You’ve managed to live nineteen years without riding a horse?” Kennan asked as he and Divana walked into the stables. Three days had passed since he’d barely made it to the garden before collapsing on the bench, doing his best to act as if he hadn’t needed to catch his breath. Nonetheless, his strength was returning, albeit far too slowly for the likes of a sea captain. He pushed himself every day, refusing to give in to the pain. Thank God the throbbing in his head had finally eased, and his shoulder was mending, or so Kennan ventured to believe.

“I’ve been on the back of a horse afore—like when we rode from Mallaig, but me da couldn’t afford a mule let alone a pony—very few crofters in Connel have the coin to buy horses.”

“Then ’tis about time you learned.”

Garry met them with a pitchfork in hand. “’Tis a fine day for riding.”

“Indeed,” said Kennan. After they’d agreed to a wee riding lesson, the lass had packed a satchel with bread and cheese, and Kennan had added a bottle of wine and two wooden cups that wouldn’t break—they weren’t even chipped. “Please saddle your most even-tempered gelding for Miss Divana and put a halter and lead line on him.”

“Straightaway.” Garry gave Divana a once-over—taking a bit too long for Kennan’s taste. “Sidesaddle?”

Unsure, she shifted her gaze to Kennan. “Ah—aye?”

“Aye,” he clipped, stepping between the lass and the stable hand. Good Lord, her skirts would hike up to her knees or further if she sat astride. It was already difficult enough to keep his emotions in check, but if she trotted around the round pen bare legged, she’d have every young buck in Achnacarry hankering to bed her—especially Garry it appeared.

“Shall I saddle yours, sir?”

“Yes, but I’ll not ride until Miss Divana has been comfortable in the round pen.”

As Garry set to task, Kennan stroked the nose of a horse watching them with his head poked over the door to his stall. “All horses have different temperaments, but I’ve found they’re likely to be less ornery if you use a light touch.”

She patted the sorrel’s neck. “Ye mean pet them?”

“Petting never hurts. But when riding sidesaddle, you kick with your heel and tap with your crop—start lightly. Only use as much pressure as you need to move the beast along.”

“Truly? What about spurs and all that?”

“You’ll not need spurs today. In fact, when I see how they can be misused, I wish they’d never been invented.”

“Here we are,” said Garry, leading an old gelding up to the mounting block. “This fella is as gentle as a lamb.”

Kennan offered his hand and helped Divana step up, relishing the feel of her cool fingers tickling his palm.