“Logan,” he said, interrupting the exchange of pleasantries. “Did ye procure what I asked ye to?”
“Aye, me Laird,” Logan replied, gesturing towards the wide doors behind him.
With a nod, Ruaridh pushed the doors open, Violet following behind. Upon spotting him, the stablehands stood up to greet him. Then he went to shake hands with the stablemaster, an older man in his forties.
“I sent Logan to procure a gentle mare for me betrothed,” he said.
“I have already saddled Lady Fortune, me Laird.”
So the horse was named Lady Fortune. Ruaridh just hoped this was a sign the lessons would go well.
“Does yer betrothed also want to see the mare?” the stablemaster asked, his gaze fixed somewhere beyond his shoulder.
Ruaridh turned to see Violet still standing at the door, staring around in shock. He strode back to her.
“What is it, lass?” he asked with concern.
“Ye truly mean to teach me how to ride?” she murmured, doubt evident in her voice.
“It is part of yer list, is it nae?” He frowned, confused.
“Yes, it is,” she replied.
“And I agreed to fulfill it for ye. What is the problem?”
“I just did not think you were serious when ye agreed,” she sighed, avoiding his gaze.
“I am Laird McLeod, and me word is me bond. I daenae care to make promises that I have nay plans to keep.”
What sort of men had she encountered that she was so hesitant to trust anyone? It was a tragedy that it likely had something todo with her cowardly father and her faithless former betrothed. Somewhere between her relationship with these two men, she had come to take the promises of men with a grain of salt.
Something that Ruaridh hoped to change if they were to marry. Marriages worked better when the husband and wife functioned as a team and trusted each other implicitly.
In his previous marriage, there had been no love between him and his wife, and while he had cared for her, it was trust that had made their marriage work. It was unfortunate that her trust had been betrayed when she had died while under his protection.
Pushing away the memories, he led Violet towards the mare, a chestnut with wide eyes that slanted at the edge. She was staring blankly as she nibbled on a piece of grass. She was a pretty mare with a gentle disposition, perfect for a beginner like Violet.
“Stroke her mane,” he instructed. “We have to get her accustomed to yer scent.”
Violet complied, her hand trembling. But as the mare snorted quietly at her touch, she grew more confident, feeding her some of the apples Ruaridh produced.
Soon, he decided it was time for her to take the saddle. He helped her onto it and then guided the mare into a trot as they left the stables, but he could see her fear in her tight grip on the reins. It was a testament to the mare’s good nature that she did not throw her head against the pressure.
“So, how is it that a gently bred lady like ye doesnae ken how to ride?” he asked in a bid to distract her.
It seemed to work because her grip loosened, and her gaze turned inward.
“Papa lost the horses at the stables when I was quite young, so I never learned to ride. He promised several times to replace them, but it never happened,” she replied in an even tone that belied her disappointment.
Apparently, not only was the old Baronet a coward, but he was also a fool who had squandered his family’s wealth. The more Ruaridh learned about him, the more he lost respect for him.
“Well, I hope to change that very soon,” he told her.
“I am very grateful,” she replied.
For the next few moments, he let her trot in a circle within the paddock, correcting her posture and the strength of her grip now and then.
“That is all for today,” he said after an hour had passed. “We will continue another day.”
