy,’ says Marc, giving Taranu’s flank a pat. I notice Marc isn’t looking at me and guess he feels the electricity too.

Sophia ... you’ve got to stop thinking like that.

‘Okay.’ I put my foot in the stirrup again, grab the glossy brown saddle and heave myself up and over.

Whoa.

I’m about five feet in the air. It’s a
long
way to the ground.

I take the reins, trying to be cool and confident, but in truth
, I’m sick with nerves.

Taranu
takes a step forward, and I jolt back, then to the front.

‘Oh! Wait. No. Stand still,’ I say.

My nervous words aren’t calming Taranu, and he trots a fast little circle on the concrete.

I freeze, holding tight to the reins, my whole body rigid. Every jolt sends my stiff body flying the wrong way, and I throw myself down against the saddle, clinging to
Taranu with both hands.

‘Sit up,’ says Marc. ‘Now. Take charge of him. Or he’ll run away with you.
Now
Sophia. This isn’t a game.’

Oh my
god, he really is serious. ‘Okay.’ I struggle upright and pull the reins tighter.

Taranu
responds by walking forward.

‘Marc! Where’s he going?’

‘Wherever he likes right now. You’d better take charge of him.’

Oh my god.

Taranu heads towards an open field. He trots at first, but as soon as there’s grass beneath his hooves, he begins to canter.

I’m still completely tense, my body bouncing up, down, up, down as
Taranu goes from a canter to a gallop.

Oh my god.

I pull the reins tight, but it makes no difference. Wind pushes at my cheeks, and my eyes water. We’re galloping now. Properly galloping, and I’m bouncing all over the place.

I can’t hold on. Any minute now, I’m going to go flying off. I look down at the soft grass and see
Taranu’s thick hooves pounding into it. There’s no way I want to fall at this speed.

I pull the reins again.

‘Stop, Taranu. No.’

He doesn’t slow at all, even though I’m tugging as hard as I can. I’m growing more and more terrified now. There’s a fence up ahead, and if he tries to jump it
, I’ll fall. And he’ll be loose in a neighbour’s field.

Bump, bump, bump – I’m bouncing so hard that I’m flying up and down in the saddle. The fence is only metres away, and part of me wants to throw my hands to my face and brace myself for impact.

‘Stop.
Stop
.’ I pull at the reins with all my might, hearing Taranu snort and feeling him alter his footing, ready to jump the fence.

‘Turn. NOW.’ I’ve never heard that voice before, but it came from me alright – deep and guttural and from my very core. My hands slide further up the reins and tug. Not despera
tely. Not fearfully. But forcefully.

‘TURN. No, you will
not
throw me. You will turn. You will turn.’

I pull the reins with all my might, pulling
Taranu’s neck to the side and ...

He turns.

Just in time.

I keep the reins completely taut in my hands, not letting them slip even a centimetre, although the leather is cutting me. We gallop back towards the stables, but this time at a slower pace. I pull tighter and tighter until he slows to a canter, then a trot.

‘Easy boy.’ I lean
forward and stroke his strong neck, hearing him snort in approval. It’s only when I see Marc by the stables that I realise how shaken I am.

I pull
Taranu to a stop, then slide free of the saddle. My knees nearly give way as I hit the ground, and I have to lean against Taranu for support. My arms are shaking too, now they’re not taut and tense.

‘Good ride?’ Marc takes
Taranu’s reins. The horse bows its head to him, nuzzling its nose against Marc’s long fingers.

I glare at him, flinging my shaking arms to my hips. ‘Are you crazy?’ I shout. ‘What on earth ... that horse was out of control. You let me ride a horse like that?’

‘Out of control?’ Marc raises an eyebrow. ‘He was anything but. Because you took charge of him.’

‘And what if I hadn’t?’ I say, angry tears in my eyes.

‘I would have used this.’ Marc slides a black whistle from his pocket.

‘What’s that?’

‘A stop whistle. He’s trained to come to a careful stop when he hears it.’

‘But ... he was heading towards the fence ...’

‘And he would have turned at this whistle and stopped. He’s a well-trained horse. Despite appearances.’

‘It didn’t feel like he was about to turn.’

‘Trust me. He would have done. But you turned him yourself. I was watching you. Extremely carefully. At the tiniest hint that you were losing your seat, I would have blown the whistle.’

I’m still glaring at him, my heart pounding, but my hands slide down from my hips. ‘You mean ... I wasn’t in charge of him at all?’

‘You were in charge,’ says Marc. ‘But you had a safety net. You just didn’t know it. How are you feeling?’

‘Angry.’

‘You look exhilarated.’

‘Perhaps a little.’ I put a hand to my pounding chest.

‘You did well,’ says Marc, cocking his head. ‘Extremely well. Now. You have rehearsals to attend. Do you understand what that little exercise was all about?’

‘I ... yes. I think so. I mean ... I see what you’re doing. You forced me to take control.
It’s made me feel more confident. Like I can take charge of a situation that seems impossible.’

