But the lass wasn’t looking at him. She eyed the stable hand rather intently. “Have ye convinced Fiona to marry ye yet?”

Garry blanched. “Er…ah…nay.”

“I wouldn’t dawdle about. She’s a good lass and deserves better I reckon.”

Kennan gave the lad a pointed frown. “Do we need to have a conversation?”

“No, sir.”

“Then I suggest you take Miss Divana to heart, if I understand the undercurrent of her meaning.” He stepped near the stable hand and lowered his lips to the man’s ear. “And if I hear word of foul play, you’ll be heading to the altar at the point of my dirk, ye ken?”

Passing the riding crop to Divana, Garry did not meet Kennan’s gaze. “Aye, sir.”

He straightened and gave the lad a wink. “Well then, I’m glad we’ve had this wee chat.”

Divana waved the small whip. “I’m supposed to tap me pony with this?”

“Wait until we’re outside.” Kennan slipped a spare bridle onto his arm and grasped the gelding’s lead line. “Is your knee secured over the upper pommel?”

“The what?”

As Garry strode away, Kennan stepped around to the “on side” of the horse and patted the pommel. “You hook your right knee here—it will give you balance.” He then slid the iron stirrup over her left foot. “And your toes go in the stirrup like so.”

“Ah—that feels more secure.”

He led her out to the round pen and gave her a few pointers before he started the horse walking. “You’re looking fine, but if you relax your seat in harmony with the horse’s motion, both of you will be a mite more comfortable.”

After a few turns around the ring, Divana’s rigid posture eased a bit too much.

“Keep your head up as if you’re balancing a book atop.”

She immediately stiffened, making the horse sidestep. “How am I supposed to relax my seat and keep my head fixed at the same time?”

“Picture it this way—if you’re nervous and tense, the horse will be nervous and tense. If you relax, then your horse relaxes, but you don’t want to relax so much you lose control of your mount.”

She snarled, her eyes fierce—good God, he enjoyed her spirit. “Och, ’tis easy for ye to say.”

“All right then, what was that ditty you were singing about the young smith? Didn’t it have a chorus?”

“Ye heard that?”

“I did.”

She adjusted herself in her seat, tapping her crop while the horse snorted and bobbed his head. “Rum, rum, rum. In and out, fiddly dum.”

“Good, now sing that over and over as the horse moves.”

Once Divana’s mind was taken off riding and she shifted to enjoying herself, her posture adjusted itself like magic. “That’s better.”

Smiling, she wriggled her shoulders. “He seems to like the song.”