“It’s a wee bit early for ye, isn’t it?”
“Just a bit,” I respond, pretending to yawn as I play into his joke.
Torin leans over to pat the horse’s strong neck. “I hope ye dinna mind; I’ve been taking Sleipnir out in the morning. A strong beast like this must be ridden often, or they’ll go mad.”
I know it was not his intention to make me feel guilty, but it still manages to creep over me. I shift on my feet.
“No, of course. I’m glad you’ve been spending time with him. I need to do better at getting down here.”
My response is weak and timid.
“If you’re afraid, I dinna mind holding the reins until ye get comfortable in your own seat,” he offers as he analyzes my expression.
I guess I wasn’t as covert as I thought in hiding my fear.
Truth be told, I took a nasty tumble off a horse when I was younger, and I don’t think I ever really got over it.
I had always liked to throw my arms out wide and pretend Iwas flying. But the falling snatched the dream from me, and the fear has persisted.
I clear my throat. “Once I have more free time, I would really appreciate that.”
He smiles down at me. “Well, it looks like we have a bit of time right now, don’t we?”
I purse my lips, annoyed that he picked up on that, and slowly nod my agreement.
“Meet me at the stable and I’ll lead ye around.”
Torin races off on Sleipnir before I can make another excuse. A deep sigh works out of my chest, but does nothing to calm my fears.
The stable isn’t original to the manor and was added on quite recently; the old one had fallen into complete disrepair. Lachlan did an amazing job of blending it into the other structures on our estate. The stone, clay tiles, and oak doors are a perfect match to the Hall.
But inside, you can tell it’s completely modern. Stained concrete floors and large glass and iron lanterns illuminate the entire building, showcasing the detailed wrought iron stall gates.
Of the six stalls, only two are occupied, Sleipnir’s and Rosie’s, my Gran’s silver mare. Honestly, Rosie is much more my speed. She has a sweet temperament and isn’t in a hurry to go anywhere.
Torin has Sleipnir tied to one of the hitching poles by the stalls and grins at me when I walk through the door.
“I ken you’re nervous, but ye must learn to master your fears. Ye never know when you’ll be faced with something you’ll need to master,” he says, patting Sleipnir. “There’s strength in controlling a beast larger than ye and garnering its respect.”
He’s right, but I don’t know how that relates to my current life or even my empty plans for the future. After quicklyswitching out my flats for my riding boots in the tack room, Torin holds his hand out for me to mount Sleipnir.
Luckily, my long legs have retained a bit of their muscular form from my life before, and I easily swing astride the giant horse. I grip the reins tightly in my fist and squeeze my thighs lightly, adding the slightest amount of pressure to his sides to get him to move forward.
Nothing happens.
After several more tries and my growing frustration, Torin clears his throat.
“He canna move forward, my lady, when you’re pulling him to a stop.”
He points to my hands, firmly holding the reins up to my chest, in a halt position. I grimace, realizing my fumble, and relax my grip.
“Ease up, lass, I’m right here,” Torin says and gently takes the reins from me.
He leads Sleipnir to the dirt warm-up ring attached to the stable yard. My knuckles are turning white from the tightness of which I’m gripping the saddle horn, my heart thudding forcefully with each step we take.
Why is this so difficult for me?
I’ve ridden horses most of my life. I need to get over this useless fear. We reach the practice ring, and Torin looks up at me. My jaw clenches with unease, and he shakes his head lightly.
