He releasedMoira’s bridle and stepped back, watching carefully as Gabriella gathered her courage. She kicked her heels into the mare’s flanks, and the horse obediently began to walk.
“I’m doin’it!” she exclaimed, a smile breaking across her face.
“Aye, ye are,”Hector replied. He hadn’t expected the pride that swelled in his chest at her accomplishment.
He walked alongside them,ready to intervene if necessary, but Gabriella quickly found her rhythm. After several minutes, he gestured to the stable boy, who had been following behind with a powerful black stallion, who handed him the mount.
“We’ll ride together now,”he said, effortlessly swinging himself up into the saddle. “Just follow me lead.”
They rodeside by side along the path that circled the loch, keeping the horses at a slow pace. Gabriella’s confidence grew with each passing minute, her posture becoming more natural, less forced.
“Me faither usedto tell me stories about Highland myths,” she recalled as they rode.
“What sort of stories?”Hector asked, genuinely curious.
“Tales of brave clan chiefs,of battles and legends.” She smiled softly, lost in memory. “He said the hills had magic in them.”
“Some say they do,”Hector replied, guiding his horse closer to hers as the path narrowed. “Especially the old stones near the eastern ridge.”
“Have ye seen this magic?”
He considered her question seriously.“I’ve seen things I cannae explain. Lights dancing over the loch on Midsummer’s Eve. Voices in the mist when nay one’s there.”
She lookedat him with renewed interest. “Ye believe in such things?”
“A wise lairdrespects the old ways even as he embraces the new ones,” Hector said, quoting his father. “The land remembers longer than we do.”
Their path climbed a gentle rise,offering a spectacular view of the valley below. Gabriella gasped at the sight, momentarily forgetting her nervousness.
“It’s beautiful,”she breathed.
This time,it was Hector who found himself watching her rather than the familiar landscape. The wonder in her expression, the way the sunlight caught in her hair.
“Aye,”he whispered. “Beautiful, indeed.”
The path widened againas they crested the hill, and he decided to test her further.
“Would ye like to try a trot?”
Her eyes litup with excitement and trepidation. “Is it difficult?”
“A bit bouncier than a walk,”he admitted. “But I think ye’re ready.”
He instructedher on how to urge Moira into a trot and how to move to the horse’s rhythm. Then, he urged his mount ahead slightly to demonstrate.
“Like this,”he called over his shoulder. “Rise and fall with her strides.”
Gabriella followed his instructions,and Moira broke into a trot. For a moment, she bounced awkwardly in the saddle. Then, she found her rhythm, rising and falling with the horse’s motions.
And then she laughed.
The sound caughtHector by surprise—bright and free and joyous. He turned in his saddle to look at her, and the sight took his breath away. Her cheeks were flushed with excitement, her eyes sparkling, her lips curved in genuine delight.
At that moment,all traces of her ordeal vanished, leaving only a beautiful young woman reveling in her newfound freedom.
Something shiftedin Hector’s chest—a loosening of a knot he hadn’t realized was there. He wanted to hear that laugh again. Wanted to be the one who caused it.
The path ahead curved sharply,and Gabriella, distracted by her success, didn’t react quickly enough. Moira veered too close to the edge, sending small stones skittering down the hillside.
