“Fergus,” she started, but he was already stepping back, taking Mairead’s lead rope.
“We’ll just walk for now,” he said. “Get ye used to the rhythm.”
He led the mare forward in a slow walk around the paddock, and Jeane focused on staying balanced, on moving with the horse’s gait instead of against it.
“That’s it,” Fergus encouraged. “Ye’re a natural.”
“I feel like I’m goin’ to slide right off,” Jeane said, but she was smiling despite her nervousness.
“Ye willnae. I’ve got ye, remember?”
They walked several circles around the paddock, and gradually, Jeane started to relax. The rhythmic movement was soothing, and Mairead really was as gentle as Fergus had promised.
“All right,” Fergus said after a while. “I’m goin’ to let go of the lead. Ye’ll control her yerself now.”
“Wait—” Jeane started, but he’d already unclipped the rope.
Mairead continued walking at the same steady pace, and Jeane realized with a little thrill that she was actually riding. By herself.
“I’m doin’ it!” she said, unable to keep the excitement from her voice.
Fergus grinned at her, that boyish smile that made her heart flip in her chest.
“Aye, ye are. Now, try turnin’ her. Gentle pressure on the left rein.”
Jeane did as he instructed, and Mairead obediently turned. She laughed with delight.
“This is wonderful!”
“Want to try a trot?” Fergus asked.
“I daenae ken.”
“Ye can do it. Just squeeze yer legs gently against her sides.”
Jeane took a breath and did as he said. Mairead moved into a gentle trot, and suddenly Jeane was bouncing everywhere, completely off-rhythm.
“Oh—oh nay?—”
“Rise up in the stirrups with each stride,” Fergus called. “Match her rhythm!”
Jeane tried, but she couldn’t seem to get the timing right, and she felt herself starting to slide to one side?—
Strong hands caught her around the waist, steadying her, and suddenly Fergus was right there, having jogged up beside the horse. He slowed Mairead to a walk with a word, his hands still firm on Jeane’s waist.
“I’ve got ye,” he murmured, and Jeane looked down to find his face very close to hers, close enough that she could see the gold flecks in his brown eyes, close enough to count his eyelashes.
“Thank ye,” she breathed, and his gaze dropped to her lips.
For a moment, the world seemed to stop. His hands tightened on her waist, and Jeane found herself leaning down toward him, drawn like a moth to flame?—
“Me Laird!”
A young stable boy came running up, and Fergus stepped back abruptly, his hands falling away from Jeane’s waist.
“What is it?” Fergus barked, sounding annoyed.
“Message from the council, me Laird. They’re waitin’ for ye in the great hall.”
