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Catriona approached the stallion and caressed his neck, whispering to him as she held the rope tied loosely around his neck so he could be led around the enclosed space. She coaxed the animal to move, and the stallion paced without complaint while the men stood on the sides. She kept the horse in tra
ining for a long, uneventful time. For a moment, she imagined Fiadhaich did not need help at all. That is, not until Lachlan moved nearer. At that point the horse halted and nickered, moving its legs restlessly. She thought it weird but said nothing.
“Might I try?” the younger McKendrick asked.
“Be my guest,” she replied and handed him the rope.
Fiadhaich jerked his head and did not move as Lachlan pulled the rope. The young man insisted, and only then did the horse go on a reluctant canter.
“I don’t blame him for preferring the lasses,” Lachlan jested, holding the rope while following the trot with attention.
But the blue-blood equine would not go into a canter. Lachlan tried for several minutes without success.
Fingal stepped forward. “Let’s see if I can do it.” His brother gave him the lead and he pulled. With that deep voice of his, he called and coaxed but did not convince the horse to do anything other than a canter.
Catriona drank in his tall frame and the gentle way he treated the animal, not once shouting or losing his patience. No wonder his horseflesh was so famous since the animals received good treatment and were in all probability happy. It caused her admiration.
Fingal stopped and paced to the horse. Fiadhaich became restless, nickering loudly, stamping his front hooves, and jerking his head.
Thinking of yesterday’s episode, Catriona ventured, “I think he is weary of men.” All three men looked at her as if she had sprouted a second head. “Every time one of you goes near him, he becomes nervous,” she defended.
“She’s right,” Lachlan said.
“Why would he be afraid of men, if we are the ones dealing with him?” Fingal questioned, rugged features crumpled.
“I couldn’t tell,” she answered. “But that’s what I am observing.”
“Thinking of it, the horse was never easy with any of us,” Craig commented.
“Did any of you mistreat him?” she inquired, knowing they did not.
“Nobody mistreats any animal in this clan,” Fingal stated firmly.
“So someone must have done it before he came here,” she said.
The men did not counter her.
“What do you suggest we do?” the elder McKendrick asked, raking his hand through his hair.
“We will need to get him used to being around men without weariness.” It seemed clear for her.
“Yes, but how?” Lachlan asked.
“A treat in the morning, to start with,” she said. “He needs to realise not every man is a threat. Each of you should offer it to him in turn.”
“Sounds sensible,” agreed Craig.
“And then?” Fingal demanded.
“Training here with one of you at a time,” she added. “This cannot be rushed. We respect Fiadhaich’s own time.”
“The lass is an angel!” Lachlan cheered.
His brother turned a scowl at him. “If only…”
Catriona cast the blasted laird an annoyed look before she redirected her attention to the stallion. She stroked him, murmuring words of praise. She extended the last carrot from her skirt pocket to Fingal.
He stared down at her, then lower to the carrot. A big, square hand took it and offered it to the stallion. Flaring nostrils sniffed as he shook his mane, looked at the vegetable, then at her, returned to the treat, and finally took it into his mouth. But the horse turned away from Fingal at once. Well, not so bad for a start, she thought.
