But then she realized he believed this was about her scars, when that wasn’t the truth at all. “I am afraid because I watched my brother die when he was thrown from a horse.”
Killian met her gaze, and in his cool gray eyes, she saw a trace of sympathy. He didn’t apologize, nor did he dismiss what she’d said. But he gave a brusque nod.
“Walk with me,” he said. “I won’t ask you to go on horseback. At least, not yet.”
At that, she released a little of the tension within her. Her body hurt as she tried to walk, but there wasn’t a choice. They could not stay here.
He led her back to the animal and said, “Stop here, and come no closer.”
That, at least, was an order she was comfortable obeying. Killian continued walking toward the horse, speaking in a low, calm voice. He took the reins of the animal, soothing the gelding with words and the touch of his palm. The animal nosed him, but it seemed more of an affectionate gesture than a threat.
“He was afraid you were going to harm him,” Killian continued. “But he’s a calm one. His name is Francis.”
She almost smiled, for the gentle name didn’t appear to fit the large plow horse. But she remained standing in place while Killian talked to the horse.
“I’m going to let you touch him and know him better,” he continued. “So that you may walk beside him without fear.”
She didn’t particularly want to pet the horse, but she could understand Killian’s reasoning. After her behavior, it was likely that the animal would be more than a little skittish.
“I don’t want him to bite me,” she admitted. “Especially after what happened before.”
Killian gripped the reins and took slow steps forward. “Stay where you are, and do exactly as I say.”
She did, and as they continued toward her, the smoke-gray cat brushed her legs. It was as if Harold was seeking affection, but she remained where she was.
Killian continued walking past her and stopped when she was at the horse’s side. He took her hand and brought it to the animal’s back. “He’s a good lad, is Francis. Touch him here.” He showed her how to run her hand over the coarse hair, and the horse’s ears pricked up as she did.
Did he know how frightening this was for her? She half-expected the animal to swing around and take a bite out of her arm.
“Your hand is trembling,” Killian said.
He was right. No matter that she was trying to do as he bade her, she could not control the shaking fingers. This time, he placed his hand over hers. His broad palm completely covered her hand, and the sudden heat of his skin startled her. For a moment, he held it there, and he moved her fingers over the horse’s back. “Like this.”
Taryn’s mouth went dry as the Irishman drew her hand across the horse’s back. She could almost imagine his hand touching her in the same way, stroking and soothing. His fingers were laced with hers as he murmured to the horse.
And then he moved her to the animal’s neck, still patting and caressing the gelding. The horse swung his head toward her, and Taryn tried to back away. But Killian had already anticipated her move and blocked it. “Stay where you are.”
She was trapped with his arms around her, his right hand holding the reins, while his left hand covered hers. He drew her hand over the animal’s face, and she tried to push back the fear when the horse’s brown eyes met hers.
“Good lad,” Killian said, his fingers still laced with hers. But he was so close, she could feel the hard planes of his body against hers.
“I haven’t put you at ease yet, have I?” he guessed, pressing her hand down the horse’s neck again.
No. She was too aware of him, too conscious of his hand upon hers. Slowly, she extricated her fingers from his palm and turned to face him. His gray eyes met hers, and there was no anger in them. Instead, she caught a glimpse of another reaction, before he masked it. It was as if he’d suddenly grown aware that he was holding her.
He took his hand from the horse, still holding the reins. “We’ll walk alongside Francis for a mile or so. Then I’ll let you hold his reins. Perhaps later, when you’re more comfortable, we can try again.”
She wasn’t ever going to be comfortable, but she wouldn’t tell him so. Instead, she gave a nod and began walking beside him.
But with every step at this man’s side, she realized that there was something even greater to fear than an animal—her own unspoken desires.
They walked alongside the horse for the next hour, and eventually the cat jumped down from the basket, trotting along behind them. Killian started to hand her the reins, but she declined. “Not yet.”
He didn’t force it, but his greater worry was getting her to shelter before it turned dark. Walking was not a wise move, and he had to find a way to help her ride.
But he understood the haunted fear in those blue eyes. She had lost her brother in an accident, and the grief had never left. He feared that he would share that same pain, unless a miracle cured Carice.
“When was the last time you rode a horse?” he asked. “Have you ridden at all since that day?”
