He eyed his cousin, shaking his head slowly. "I'll tell ye, lad. It takes courage and sense to make a good rider. You've the courage, but the sense is a wee bit lacking, yet." He put a consoling arm round Hamish's shoulders, drawing him down toward the end of the stable.
"Come along, man. Help me fork the hay, and we'll get ye acquainted wi' Cobhar. You're right; ye should have a better horse if you're ready, but it isna necessary to kill yourself to prove it."
Glancing up into the loft as he passed, he raised his eyebrows and shrugged helplessly. I smiled and waved down at him, telling him to go ahead, it was all right. I watched them as Jamie took an apple from the basket of windfalls kept near the door. Fetching a pitchfork from the corner, he led Hamish back to one of the center stalls.
"Here, coz," he said, pausing. He whistled softly through his teeth and a wide-browed bay horse put its head put, blowing through its nostrils. The dark eyes were large and kind, and the ears had a slight forward cock that gave the horse an expression of friendly alertness.
"Now then, Cobhar, ciamar a tha thu?" Jamie patted the sleek neck firmly, and scratched the cocked ears.
"Come on up," he said, motioning to his small cousin. "That's it, next to me. Near enough he can smell ye. Horses like to smell ye."
"I know." Hamish's high voice was scornful. He barely reached the horse's nose, but reached up and patted. He stood his ground as the big head came down and sniffed interestedly around his ear, whuffling in his hair.
"Give me an apple," he said to Jamie, who obliged. The soft velvet lips plucked the fruit delicately out of Hamish's palm, and flicked it back between the huge molars, where it vanished with a juicy crunch. Jamie watched approvingly.
"Aye. You'll get on fine. Go on and make friends, then, while I finish feeding the others, then ye can take him out to ride."
"By myself?" Hamish asked eagerly. Cobhar, whose name meant "foam," was good-tempered, but a sound, spirited 14-hand gelding, nonetheless, and a far cry from the brown pony.
"Twice round the paddock wi' me watchin' ye, and if ye dinna fall off or jerk his mouth, ye can take him by yourself. No jumping him 'til I say, though." The long back bent, gleaming in the warm dusk of the stable, as Jamie caught up a forkful of hay from the pile in one corner and carried it to one of the stalls.
He straightened and smiled at his cousin. "Gi' me one of those, will ye?" He leaned the fork against a stall and bit into the proffered fruit. The two stood companionably eating, leaning side by side against the stable wall. When he finished, Jamie handed the core to a nuzzling sorrel and fetched his fork again. Hamish followed him down the aisle, chewing slowly.
"I've heard my father was a good rider," Hamish offered tentatively, after a moment's silence. "Before—before he couldn't anymore."
Jamie shot a swift glance at his cousin, but finished pitching hay into the sorrel's stall before speaking. When he did, he answered the thought, rather than the words.
"I never saw him ride, but I'll tell ye, lad, I hope never to need as much courage as Colum has."
I saw Hamish's gaze rest curiously on Jamie's scarred back, but he said nothing. After a second apple, his thoughts appeared to have shifted to another topic.
"Rupert said ye had to get married," he remarked, through a mouthful of apple.
"I wanted to get married," Jamie said firmly, replacing the pitchfork against the wall.
"Oh. Well… good," Hamish said uncertainly, as though disconcerted by this novel idea. "I only wondered… do ye mind?"
"Mind what?" Seeing that this conversation might take a while, Jamie sat down on a bale of hay.
Hamish's feet did not quite reach the floor, or he might have shuffled them. Instead, he drummed his heels lightly against the firm-packed hay.
"Do ye mind being married," he said, staring at his cousin. "Getting into bed every night with a lady, I mean."
"No," said Jamie. "No, in fact, it's verra pleasant."
Hamish looked doubtful.
"I dinna think I should like it much. But then all the girls I know are skinny as sticks, and they smell o' barley water. The lady Claire—your lady, I mean," he added hastily, as though wishing to avoid confusion, "she's, er, she looks as though she'd be nicer to sleep with. Soft, I mean."
Jamie nodded. "Aye, that's true. Smells all right, too," he offered. Even in the dim light, I could see a small muscle twitching near the corner of his mouth, and knew he didn't dare look up in the direction of the loft.