"This is one of our breedin' grounds," Alpin explained. "We keep the horses here durin’ spring and summer, let them run free, build strength. Come autumn, we bring them back tae the main stables."
"Why did ye bring me here?"
Alpin dismounted first, then helped Mhairi down. Her hands lingered on his shoulders for a moment longer than necessary before she stepped back.
"Because," he said, "ye need yer own horse. And I thought ye should choose one yerself."
Mhairi stared at him. "Alpin, I cannae take care of a horse."
"Ye can. And ye will." He gestured toward the meadow. "Any one ye want. Take yer time, look at them all, see which one feels right."
"This is too much."
"It's nae nearly enough." The words came out more intense than he'd intended. "Mhairi, ye're buildin' a life here. A real life. And part of that is havin' things that are truly yers––nae borrowed, nae shared, butyers. So choose a horse. Choose one that'll carry ye wherever ye need to go."
Her eyes were shinin' with unshed tears. "I dinnae ken what tae say."
"Say ye'll pick one. That's all I'm askin'."
She looked out at the meadow, at the horses moving lazily through the grass. Then she nodded.
"Aye. I'll pick one."
They walked down the hill together, Alpin letting Mhairi set the pace.
—
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CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
"How many horses dae ye keep here?"
The breeder, a weathered man named Tormod who'd been workin' MacDougal lands for thirty years, squinted up at the sun as he considered. "This time of year? Maybe forty, fifty. Changes with the seasons."
Alpin nodded, his hand resting lightly on Mhairi's lower back as they walked through the paddock gate. She was taking everything in with wide eyes, watching the horses move through the meadow with obvious fascination.
"They're all so different," she said quietly.
"Aye. Each one's got its own temperament, strengths, weaknesses." Tormod gestured broadly. "Some are bred fer speed, others fer strength. Some are gentle as lambs, others have more fire in them."
"Which would ye recommend?" Alpin asked.
