She glanced down at him, surprised. “Truly?”
“Would I lie tae ye?”
Her mouth quirked. “Ye might.”
“I wouldnae.” He couldn’t look away—mortification shifting into concentration, then cautious pleasure settled over her face. “Want tae try goin’ a wee bit faster?”
Her eyes widened. “How much faster?”
“Just a trot. Enough tae feel the difference.”
She bit her lower lip, then nodded. “All right.”
“Squeeze harder with yer thighs. And trust the horse.”
Isolda nodded, every muscle rigid with concentration.
“On three.”
“Wait, I’m nae?—”
“One, two, three—now!” he slapped Tðmr’s flank and the stallion surged into powerful, rhythmic strides.
Isolda gasped and grabbed onto the horse’s mane. She found the rhythm, her body moving in sync with the horse’s gait. “I’m daein’ it!” she laughed-breathlessly and delighted. “Ragnar, d’ye see? I’m actually daein’ it!”
He stood there watching her circle him, joy replacing fear. She completed the round and pulled the horses reins to a halt, her cheeks flushed and eyes bright.
“That was incredible!”
“Ye’re a natural. Give ye a few lessons and ye’ll be ridin’ circles around half me warriors.”
Her smile softened. “Thank ye. Fer insistin’. Even when I was bein’ stubborn.”
He smiled. “If I waited fer ye tae agree willingly, we’d both be dead of old age first.”
Their eyes held, a significant truth settling between them—tomorrow they’d be the Laird and Lady of Uist. But for now, they were simply Isolda and Ragnar, having a riding lesson in the morning sun.
He clicked his tongue in a specific way and Tðmr leaped into a cantor. Isolda’s surprised laugh dissolved into pure joy as she became comfortable with the rhythm, her body moving with the horse like she’d been born into the saddle—hair streaming behind her, dark and wild and free.
He stood there, watching her with a single thought rattling in his mind.
Yer faither tried tae cut away anythin’ that made ye free. I’ll never allow that tae happen ever again.
“Well done!” he called out as she approached.
“Och, I’m just sittin’ on a horse. Any fool could have managed that.”
“Most ladies would faint just thinkin’ of sittin astride a Norse warhorse.” He brought Tðmr back around and caught her eye.“And most Highlanders would fall flat on their arses. Give yerself some credit, little wolf.”
She looked away, but not before he saw the pleased flush creeping up her throat.
They continued for another quarter hour, Ragnar calling out instructions while Isolda learned. By the time he reached up to help her down, she went to him without protest. Her weight settled against him as he lowered her, and he could feel her heart racing—or perhaps it was his own. He made sure she was steady before releasing his grip.
Isolda stepped back immediately, smoothing her skirts with trembling hands. “Well. That was… instructive.”
“Aye.” His voice came out rough.
“Thank ye fer the lesson.” She breathed, and then she was gone, practically fleeing toward the keep, leaving him standing there with the lingering warmth of her touch burned into his palms.