The Ostler's Boy (The Ostler's Boy Book 1)

Chapter Twelve

I was ashamed to admit that the following Thursday could not come soon enough. I wasn't sure if I was just bored doing absolutely nothing with my days, but I ended most afternoons in Cyrus' absence by planning changes to one of the castle's rooms. I'd hoped to fashion myself a parlor, but the longer I worked on it, the more convinced I'd become that I had just been inside too long and a parlor could not help that. Of course, a week should not have left me stir crazy.

When breakfast had passed, I had successfully made it through an awkward conversation with my soon to be father-in-law and newly returned fiancé about the developments in their investigation. Or rather, lack thereof. I was told to be 'patient,' which irritated me, and Sam's desire to get rid of me for the day, only spurred me as I made it out to the barn.

Cyrus looked up from what he was working on, one of the leather straps, and arched his brow. "I hadn't heard from you," he said. "I was worried you-"

"I want to ride Isaac," I announced.

"...Are we riding today?"

"Lift me up," I ordered him.

"Onto Tails with that mood."

"You cannot guess my mood simply by how I've darkened your doorstep!" I nearly screamed.

His mouth opened and he chuckled, "I don't have to guess, you're the most obvious woman in the world. And inappropriate! Do you know what that means?"

"What what means?" I flustered.

"Darkening my door."

"Stop traveling into every horrible crevice you can fit your head! I am not as corrupt as you, Mr. Evergreen. I am a-"

"Lady? Yes, yes. And pray tell, Lady Eisson, who might I thank for agitating you this morning?" He offered me his hand, ushering me towards the other steed. "Josie? Or perhaps the ever cheerful Ser Elías? Or maybe," he shrugged. "Maybe you just want to-"

"I want to ride Ice," I said. "She's mine."

"Tell you what," Cyrus' eyes narrowed. "Ride Tails now, and-"

"I want-"

"And if you allow yourself to smile by the time we get to the farm, I'll concede her willingly."

"...You mock me," I hissed.

"That's not quite what's happening here," he said. "I'm bartering. Vastly different."

He offered to help me onto the stallion again, but I was far too angry to await or want his assistance. His hand lingered for a moment before he got onto his.