Page 46 of The Highlander's Temporary Bride
“What made ye give in?” he asked as he opened the gate and the horses trotted out, then began to gallop and frolic.
Emma shot him an incredulous look. “You make it sound like I had a choice, Sir.”
Call me Grant,he found himself thinking yet again.
“That’s true,” he murmured, even though he wanted to say,Ye ken ye had a choice in the end, Emma. Ye agreed to this.
He smiled to himself as he closed the gate again.
Ah, I see.
Emma couldn’t admit that he’d been right—deep down, she wanted to learn how to ride.
Well, he’d take his victory once she could handle Mor, the gentlest and smartest of his horses.
He gave a sharp whistle, and Mor turned and trotted up to them.
Emma backed up. “So big,” she muttered nervously.
“The perfect size for ye,” Grant said, even though he knew he could’ve chosen a smaller horse. But he needed a horse that could carry two riders. “Come here so I can lift ye up.”
With a sigh, Emma stepped up to him, and Mor sniffed the air. Grant went to lift her up but then paused.
“What now?”
“Ye should ken how to mount a horse,” he said. “It could save yer life someday. And ye willnae do this alone, I promise.”
Grant dropped his shoulders, as though sensing a chill. Meanwhile, Emma scoffed and shook her head, but she listened as he hastened to explain. She closed her eyes and shook her head several times, but she did not interrupt, only gave the horse a despondent look at the end.
“What did this poor beast do to deserve a rider like me?” she murmured.
“Try,” Grant urged. “Come on.”
Emma hemmed and hawed, approaching Mor, then skipping back. It took a lot of coaxing and promising to catch her before she fell on her arse before she’d even attempted to swing herself up.
Thankfully, Mor, as though sensing she needed to be calm and patient, stayed still as she tried and failed to mount.
Her dark hair was coming loose, and the color was rising in her face. Grant half-expected her to demand that they stop when she suddenly surged up, made a clumsy grab at Mor’s mane, and swung her leg over the mare’s back with precision.
He made a hoarse sound of approval. “I kenned ye had it in ye.”
Emma let out a harsh breath, and she looked down then up, and then at Grant. “I… I don’t like this.”
“Easy, easy,” he soothed and mounted behind her in one smooth motion. She stiffened against him. “I’ve got ye,” he whispered in her ear. “I promised ye that ye wouldnae do this alone.”
Every color around Emma, from the green of the fields and the trees to the arch of blue overhead and the cluster of wildflowers along the fence, seemed brighter. Never had she been so aware of her own body, from her breath to the weight of her hair to the pounding of her heart.
All her senses had been focused on the great white horse below her, Mor. But now they were attuned to the Laird behind her, his hard and muscular chest hot against her back, his arms cradling her, and his lips at her ear.
What happened to never letting this happen again?asked a wry voice in her head.
“What—what are you doing?”
“Teachin’ ye how to ride,” the Laird murmured as he caught her hands and pried them off the pommel. “First lesson, reins.”
What transpired next was a blur of words, the feel of his hot body and the animal moving beneath them. Mor—a gentle and easy-going horse, Emma began to realize—never went faster than a trot.
After a few turns about the pasture, with Laird Ronson explaining things that Emma valiantly tried to remember, he dismounted. Her whole body seemed to ache for him, lean toward him, and she looked down as her hands tightened on the reins.
