Page 11 of The Highlander’s Dangerous Desire

Grace Lancaster might be English, with her manners, speech and suspicions of her folk, but she was as outspoken and stubborn as any Scottish lass might be. It was frustrating, and so far had caused no end of strife for both of them, but Ewan found it somewhat admirable nonetheless.

Even now, she stood there, wrapped in his spare horse blanket, dripping puddles onto the grass, and shivering like a leaf, but she still refused to yield. Her cheeks were crimson with embarrassment, but her eyes were clear and defiant as she met his gaze.

She was the type of lass men would take note of, who stirred the blood. Had she not been English, Ewan knew he would have been tempted to try and seduce her into his arms, for a kiss at the very least.

Och, and there’s nay sense tryin’ tae fool meself. I’m sore tempted anyway. Just as well she’s nae likely tae let me within arm’s reach.

Ewan pushed the thoughts away and pointed to the far side of the horses. “Ye can change on the other side o’ them. I’ll nae look. Ye have me word.”

“Your word…” Grace visibly checked herself before she could say something unpardonable, such as questioning his honor. “Even if I were to do so… I have no clothing suitable for what you would call ‘proper’ riding.”

Ewan frowned. “What dae ye mean? Any clothing will dae, so long as it protects yer legs and buttocks somewhat from the chafin’ o’ the saddle.”

Scottish lasses rode in skirts all the time. And menfolk - surely she’d realized by now that if he could ride in a kilt, she could manage in the much longer skirts she wore?

Grace’s blush deepened at his wording.

“I… I wouldn’t know how to go about riding in such a manner.”

Ewan sighed. “I’ll show ye. Only, I’ll nae show ye a thing afore ye’re in dry clothing. I’ll nae let ye ruin yer saddle by tryin’ tae ride in wet skirts - tae say naething o’ yer health if ye were tae brave the weather soaked like that.”

Grace hesitated a moment longer, then nodded slowly. “And you promise you will not… attempt to look?”

“Ye have me word.” With a sigh, Ewan gestured to the horses. He waited until she’d scurried to the other side of them, still wrapped in his spare blanket, then pointedly turned his back. After a moment, he heard the soft slide of leather against leather, and rope knots being undone. Probably the lass getting into her traveling bag for new clothing. Then several shuffling sounds and the soft squelching sounds of wet cloth being removed and dropped or set to one side.

Ewan bit the inside of his cheek. It was harder than he had thought to keep his back turned. Every so often one of the horses would shift and stomp, or whicker softly, tempting him to look over his shoulder to ensure that all was well. The thought of seeing Grace, even a glimpse of that pale, soft skin…

Ewan clenched his fist tight on his belt, and forced himself to think of something else. He was worried about Devlin’s words. While he was away Gael might have been claimed as the new laird, or his claim might have been dismissed. Or the clans could be awaiting his own return to give him news. The last was the most likely, but he wouldn’t know for certain until he returned to MacTavish Keep.

Another soft whisper of sound - cloth sliding over skin as Grace redressed. Ewan kept his face turned toward the road ahead, focusing his thoughts on the route they needed to take, and how they could make the best speed.

Finally, he heard the soft thud of a traveling case being closed and Grace spoke. “What am I to do with my wet things?”

Ewan turned to find her dressed in dry clothing, though she was still shivering slightly. Without a thought, he removed his cloak and offered it to her. “Ye’ll want this until ye warm up. As fer yer wet things, wrap them in the blanket ye used tae dry off. We’ll hang them out tae dry later.”

Grace nodded and did as he suggested. Once the clothes were wrapped up, Ewan tied them to her horse as he had her bag tied to his He turned to find Grace eyeing her mare with a pensive expression. “Ye ken how tae mount?”

“I know how to mount in order to ride in my accustomed manner.”

Ewan smothered his laughter, then moved closer, until he could take the animla’s reins in one hand. “’Tis simple enough. Put yer foot in the stirrup - the left foot, ye ken, with yer hands on the front and back o’ the saddle.”

He watched her awkwardly place her hands, then released the reins and put his hands on her waist and boosted her up. “Now swing yer right leg over so ye’re sitting astride.”

Grace did as he suggested, her movements so awkward that Ewan had to fight not to chuckle. “This feels quite awkward.”

“Ye’ll get used tae it.” He watched her shift her seat, until the skirts were settled as smoothly as they could be. “Feet in the stirrups, and let me make sure they’re the proper length.”

Once she was settled, Ewan checked the stirrups and adjusted them slightly, then handed the reins up to her. “Back straight, knees in, tae grip the horse’s sides. Firm but gentle.”

Grace was clearly uncomfortable, but she was also a good student. She adjusted her seat according to his directions, then cautiously tapped one heel to the mare’s side. The mare huffed and took a few steps, then stopped at a gentle pull on the reins. “Well done.”

Ewan mounted his own horse. “Here…” He nudged his horse alongside hers. “Hold the reins like this.”

Their progress for the next candle-mark was slow, but steady, as he showed Grace how to handle the reins, how to direct the mare to go at different speeds and turn. Grace absorbed his direction with attentive courtesy, far more compliant than he would have expected, given their previous interactions.

After three candle-marks, however, she began to frown. “I will concede that your method of riding makes it easier to control the horse, however… it is…” She flushed. “...uncomfortable.”

“Aye. It is at first, I’ll grant ye.” Ewan nodded. “I’ve some liniment ye can use when we stop for the night.”