Page 49 of Owned by the Scarred Laird

The heat of his hands went straight through the wool. She pushed through the heel.

She made it up. Barely. She grabbed the pommel to steady herself, more graceless than she would have liked, and sat there slightly breathless on top of a very large horse.

“There,” he said.

He took up a position at Beira’s head and began walking her in a slow circle around the yard. “Sit straight. Daenae grip with yer knees.”

“How am I meant to stay on without grippin’?”

“Balance. Nae force.” He glanced up at her. “Let yer hips move with her. Stop fightin’ it.”

She tried. The mare’s walk had a roll to it she had not anticipated. She overcorrected, grabbed the pommel again.

“Ye’re thinkin’ too much,” he said.

“I am thinkin’ exactly the right amount. I have never done this before.”

“Aye.” He came alongside and, without warning, put one hand on her lower back, steadying her. The contact was brief and entirely practical. It was also, she discovered, extremely difficult to ignore. “Breathe,” he said. “Ye tense up, and she’ll feel it.”

She breathed. Beira’s stride evened beneath her.

“Better,” Edward said. He let his hand fall, and she felt the absence of it immediately.

They continued the circle. He walked beside her, correcting her elbow once. His fingers briefly closed around her forearm to lift it, and he also lifted her chin once, tilting it upward with two fingers beneath her jaw before stepping away again.

“Ye’re starin’ at her ears,” he said.

“They are very large ears.”

“Look at the horizon. Where ye’re goin’, nae where ye are.”

She raised her eyes to the far gate. The mare’s stride seemed to settle further.

“There,” he said, quieter this time.

She glanced down at him. He was watching her.

“How long did it take ye?” she asked. “To learn.”

“I daenae remember learnin’. I was four.”

“Of course ye were.” She looked back at the horizon. “And ye expect me to manage it in twenty minutes.”

“I expect ye to manage the basics in twenty minutes,” he said. “The rest will come. Assumin’ ye stay off the nettles.”

She laughed before she could stop it, a sharp, genuine sound that startled Beira’s ears. Edward caught the bridle with one easy hand, steadying the mare without breaking stride.

“Right,” Chloe said, composing herself. “I think I am ready to go.”

“Aye,” he said. He looked up at her, and the morning light caught his eyes. “Ye did well.”

She did not trust herself to answer that.

“Up,” he said, and swung himself up behind her.

Chloe’s breath caught in her lungs. She had not fully calculated what this arrangement would require.

His broad, muscular chest pressed firmly against her shoulder blades, a solid wall of warmth. His long, powerful arms wrapped around her waist to hold the leather reins, enclosing her so closely she could feel the rhythmic rise and fall of his ribs against her back with each breath.