Page 27 of The Laird's Vengeful Desire
Since before me bloody life imploded.
“Daes he bite?”
“Only enemies,” Ian replied, watching with barely concealed fascination as she approached the stall with the confident grace of one born to be in the saddle. “And Sassenachs. He’s got excellent taste that way.”
Rhona snorted with laughter, extending her hand to let the stallion sniff her fingers. The horse’s dark eyes were intelligent, assessing, and when he allowed her to scratch behind his ears,she felt a little thrill of victory that had nothing to do with conquering the beast, and everything to do with earning the trust of something magnificent and wild.
“What’s his name?” she asked, noting the way the animal seemed to accept her presence – a small mercy in a world where acceptance felt as rare as Highland snow in summer.
“Dubh,” Ian said with a tone that suggested the name held significance beyond mere description.
“Black.” Rhona translated, impressed despite herself. “Fittin’ fer such a bonnie lad.” She stood on tiptoes, reaching to scratch behind the stallion’s ears, and the animal leaned into her touch. “Horses appreciate honesty, ye ken. They can tell when someone’s puttin’ on airs or pretendin’ tae be something they’re nae.”
“Unlike people?”
“People are complicated.” Rhona moved to the next stall, where a beautiful chestnut mare was watching them with eyes like polished amber. “Horses just want tae ken if ye’ll treat them fairly. They dinnae care about yer clan name or what alliance ye might bring. Now, this bonnie lass, on the other hand…”
“That’s Aisling,” Ian said, joining her at the stall. “Sweet-tempered, but with enough spirit tae keep things interestin’. Rather like someone else I ken.”
“Like me?” Rhona asked innocently, though her pulse skipped at the way Ian’s eyes crinkled with genuine amusement – not the calculating assessment she’d grown accustomed to from men who saw her only as a means to an end.
Ian choked on a laugh. “I wouldnae dare tae call ye ‘sweet-tempered’.”
“Fair enough.” Rhona was already reaching for Aisling’s halter, delighting in the mare’s gentle response to her touch. Here, at least, was one creature who judged her solely on her actions rather than her bloodline. “But I am interestin’.”
“That ye are.” Ian began saddling the mare with the practiced efficiency of a man who’d learned to care for his own mount long before he’d had servants to do it for him, and Rhona found herself watching the efficient movements of his hands and the easy strength in his shoulders. “She’s yers fer the day, if ye want her.”
“Mine?” Her name came out breathless, and she quickly pressed her lips together, embarrassed by her own reaction. When had the simple gift of choice become so precious? And why did the offer of temporary companionship feel like salvation? “Truly?”
“Aye.” He finished with the saddle and turned to face her, something almost shy rippling across his face. “But if ye break yer word tae me and try runnin’…”
“Ye’ll hunt me down and drag me back in chains, kickin’ and screamin’?” Rhona swung onto Aisling’s back with practicedease, glorying in the familiar feel of an animal responding to her guidance – the first time in months she’d felt truly in control of anything. “I remember the threats, Ian.”
“Nay chains,” Ian said, mounting Dubh with effortless grace that spoke of years spent more in the saddle than in castle halls. “I was thinkin’ more along the lines of public humiliation.”
Rhona’s eyes glittered with mischief. “Ye wouldnae dare.”
“Try me.”
They rode out from the castle grounds at an easy pace, and Rhona’s face turned up towards the sky, her eyes closing briefly as wind whipped through her hair. This was it. Pure, uncomplicated joy – the feel of a mount beneath her, the vast sky overhead, and freedom stretching in all directions. When she caught Ian watching her with an expression she couldn’t quite read, she flashed him a grin that felt like the first genuine smile she’d managed in months.
The sensation of being astride a horse again was like coming home after a long, difficult journey. Every muscle in her body seemed to remember this feeling – the gentle sway of the mare’s gait, the rhythmic creak of leather, the way her own breathing synchronized with the animal’s movement. She’d forgotten how riding made her feel alive in a way that nothing else could match, as if she and the horse moved as one creature through the Highland landscape.
“Where are we goin’?” she asked as they left the main road for a narrow forest path that wound between ancient stones and gnarled trees.
“Somewhere special.” Ian said as he guided Dubh between the towering pines with the easy confidence of a man who knew these lands like his own heartbeat. “Me grandfaither brought me here once, years ago, before he was cast out. He would spend hours tellin’ me stories.”
“Hmmm. Were ye broodin’ even then?”
“I prefer tae think of it as ‘thoughtfully contemplative’.”
“Is that what they are callin’ it now?” Rhona laughed, feeling lighter than she had in months, as if the very act of riding had managed to burn away some of the darkness that still clung to her soul. “And here I thought ye were just naturally morose.”
“Och,” Ian’s had shot up and covered his heart, his tone playful, “listen tae that. Was that… almost a compliment, lass?”
“Well, ye’re marginally less insufferable when ye’re nae lecturin’ me about politics.” She shot back, but her tone was warm and teasing. Rhona found herself stealing glances at him as they rode. “Must simply be the fresh air improvin’ yer disposition slightly.”
They climbed steadily through ancient pines, the air growing cooler and thick with the scent of moss and damp earth. Dappledsunlight filtered through the canopy above, casting shifting patterns across the forest floor while the sound of distant water grew louder with each step of their horses’ hooves. Rhona pulled her cloak tighter around her shoulders as the mountain air nipped at her cheeks, and when Ian glanced back with a knowing smile, her curiosity sparked.
