Martha is fine with staying on the horse for now. She may not know how to ride one herself, but she seems to be doing well enough as the passenger. She's got the leg strength to adjust to the horse's movements as it trots along, and while she suspects she'll be sore tomorrow because of this, simply due to not being used to it, it's a small price to pay.

The lack of eye contact is an added bonus.

Salcey Forest, right. Martha's never been there, and she doesn't think there's all that much to see there, but it must have been a popular spot for men to go hunting back during Buckingham's time. Hunting for sport is the sort of thing that leaves a bad taste in her mouth, but there's no denying that nobles at that time were expected to do it.

The way he speaks about the injury, as if it's something that happened to someone else rather than to him, is enough to make Martha smile to herself. Such pride, and for what? It doesn't seem to matter much when she can see right through it.

(Though if she knew the whole story, she would definitely be judging. Definitely. Positively. Absolutely. And likely laughing as well.)

But curiosity may as well be Martha's middle name, and so a follow-up question is posed almost instantly. "What was it? Did you get thrown from the horse? Too enthusiastic about shooting some poor deer?" The barbed comment is something she can't quite help.