“Patience, sister. Ye’ll be back to yer wild ways before ye ken it.” He turned to Jeane. “Speakin’ of ridin’... when was the last time ye rode properly, little mouse?”
Jeane blinked at him. “Properly?”
“Aye. Nae in a carriage, and nae clingin’ to me on me horse for dear life. Actually ridin’.”
Jeane flushed, remembering how she’d held onto him during their long journey to the castle. “I... I’ve never really learned. Me father dinnae think it appropriate for a lady.”
Fergus snorted. “Of course he diνnae. Well, I’m going to teach ye.”
“Now?” Jeane squeaked.
“Aye, now. Unless ye have other patients to see?”
Jeane glanced at Lottie, who was grinning widely and making shooing motions with her hands.
“Go on,” Lottie urged. “I’m fine. And I want to hear all about it later.”
Jeane shot her a look, but Lottie just smiled innocently.
The stables smelled of hay and horses, warm and earthy. Jeane had been here before to gather supplies for the journey to town, but never for a riding lesson.
Fergus led her to a chestnut mare with a gentle face and kind eyes.
“This is Mairead,” Fergus said, stroking the horse’s nose. “She’s the gentlest mare we have. Perfect for learnin’.”
Jeane approached cautiously, holding out her hand the way she’d seen Fergus do. Mairead sniffed her palm and then nuzzled against it, and Jeane couldn’t help but smile.
“She likes ye,” Fergus observed. “That’s a good sign.”
He saddled the mare with quick, efficient movements, and Jeane watched, trying to memorize the process even though she knew she’d never remember all the straps and buckles.
“All right, little mouse. Time to mount up.”
Jeane looked at the horse, then at Fergus. “How exactly do I?—”
Before she could finish, Fergus’s hands were on her waist, lifting her as if she weighed nothing. She squeaked in surprise as he sether on the saddle, his hands lingering for just a moment before he stepped back.
“There ye go,” he said, his voice slightly rougher than usual. “Now, put yer feet in the stirrups.”
Jeane did as he instructed, feeling precarious and unsteady so high off the ground.
“I’m goin’ to fall,” she said nervously.
“Nay, ye’re nae,” Fergus assured her. “I’ve got ye. Just relax.”
“Easy for ye to say,” Jeane muttered, gripping the saddle horn with white knuckles.
Fergus moved to stand beside the horse, one hand on Mairead’s neck, the other reaching up to adjust Jeane’s posture.
“Straighten yer back,” he instructed, his hand pressing lightly against her spine. “And relax yer shoulders. Ye’re too tense.”
His touch was warm even through the fabric of her dress, and Jeane found herself very aware of how close he was, how his fingers seemed to linger just a moment too long.
“Like this?” she asked, trying to focus on sitting properly instead of the way her skin heated wherever he touched.
“Aye, better. Now, the reins, daenae grip them so tight. The horse can feel yer tension. Just hold them gently, like this.”
He reached up and took her hands in his, adjusting her grip on the leather reins. His hands were so much larger than hers, calloused and strong, and Jeane’s breath caught in her throat.
