Priestess

Chapter 6

Chapter 6

Taking care not to wake Tenan and her mother, Ara slipped out the door. At the mirror, she ran her fingers through her mussed hair before heading downstairs.

Already bustling about, Myrel and her daughters were serving breakfast. Ara’s father had already piled a slice of bread with eggs and bacon. “Can’t leave the cattle alone any longer. I planned on letting you all sleep.” He bit into his food, lifted it in farewell, and headed for the door.

Ara chuckled; her father always put the cattle first. Wandering over to Cashelle, she took a seat at the bar. “Morning.”

Cashelle looked up from refilling mugs. She glanced at the soldiers looking their way and lowered her voice, “I saw you dancing with nearly every bachelor present last night.”

Ara’s heart jumped in her throat. “I only saw you with one.”

Cashelle’s face turned scarlet. By common assent, both decided to drop it. They chatted while Ara ate. Her father would need her help today. She kept glancing at the stairs, hoping that either Tenan or her mother would join her, but neither did. Unwilling to wait, she paid for her food, bid her friend farewell, and went to the stables to fetch Talbot.

Smiling as she passed Killer’s stall, Ara reached out and scratched the horse’s cheek. “Remember when we named you,” she whispered. “Father told Tenan and me to stay away from you—called you a ‘killer.’ Of course, we took that as a challenge.” She chuckled as she smoothed his mane. “And look how far you’ve come.”

“Good morning.”

Startled, Ara turned to see Coen watching her between the bars of his horse’s stall. She blushed, embarrassed to be caught in such a private moment by such an unwelcome man.

He opened the gate to his horse’s stall and stepped out.

Why did she get the feeling he’d been waiting for her? Steeling herself not to offend her brother’s commanding officer, she forced a self-conscious smile. “Morning.” She ducked past him, but much to her discomfort, he followed her into Talbot’s stall.

Her horse nuzzled her for a treat. Giving him a cube of oats and molasses, she scratched behind his ears. “Is there something you want?”

Coen didn’t move. “You don’t know what you are, do you?”

I’m Gifted. She kept her back to him. “What do you mean?”

His vice-like grip closed around her arm. He hauled her around to face him. “Do you know what you are?”

Ara’s mouth dropped open. Coen shook her hard. Her head snapped back. Too shocked to lie, she exclaimed, “Yes!” She squirmed free of his grasp and punched him square in the jaw.

Coen staggered at the blow, back peddling until he rested against the stall wall. Ara pulled her knife—the knife all women of Bondell carried. She held it out, ready to use it.

Coen held up his hands in defeat. “All right, stop. I promise I won’t hurt you.”

She didn’t lower her knife. “What do you want from me?”

Coen shook his head and wiped at the blood trickling from he corner of his mouth. “I’m sorry, but I had to know for sure.”

“Know what!” she spat.

HHHe worked the muscles of his jaw. “Whether or not you knew about your Gift,”

 Seemingly of its own accord, Ara’s knife lowered to her side.