Marc drops the whistle in his pocket. ‘I think it would do you good to attend Denise’s lessons, too.’

‘There’s no time,’ I say. ‘My rehearsals last all day.’

‘You didn’t let me finish,’ says Marc, frowning. ‘I know how long your rehearsals last. So I’ve booked you some evening lectures with D
enise.’

I l
ook down at the concrete. ‘I know I should train with Denise. But Marc ... when it comes to singing, maybe I’m just not good enough.’

‘Utter nonsense,’ Marc snaps. ‘Believe you’re not good enough, and you won’t be. You’ll atte
nd evening lectures with Denise.’

‘
Marc -’

‘No arguments. If you want my tuition, you follow my rules.’

I let Taranu’s reins slip around in my fingers. ‘Are we back here again?’ I say. ‘You instruct, I obey?’

‘You said you wanted me to teach you.’ Marc takes a step closer, his blue eyes clouded.

Oh good God. How can he still have this effect on me? I’d only just calmed down, and now once again my heart is pounding.

‘Show me your hands.’

‘My ...’

‘Your hands. Now.’ Marc lifts my hands from the reins, and turns them so he can see the palms. Red burn marks run across my left hand where the reins tore at my skin.

‘You’re hurt.’ He frowns. ‘Why didn’t you tell me?’

‘I ... they ... it’s only a few little marks.’

‘Those need to be cleaned up.’

‘But Marc ... my rehearsals.’

‘Wait in the back of the limo. I’ll meet you there in five minutes.’

I’m barely in the car a minute when the door clicks open and Marc climbs in. He has bandages and antiseptic burn cream, and he’s still frowning.

‘It’s okay,’ I say. ‘Really. You don’t need to be worried.’

Marc squeezes a dab of antiseptic cream on cotton wool, then very carefully takes my left hand in his.

‘This might sting a little,’ he says, patting at the red lines on my palm. He’s like an artist, painting something really delicate. He frowns. ‘I
never wanted you to get hurt.’

‘It’s fine. Really.’ I watch him clean the wound. ‘Marc. Can I ask you something?’

Marc keeps dabbing, concentration making cute little lines appear above his nose. ‘What do you want to know?’

‘When we were ... together. Did you like hurting me?’

Marc pauses, the cotton wool hovering near my fingers. ‘I can’t abide the thought of hurting you.’

‘But
...’

‘No.’ Marc shakes his head. ‘I was teaching you something pleasurable. Pain and pleasure are very closely linked. It happened to work for me because I need to be in charge.’

‘You
need
to be in charge,’ I say slowly. ‘Not like.
Need
?’

‘And you found it pleasurable,’ says Marc, gently wrapping a bandage around my hand.

‘Yes,’ I say. ‘The times we had ... they were ... I’ll never forget a moment of it. They were the most amazing times ever. Do we ... is there any chance for us?’

Marc ties the bandage tight, then holds my hand gently in his. ‘I
still want you,’ he says. ‘This is torture for me. You do realise that, don’t you? But my main priority is keeping you safe. And right now that means being apart.’

‘
I miss you, Marc. I wish we could still be together.’

Marc is still holding my hand, and I feel the electricity that comes from him, running up and down my arm. We’re like two magnets fighting th
e current.

‘You’re the first woman who ever,
ever
got so close,’ Marc says. ‘Don’t you know how much it hurts being apart from you? Do you think I’d do that without good reason? I want to protect you.’

‘But don’t you see?’ I say, feeling the car begin to move. ‘
You’re hurting me right now by staying away. I guess I always knew I’d get hurt. I should have known by our sex life.’

Marc’s grip tightens on my hand.
‘Did you ... think I was hurting you?’ His forehead creases up. ‘You thought I liked seeing you in pain?’

‘Didn’t you?’

Marc leans back. ‘No. That wasn’t what I liked. I liked taking charge of you. Of you yielding to me. Of dominating you and being in control of your pleasure. And showing you things you’d never experienced before.’

‘Do you ... is that how it’s always been with you? With women?’

‘Are you saying I’m interested in men?’ Marc’s lips quirk up.

‘I’m guessing no.’

Marc laughs. ‘Good guess. And no ... that’s not how it’s always been. I used to be different. Younger, more afraid. Out of control.’

‘You’ve been with women and not had to take charge?’

‘That’s correct.’

‘But I wasn’t the first. Right? The first woman you ... took charge of.’

‘Before you, there were others. Women who ... I had that dynamic with. But things didn’t start out that way. I wasn’t always in charge.’ Marc puts his hand to his forehead. ‘Something ... some
one
happened.’

There’s a long pause.

‘Oh,’ I say, to fill the silence. And then I can’t help asking, ‘Did you love her?’

Marc laughs. ‘
Him
. He was nothing more than a friend, and he showed me the way, in a manner of speaking.’ Marc’s watching me now, one eyebrow slightly raised, those amazing lips tilted up just a little. ‘You really don’t know, do you?’