Chapter 15
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
The morning after their walk in the garden, Jeane was examining Lottie when Fergus appeared in the doorway, looking oddly nervous.
“How’s she doing?” he asked, nodding toward his sister.
“Better every day,” Jeane said with a smile. “Her lungs are nearly clear.”
Lottie beamed. “Does that mean I can go ridin’ soon?”
“Soon,” Jeane promised. “But nae quite yet. Another week or two.”
Lottie pouted, but Fergus chuckled.
“Patience, sister. Ye’ll be back to yer wild ways before ye ken it.” He turned to Jeane. “Speakin’ of ridin’... when was the last time ye rode properly, little mouse?”
Jeane blinked at him. “Properly?”
“Aye. Nae in a carriage, and nae clingin’ to me on me horse for dear life. Actually ridin’.”
Jeane flushed, remembering how she’d held onto him during their long journey to the castle. “I... I’ve never really learned. Me father dinnae think it appropriate for a lady.”
Fergus snorted. “Of course he diνnae. Well, I’m going to teach ye.”
“Now?” Jeane squeaked.
“Aye, now. Unless ye have other patients to see?”
Jeane glanced at Lottie, who was grinning widely and making shooing motions with her hands.
“Go on,” Lottie urged. “I’m fine. And I want to hear all about it later.”
Jeane shot her a look, but Lottie just smiled innocently.
The stables smelled of hay and horses, warm and earthy. Jeane had been here before to gather supplies for the journey to town, but never for a riding lesson.
Fergus led her to a chestnut mare with a gentle face and kind eyes.
“This is Mairead,” Fergus said, stroking the horse’s nose. “She’s the gentlest mare we have. Perfect for learnin’.”
Jeane approached cautiously, holding out her hand the way she’d seen Fergus do. Mairead sniffed her palm and then nuzzled against it, and Jeane couldn’t help but smile.
“She likes ye,” Fergus observed. “That’s a good sign.”
He saddled the mare with quick, efficient movements, and Jeane watched, trying to memorize the process even though she knew she’d never remember all the straps and buckles.
“All right, little mouse. Time to mount up.”
Jeane looked at the horse, then at Fergus. “How exactly do I—”
Before she could finish, Fergus’s hands were on her waist, lifting her as if she weighed nothing. She squeaked in surprise as he set her on the saddle, his hands lingering for just a moment before he stepped back.
“There ye go,” he said, his voice slightly rougher than usual. “Now, put yer feet in the stirrups.”
Jeane did as he instructed, feeling precarious and unsteady so high off the ground.
“I’m goin’ to fall,” she said nervously.
“Nay, ye’re nae,” Fergus assured her. “I’ve got ye. Just relax.”
“Easy for ye to say,” Jeane muttered, gripping the saddle horn with white knuckles.
Fergus moved to stand beside the horse, one hand on Mairead’s neck, the other reaching up to adjust Jeane’s posture.
“Straighten yer back,” he instructed, his hand pressing lightly against her spine. “And relax yer shoulders. Ye’re too tense.”
His touch was warm even through the fabric of her dress, and Jeane found herself very aware of how close he was, how his fingers seemed to linger just a moment too long.
“Like this?” she asked, trying to focus on sitting properly instead of the way her skin heated wherever he touched.
“Aye, better. Now, the reins, daenae grip them so tight. The horse can feel yer tension. Just hold them gently, like this.”
He reached up and took her hands in his, adjusting her grip on the leather reins. His hands were so much larger than hers, calloused and strong, and Jeane’s breath caught in her throat.
“Fergus,” she started, but he was already stepping back, taking Mairead’s lead rope.
“We’ll just walk for now,” he said. “Get ye used to the rhythm.”
He led the mare forward in a slow walk around the paddock, and Jeane focused on staying balanced, on moving with the horse’s gait instead of against it.
“That’s it,” Fergus encouraged. “Ye’re a natural.”
“I feel like I’m goin’ to slide right off,” Jeane said, but she was smiling despite her nervousness.
“Ye willnae. I’ve got ye, remember?”
They walked several circles around the paddock, and gradually, Jeane started to relax. The rhythmic movement was soothing, and Mairead really was as gentle as Fergus had promised.
“All right,” Fergus said after a while. “I’m goin’ to let go of the lead. Ye’ll control her yerself now.”
“Wait—” Jeane started, but he’d already unclipped the rope.
Mairead continued walking at the same steady pace, and Jeane realized with a little thrill that she was actually riding. By herself.
“I’m doin’ it!” she said, unable to keep the excitement from her voice.
Fergus grinned at her, that boyish smile that made her heart flip in her chest.
“Aye, ye are. Now, try turnin’ her. Gentle pressure on the left rein.”
