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“Sit up straight!” I order, half giggling. “Keep your heels down, but don’t grip the saddle for dear life—you’ll just bounce more. Move with Thor, not against him. Unless you want to end up singing soprano, of course.”

Robbie mutters something about medieval torture, but he follows my instructions, and soon the thundercloud on his face softens.

“That is better,” he admits grudgingly.

“See? It’s not just English I can teach.”

“Don’t let it go to your head, McIntyre.”

When I’m satisfied Robbie isn’t about to go flying off Thor’s back—or make a gelding of himself—I lead us out of the paddock and towards Bannock Woods. The trees create a dappled canopy overhead, and the air is cooler among the foliage.

“This is actually quite nice,” Robbie admits, his posture noticeably more relaxed. He looks around, taking in the filtered sunlight and ancient trees. “I know these woods well, but it’s a different perspective from up here.”

We ride on for a bit, allowing a silence to settle—the kind that’s warm and companionable rather than awkward. The only sounds are the rhythmic clip-clop of hooves on the dirt path and occasional birdsong. Thor plods along, steady as a stubborn old tractor, seemingly aware of just how much faith is being placed in him today.

“You know,” I say eventually, “riding a horse isn’t so different from being on a motorcycle. It’s that same feeling of freedom, of connection to the world around you, but with the added bonus of bonding with another living being.”

Robbie smirks. “I’ll stick to my bike for speed, thanks.”

“But you can’t do this with your bike.” I lean forwards and stroke Bracken’s neck. She flicks her ears at me like she knows she’s the star of the show.

“No, but my bike doesn’t need to have its shit shovelled.”

“Fair point,” I laugh.

We continue along the path until we reach a small clearing. Sunlight streams through the gap in the trees, illuminating a patch of wildflowers swaying lazily in the breeze. I draw Bracken to a halt and gesture for Robbie to do the same.

“This is one of my favourite spots,” I tell him.

Robbie looks around, taking in the peaceful scene. For once, he doesn’t have a sarcastic retort. He just nods appreciatively.

Thor shifts his weight and spreads his back legs. Robbie tenses. “What’s he doing? Am I about to be thrown?”

“No, he’s just having a pee! Stand up in your stirrups for a sec.”

“You’ve got to be joking,” Robbie mutters, but he rises, and Thor relieves himself with what seems like endless volume.

“Jesus,” Robbie says, staring down in disbelief. “It’s like a bloody waterfall.”

When Thor finally finishes, Robbie settles back into the saddle. “You didn’t warn me that might happen.”

“Consider it part of the authentic experience,” I say with a grin. “Anyway . . . I’ve got to ask, Robbie. How are you doing? Really?”

He weighs his reply before speaking. “I don’t know. It’s like no matter what I do, folk round here will always see the teenage eejit I used to be.”

I reach over and touch his forearm. “Well, you know what? I won’t stop until everyone in Bannock sees you the way I do.”

“Oh, aye? And how’s that? Tattooed, irresistible, and with a few interesting piercings?”

I snort. “Okay, maybe they shouldn’t see you exactly the way I see you. But you know what I mean.”

He winks at me. Then, more seriously, he says, “Like I said back at the house, you don’t have to stick by me, Cat. Most people would’ve walked away by now.”

“Well, I’m not most people, and you better get used to that.”

Robbie chuckles. “You certainly are . . . unique.”

For a while longer, I listen to the birdsong and the gentle sound of Bracken munching on grass. I try to freeze this perfect wee moment in my memory. Then I say, “All right, we should probably make tracks before Thor decides this is nap time instead of adventure hour.”