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“I . . .” she begins and I hesitate. “I saw you riding a horse earlier. Was it one of the famed northern war horses?”
Discomfiture battles with my common sense.Do I accept or reject her peace offering?I’ve never run from anything in my life, so I plant my ass back on the floor. “Heisa war horse,” I say, sounding peevish. “As solid as they come.”
“How many hands does he stand?”
“Almost nineteen.”
“Nineteen?” she breathes. “That’s huge.”
I nod. “I call him Nightshade.”
Her brows lift with surprise. “Like the poisonous plant?”
“Exactly. It gives him an extra edge of menace, I think.” I don’t tell her that Nightshade doesn’t have a menacing bone in his body. He’s the very definition of steadfast.
“Did you raise him yourself?”
“I did.” I like her questions now. “He’s been mine since he was born.”
She looks almost wistful at my answer, then surprises me with, “Was it hard to break him?”
I’m not sure what she means byhard.“You mean hard work? No more than any other horse.”
“Oh, no,” she says, wavering for a moment. “I’m mean hard on you. I imagine it would be unsettling to take the wild out of an animal, to force him to be other than he is.”
I almost laugh. What a ridiculous notion.
“You must think me fanciful,” she goes on, sheepish now. “Ignore me. I’m not myself.” She looks away and I watch her nibble at the side of her mouth. I thinkfancifulis probably her being exactly herself.
Before I can say anything, she turns those amber eyes on me again, causing my stomach to clench. In the glow of the coals, they’re almost otherworldly. “The, uh, mare,” she begins. “The one you allowed me to ride after the river . . . I . . .” Hesitantly, she lets go of the blanket she has clasped around her and presses both palms to her heart before she shows them to me. It’s a gesture that marks her as distinctly southern. “I thank you for the experience,” she whispers earnestly. “I hope you won’t hold my actions against her.”
I cock my head. “Hold your actions against who? The horse?”
She holds her tongue, forcing me to interpret her meaning for myself.
“The horse is fine,” I tell her and she visibly relaxes.
“She has food and water?”
I almost scoff at the suggestion, but then I remember that I haven’t fed or watered her and something very close to shame hits me.
“Yes, I’m sure she has food and water, but I’ll check on her tomorrow to be sure.”
Her lips start to form what I think isthank youwhen she stops herself and only nods.
Chapter 5
Rina
He takes up space; not only physically, but in spirit too. His presence is like a living force, pressing up against me, poking and prodding, searching out weaknesses and flaws. It’s a good reminder that whatever angle he’s playing with all this slightly awkward, civilized talk, is just that, an angle. I can’t see what he’s trying to gain though, not through the dull ache in my thigh or the gnawing hunger in my belly.
Even though I’m sure my fate has already been decided, I try not to rebuff him. After the loneliness of the past year, not to mention the past day, I’ll accept any overtures of company that aren’t accompanied by violence or threats. And right now, he seems mostly curious. I don’t delude myself that the violence won’t come. It always does. But until then, I’ll pretend that my hunger and the cold aren’t by his design.
“You have some knowledge of horses?” he asks.
“Some.” The need to keep the conversation going gets the better of me and I add, “The horse I rode, Glory. She’s a northern breed as well?”
In the low light, his head tilts. “You named her Glory?”