Jeane did as he instructed, and Mairead obediently turned. She laughed with delight.
“This is wonderful!”
“Want to try a trot?” Fergus asked.
“I daenae ken.”
“Ye can do it. Just squeeze yer legs gently against her sides.”
Jeane took a breath and did as he said. Mairead moved into a gentle trot, and suddenly Jeane was bouncing everywhere, completely off-rhythm.
“Oh—oh nay—”
“Rise up in the stirrups with each stride,” Fergus called. “Match her rhythm!”
Jeane tried, but she couldn’t seem to get the timing right, and she felt herself starting to slide to one side—
Strong hands caught her around the waist, steadying her, and suddenly Fergus was right there, having jogged up beside the horse. He slowed Mairead to a walk with a word, his hands still firm on Jeane’s waist.
“I’ve got ye,” he murmured, and Jeane looked down to find his face very close to hers, close enough that she could see the gold flecks in his brown eyes, close enough to count his eyelashes.
“Thank ye,” she breathed, and his gaze dropped to her lips.
For a moment, the world seemed to stop. His hands tightened on her waist, and Jeane found herself leaning down toward him, drawn like a moth to flame—
“Me Laird!”
A young stable boy came running up, and Fergus stepped back abruptly, his hands falling away from Jeane’s waist.
“What is it?” Fergus barked, sounding annoyed.
“Message from the council, me Laird. They’re waitin’ for ye in the great hall.”
Fergus cursed under his breath in Gaelic, then looked up at Jeane.
“I have to go,” he said, his voice rough. “Can ye get down by yerself?”
“I... aye, I think so.”
She swung her leg over the saddle and slid down, stumbling slightly when her feet hit the ground. Fergus caught her elbow to steady her, and the touch sent sparks up her arm.
“Ye did well today, little mouse,” he said quietly, his dark eyes searching her face.
“Thank ye for teachin’ me,” Jeane said, wishing desperately that the stable boy hadn’t interrupted, wondering what might have happened if he hadn’t.
Fergus held her gaze for a long moment, and then he stepped back, putting distance between them.
“I’ll... I’ll see ye at dinner,” he said, and then he was gone, striding away toward the castle with quick, purposeful steps.
Jeane stood there in the paddock, her heart racing, her lips tingling even though he hadn’t kissed her.
The stable boy took Mairead’s reins, giving Jeane a curious look.
“Shall I unsaddle her for ye, miss?”
“Aye, please,” Jeane said absently, still staring after Fergus.
What was happening between them? And why did the thought of it terrify and thrill her in equal measure?
That night at dinner, Fergus barely looked at her.
He sat at the head of the table, responding to questions from his men in short, clipped sentences, his expression shuttered and distant.
It was like the morning’s riding lesson had never happened, like they hadn’t almost kissed in the paddock.
Jeane felt the sting of rejection, even though she knew she had no right to. He was a laird, and she was just his healer. A woman hiding from her father, with nothing to offer him.
Why would he want her anyway? With her plain looks and her lack of experience, her tendency to say the wrong thing at the wrong time?
She picked at her food, appetite gone, and when she caught Lottie looking at her with concern, she forced a smile.
“I’m just tired,” she said quietly. “I think I’ll retire early.”
She excused herself and fled to her chambers, wondering why the thought of Fergus not wanting her hurt so much.
A few days passed, and Jeane began to forget her life at McKay Castle. It was as if she had always been here at the McCloud Castle, always been a healer here.
She had to admit that she loved her job. She looked after Ian and a few others in the castle—an old man named Conrad, with weeping wounds on his legs from disuse, and a pregnant woman named Cecily, with the worst swollen feet.
It was hard work, but she enjoyed every moment of it. She liked talking to people and being around others. She loved being of service, and here it felt as if she had a purpose. Back at the McKay castle, she had felt she was just rattling around.
Jeane gave her daily report to Fergus most days, though on some days she got caught up in her work and forgot. Lately, she had just been avoiding him. He did not seek her out on the days she did not show. He barely spoke to her when she did give him the report, just grunting in response.
She supposed she had done something to upset him on her forest walk, though she could not be sure what. Or maybe he just thought she was too young and inexperienced. It was not like she had known what she was doing when he kissed her, when he touched her.
Maybe he had found her wanting.
The idea made tears burn at the backs of Jeane’s eyes, but she ignored it. She pushed it down, heading to Ian’s quarters where Aiden’s mother was waiting for her weekly report.
Ian was a harder case than Lottie, so Jeane had thought weekly reports would make his mother see a bit more progress.
And progress he had made. The sickly boy was managing to sit up on the edge of the bed when she arrived, being fed soup by his mother.