Page 40 of Winter Longing
“Good,” she said, her voice carrying a note of encouragement that made him sit a little straighter. “Aye, keep yer hands steady—dinna jerk them—and try it the other way.”
He repeated the movement to the left, finding it easier now that he understood how little effort it required. She watched for a moment before commenting. “Ye have a natural sense for this, I ken.”
A flicker of satisfaction was stirred by Ailsa’s mild praise. He guided the mare around another circle, growing more confident as he went. The clearing was small and hence, so were the circles he made round Ailsa who stood in the middle, but he felt like this was tremendous progress already.
“Now,” Ailsa called after he’d made a few more arcs, “let’s see if ye can urge her to move a wee bit faster.” She gestured to the mare’s sides. “A light squeeze with your calves—just enough to let her know what ye want. Keep in mind she’s nae a mind-reader. If she dinna respond, give her a nudge with your heels, but dinna dig in too hard lest ye desire to fly.”
Cole winced at the suggestion that using too much force might see the mare bolt, possibly causing Cole to tumble end over end off her back. Gingerly, he pressed his legs lightlyagainst the mare’s sides. At first, nothing happened, and he tried again, giving a slightly stronger squeeze. The mare’s ears flicked before she picked up her pace, transitioning into a brisk walk. Cole grinned despite himself, the sensation of movement beneath him both exhilarating and slightly unnerving.
“There,” Ailsa said, her voice tinged with approval. “Now ye’re riding.”
He was, but not well. What little he’d ever seen of riding—in movies—had always shown the rider moving in time with the horse but he felt that he was simply being bobbed along without any control.
Ailsa must have noticed it was well. “Ye’re bouncing too much because ye’re fighting the horse’s motion. Instead of sitting stiffly, move with her. Relax yer hips and let them follow her rhythm—she’ll tell ye where to go if ye listen to her.”
Cole frowned. “I can feel the rhythm,” he said. “I just don’t know how to get into it with her.” As the words left his mouth, a vivid thought crept in—another rhythm he’d practiced over the last ten years or more, one he’d never had any trouble with. He clenched his jaw against the unexpected thought of sex, even as he wondered if the same principles might apply—follow her rhythm. His hands tightened on the reins for balance, though his discomfort wasn’t about the horse anymore. He cast a glance at Ailsa, but she was oblivious, watching the mare and Cole’s progress with a practiced eye.
Thankfully unaware of his lewd thoughts, Ailsa recommended, “Feel for it. When she walks, her back shifts side to side. Let your body sway with that, like ye’re part of her. Sit straight but nae rigid. Your hips should be as loose hinges, nae locked bolts. Riding dinna mean ye sit and do nothing. As is she, ye are in constant motion, moving with her.”
He shifted in the saddle, trying to relax his posture.
“Better,” she encouraged. “Now, when she speeds up, the bounce will come naturally unless ye rise with her. Use yer legs to steady yerself, but dinna step hard, just slightly stand in the stirrups as she steps forward. It’s called posting.”
After a few minutes, Cole wondered if this was something that would come more with time and practice, or more easily to someone who’d started riding when they were young. He wasn’t deterred though, just resigned that it wasn’t going to be something he learned in one day.
After an hour, his ass was sore and his arms and neck stiff from holding the reins. But they kept at it.
He was amazed by Ailsa, who exhibited keen insight into what he was doing wrong and knew exactly the words to speak to correct him. She also seemed to be gifted with an endless amount of patience, which he thought wryly might come more easily when you were standing on solid ground, not being bounced around in a saddle like a sack of potatoes.
He never would have expected that riding a horse was so much work. The movies always made it look effortless but in reality, it required constant attention, physical effort, and a subtle partnership between rider and horse that demanded motion, balance, and focus. Ailsa had been right: one did not simply sit back and expect the horse to handle everything. He could only hope that this coordination would come more naturally with time.
The thought, however, gave him pause. Time. How much of it did he even have here? Would learning these skills turn out to be a waste if he were snatched back to the twenty-first century? Or worse, what if he weren’t sent home but hurtled somewhere else entirely? The very idea made his stomach twist.
Possibly the most maddening part of his predicament was the sheer uncertainty of it all. No rules, no guidebook, no clear sense of what lay ahead. Would he stay here for the rest of hislife, forging an existence in this brutal yet strangely captivating world? Was there something he should be doing—some action, some choice—that could return him home? But, if he tried, could things actually be made worse? What if tampering with whatever had brought him here flung him into some other time period, somewhere even more unfamiliar and hostile than medieval Scotland? The lack of answers gnawed at him, each possibility more unsettling than the last.
And then, unexpectedly, the lesson took a turn—one that both intrigued and unnerved him. Ailsa, realizing he wasn’t quite getting the hang of the rhythm, paused in her instructions and suggested something that sent a jolt of awareness through him: she would ride with him.
“It might help,” she said simply, her tone matter-of-fact, though a faint flush tinged her cheeks, “if ye could feel how I move with the horse. Ye’ll learn quicker by example than words.”
The suggestion made perfect sense—was practical, even—but Cole’s stomach tightened at the thought. Suddenly he felt like a teenager, a high schooler being forced into close proximity with the teacher he had a secret crush on. He nodded, unsure if he even trusted his voice, and began slowing the horse under her guidance. The truth was, he probably shouldn’t be touching Ailsa at all while they discussed something as elemental as the natural rhythms of bodies moving in tandem. Especially not when his own body seemed to have its own ideas about being close to hers.
He swallowed hard, the faint wariness in his chest overcome by an undeniable current of anticipation. He could hardly deny it anymore—he was seriously attracted to her. And now, with her poised to join him in the saddle, he was achingly aware of how easily admiration and appreciation were tipping into something more visceral.
“Here,” she said, approaching the horse. She placed a hand on the saddle and gestured for him to adjust his position slightly to make room. “I’ll take the reins and ride in front, and ye should try to emulate how I move.”
He obeyed, shifting back in the saddle with an awkward jolt, his grip tightening briefly on the reins before handing them off to her. Ailsa climbed into the saddle in front of him, her usual grace only slightly hindered as she maneuvered her leg around him and the horse’s neck. She settled into place, her small frame fitting neatly against his, and Cole found himself acutely aware of how soft and warm she felt, her body pressed lightly against his chest. They were seated close enough that he caught the faint scent of her hair—something earthy and clean, like pine needles and fresh air.
She reached around and found his hand with her gloved ones, guiding his hand to her sides.
“Relax,” she murmured, her voice soft. “Hold my hips and I’ll show ye how to move.”
Her words, perfectly innocent, jolted him. Cole gritted his teeth, his muscles locking as his brain conjured a setting far removed from horseback riding. The rhythm she wanted him to master was all too familiar, too intimate, and he cursed his traitorous thoughts.
He tried to focus, tried to keep his grip steady and his attention on the task at hand, but it was no use. His heart was pounding, his body hyperaware of every small shift she made, and no amount of effort could suppress the image forming in his mind—a scene where "moving together" meant something entirely different.
This was going to be impossible, he decided fairly quickly.
As the horse began to move again, Cole forced himself to focus, though every nerve in his body was keenly aware of Ailsa’s dangerous proximity.
