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She rolled her eyes, gathering the reins. “With that glowing praise, I suppose I should be going.”
“One more thing, before you do.” He pulled the green scarf from his pocket. “You should take it.”
She stared at the scrap of expensive fabric. “Why?”
He looked away. “It matches your eyes. That’s why I bought it.”
She laughed. “Do your court women trip over themselves when you feed them those lines?”
A faint blush of color rose beneath his cheeks, along with a flash of something else. Was that…? Oh, Ferrian’s flames. He actually had bought the damn thing because it matched her eyes. Quickly, she leaned down from Kialla, snatched the length of cloth and looped it over his neck. “I don’t have anything to wear it with. So you can wear it when you think of me.”
Before she had to endure any more of this conversation she straightened, a light press of her legs and a kissing noise all it took to send Kialla whirling away at a canter, hooves eating up the ground between them and the fence. As it approached Clare moved into the two-point position, just barely raised off Kialla’s back, giving the horse room to gather herself. She did so, muscles bunching then releasing, and sailed gracefully over the wooden slats.
Clare’s muscles rejoiced in the feel—so familiar to that other self she had absorbed and severed—of adjusting to keep her seat as Kialla landed, her entire focus caught up in the horse. In the recklessness that hummed along with the mare’s stride, one that echoed in Clare’s mind.
She did not doubt the mare was a little wild and would show it before this ride was done. But Clare was a little wild, too, and she found the promise of Kialla’s wildness only called to her.
Chapter Twenty-Eight
The Duchess of Wake
Clare climbed through her window just in time for Marquin’s polite knock at her door, inviting her to breakfast. She changed and joined the Arrendons at the dining room table, trying to act as if things were normal when she really hadn’t a clue what normal was. When they were all trying to pretend they weren’t walking on eggshells because of the conversation they’d had last night.
She didn’t have to worry about it too long, as a door thudded open and Alys walked into the room, her face an odd juxtaposition of fury and disbelief.
“You told me you put a horse in the stables.”
“I did.” Clare had settled Kialla into an empty paddock abutting the one Skye and Ginger shared, until she could determine if the mare would come around to mixing with the other two horses. “Is there not a horse in the north paddock?”
“No, there is not a horse in the north paddock. Kialla N’Marani is in the north paddock.”
Marquin’s gaze went immediately to Clare and narrowed, as it so often did when he looked at her. Verol blinked, long and slow, as if trying to dredge up some long-forgotten tidbit that would make him understand why Alys's statement bore importance.
“That mare is the only living descendant of Dragmoir D’Marani’s bloodline, do you have any idea how much Numair paid for her?”
“Not in the least.” But wasn’t it interesting that Alys didn’t add a title in front of Numair’s name?
“A fortune. No, scratch that, try two or three fortunes. When he finds out she’s missing?—”
“She isn’t missing,” Clare said, cutting Alys off calmly. “He’s letting me borrow her.”
“Borrow her?” Only good breeding, Clare suspected, kept Alys from spluttering. “He’s letting you borrow her?”
“I don’t believe I stuttered.”
“Numair doesn’t loan out his carriage horses, much less one worth his entire stable combined, who’s rumored to be descended from unicorns, for Ferrian’s sake.”
“Your point being?”
“What did you do to get her?”
“I didn’t take him for a ride, if that’s what you’re asking.”
Verol choked on his coffee, face turning red.
“But since you’re so curious, apparently the expensive would-be unicorn is sad, and he thinks I can cheer her up.”
Everyone in the room collectively stared at her.
