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“Get down, Sassenach.” The Arab beast had protested every new element they introduced to him; the chance of him rebelling now loomed too high.
Her magnificent dark eyes attacked him with vexation for several seconds before she defied his order by taking impulse and climbing up her equine friend. Her wide riding habit skirts allowed it, bunching slightly to show her boots.
Fingal froze, the wrenching fear of losing her—should the horse spring and cause her to fall and break her neck—almost suffocated him. He did not allow panic to dominate him though; he strived to stay alert, in case he needed to stop the beast even if with his bare hands.
Fiadhaich did not move. Neither did Fingal, lest the animal react badly to a sudden rush.
The impossible lass smiled and caressed the strong neck as she coaxed him to go with slow, small pulls on the reins and knees. Miracle of miracles, before the laird’s own eyes, the horse started on a walk as if he was the sweetest gelding ever to roam the Earth.
The stable lads stopped what they were doing. Craig, who was passing by, stood outside the fences, jaw dropped. Fingal lifted an imperious hand ordaining everyone to continue quiet.
No one seemed to think it weird her riding astride, marvelling instead at the horse whose name made a mild description of his indomitable nature.
Emily did not cease to talk to the stallion, treating him with care and handling him with utter thoughtfulness. Under her competent tutelage, the horse trotted, cantered, and even galloped for a few minutes.
First frozen from fear, Fingal morphed into mesmerised by the image of his brave amazon on the purebred. A myriad of tangled impressions crossed him, tying him in a million knots. Amazement at her accomplishment, admiration for her resilience, satisfaction to see his horse so happy for the first time in months. And the hottest desire that had ever collided with him. It came on so boiling his mind almost stopped functioning.
But it still worked enough for him to see the other men looking at her with equal coveting.
And then he burned with murderous jealousy.
At that second, the lass halted the horse and dismounted in graceful movements. When she landed safely, the men exploded in applause and cheers, eliciting a smile from her. “It’s not me,” she said. “He is a darling,” she praised the horse as she gifted him with a carrot.
Still, the bastards coveted.
They were treated to a lethal scowl as Fingal gave a curt wave with his hand, dismissing them summarily. They left none too content.
His attention returned to her as her brows pleated at his curtness with his employees. Those confounding impressions blinded him too much to care. His strong fingers grabbed hers, and in large strides he took her to the adjoining shed and banged the door shut. Pressing her to the wooden wall, his large hand lined her nape. “If my men watch you riding astride ever again, I’ll kill them all!” he growled before he pillaged her mouth.
A moan stuck in her throat while her arms circled his shoulder, fingers merging in his hair.
Oh, yeah.
He buried his instantly raging erection on her soft belly and deepened the kiss as if his life depended on it. It did because he might die from his lust for her.
Wide skirts and all, she looped one leg around his and pulled him even closer. He had never imagined he would find such a fiery woman in his entire life. The simple gesture drove him close to undoing for the simple fact it showed how much she wanted him, too. Earthy and sensuous, his amazon.
Frantic, breath ragged, he unbuttoned the riding habit’s tailored jacket and scraped his stubbled mouth down the low neckline it revealed. He inhaled the woman scent on her satiny skin, desperate for more. Her sigh was response enough to fuel his out-of-control self.
“I’d give ten years of my life to be inside you,” he groaned on her sensitive skin.
“Yes,” she breathed in agreement.
Fingal clasped his mouth to hers again as if it would quench a thirst the likes of which he had never seen in his life. It would not quench it. Nothing would.
But they tried.
And failed miserably.
A soft neigh out in the stockyard took Fingal out of his hazy craving and dissatisfied state. He lifted his head to her, to find the same haze in her eyes, flushed skin, and ragged breath. He put distance between them to register his tented tartan.
Forceful air escaped through his nostrils, and he raked his hand through his luxuriant hair. “You’d better go before someone happens on us.”
Eyes wide on him, they drank on each other for long moments as she nodded and buttoned the tailored jacket, leaving the cramped space.
The day had come when they would risk Fingal mounting Fiadhaich. Catriona’s heart beat with blistering speed at the mere idea. That the horse took her did not appear so out of sorts, seeing how he accepted a female better than a male. But a man was something else.
She had ridden the stallion several times in the last few days, but exclusively in the fenced space. It would not do to get him used to her taking him around the estate when she would not be the one to ride him on a daily basis. Her intention had been to check if the horse would accommodate a rider and pave the way for a man to do it.
