Page 39 of Winter Longing
“Ye made it,” she said, her voice light but uncertain. She slid gracefully from the horse’s back, her movements fluid. Her cloak swirled around her legs, and she remained near the horse, her hand lingering on the mare’s neck. “I kent it best to begin away from too many eyes.”
Cole shot a glance back at the boy, who lingered a moment before darting off toward the keep, leaving them alone. “I appreciate the privacy,” Cole said, grinning faintly as he stepped forward, eyeing the horse. “I’d rather not have any witnesses,” he quipped, hoping this proved less difficult than wielding a sword.
“Ye’ve truly never ridden?” Ailsa asked, studying him carefully.
“No—unless carousels count,” Cole replied, his tone dry.
Ailsa blinked, her brow furrowing at the unfamiliar word, but she chose not to ask. Instead, she stepped forward, apparently meaning to get straight to business. “We’ll start with the basics,” she said. “This is Ceara.” She stroked the mare’s neck affectionately. “She’s gentle but strong-willed. Respect her, and she’ll respect ye.”
Cole reached out cautiously to pat the horse’s side, surprised by the solid warmth of its coat. Ceara’s ears swiveled toward him, and Ailsa smiled faintly. “She’s watching ye. Horses are perceptive creatures.”
“Yeah, I’d heard that,” Cole acknowledged, though he couldn’t remember from where.
“First,” Ailsa began, her tone softening as she shifted into instruction, “ye need to approach a horse confidently but calmly. Nae sudden movements. Let her get used to yer presence.” She encouraged Cole to come closer, having him stand by Ceara’s shoulder and stroke her neck.
His hand brushed against hers accidentally as he reached out to pat the horse. Ailsa pulled her hand back quickly, her cheeks gaining some color.
“This is the bridle,” Ailsa said after clearing her throat. She pointed to the leather straps fitted around the horse's head. “The bit—this piece here—rests in her mouth, just behind her teeth. It lets ye guide her with the reins.”
She ran her gloved hand along the bridle with an ease that spoke of years spent in the saddle, her touch deft and sure. Cole’s breath caught as an errant thought blindsided him—a vivid image of Ailsa’s hand tracing over him with that same confident familiarity. Somehow he managed to keep his eyes from widening, though the sheer audacity of the thought left him stunned.Holy hell.He clenched his fists, willing the heat in hisface to subside, but the idea lingered, unsettling and intoxicating in equal measure. Where the hell had that come from?
Unaware of his present distraction, Ailsa continued. “The saddle is where ye’ll sit, of course, but the girth here”—she gestured to the wide strap beneath the mare’s belly—“keeps it secure. Ye dinna want it slipping off mid-ride.” She glanced up, meeting Cole’s eyes briefly, her lips curving into the smallest of smiles. “'Tis hard to recover from the jeering ye’d take if that were to happen.”
Cole grunted a laugh. “Yeah, there’s been enough damage to my pride already, with the shellacking their giving me on the training field.”
Her smile grew slightly wider, but Cole could not say if it was filled with sympathy or amusement. Either way, the subtle curve of her lips stirred something unexpected. He shifted his weight, forcing his focus back to the horse.
His pride wasn’t a fragile thing, and never had been. By the time he hit the fifth grade, picked last for every team, he’d learned not to let anyone’s opinion define him. Being underestimated didn’t bother him; it only made him more determined to prove himself, to work harder until the results spoke for themselves. Yet here, with Ailsa, something felt different. It mattered what she thought of him, he understood. He wanted her to see him as capable, as someone who could rise to a challenge, no matter how foreign this world was to him. That desire unnerved him almost as much as her smile.
“Mounting comes next.” Ailsa pointed to the stirrup, then demonstrated, swinging up onto Ceara’s back with an enviable grace. She dismounted quickly and gestured for Cole to try. “Use the stirrup for leverage, swing your leg over, and settle into the saddle.”
Cole hesitated, eying the horse warily. “You make it sound so easy.”
“It is easy. If ye’re nae made of jelly.”
“Great vote of confidence,” he muttered, planting his foot in the stirrup. His first attempt ended with him floundering awkwardly, half-draped over the saddle. He heard Ailsa stifle a laugh behind him.
“Try again,” she said, her voice firmer now. “This time, put more strength into the jump.”
Cole’s second attempt was better, though far from elegant. He landed heavily in the saddle, startling Ceara, who sidestepped. Ailsa steadied the horse with a quick word and a firm hand on the bridle.
“That was nae so bad,” she said, her lips quirking as she glanced up at him.
“High praise,” Cole replied, gripping the reins tightly as he adjusted to the unfamiliar sensation of being alone on the horse’s back, hoping the beast didn’t bolt.
Next, Ailsa advised him how to hold the reins properly. “Firm but gentle. You’re nae trying to pull her head off.”
“Got it. Firm but gentle,” Cole echoed, suiting words to action, loosening his grip a bit. “Now what?”
“We’ll walk,” Ailsa said simply, taking the reins to lead Ceara in a slow circle around the clearing. “Ye need to learn how to sit properly, balance, and use yer legs to guide her. Everything else builds from there.”
Cole nodded, the cold momentarily forgotten as he focused intently on her instructions and keeping his seat as the horse walked. As he’d come to notice, Ailsa’s initial shyness seemed to dissolve with time, her confidence growing steadily the longer they were together. Same as with dinner together or other meetings when her early reserve gradually gave way to a quiet ease, her words flowing more freely as their conversation unfolded, the pattern repeated now, and he found himselffascinated by the shift, drawn to the way her self-assuredness emerged in his company.
After a few laps with Ailsa walking beside him, keeping a steadying hand on the mare’s bridle, she stepped back, letting Cole circle the horse around on his own.
“Use the reins to turn her gently,” she said, her tone calm but watchful. “A slight pull to the side, just enough for her to feel it in her mouth.”
Cole nodded, adjusting his grip on the leather reins. He tugged lightly to the right, and the mare responded with surprising obedience, turning in a smooth arc. Ailsa gave a small nod of approval.
