Untamed {Mature Reading}

Chapter XVII

The next few days passed in a haze, split between Stephen in the stables and Moira in the kitchens. Bianca was glad for the distraction and the comforting presence of Angus.

Preparations for the upcoming tournament were well underway and an air of excitement had befallen the castle. I was infectious - and though Bianca hung back from the animated talks of Lairds and events she could not help but feel a pressure ease from her chest.

The foretelling of the prophecy still lingered on her mind, still haunted her like a ghost that could not cross over. And with it, thoughts of her attacker reared its ugly head in the shadows of the night, at the very corners of her dreams. There had been no speak of any further attacks, making Bianca wonder if the man with the soft hands was not of this world, but someone sent by the gods to ensure the prophecy's fulfilment.

The thought did not bode well for bianca. In truth, it made her more distrustful to her gods, make her further shun them. They did not reach out to her and Bianca was inclined to do the same. She did not pray nor did she seek guidance from them. Instead, Bianca tried to surround herself with the living.

Moira had begun to find excuses to come to the stables, much to the growing delight of Stephen. Bianca could not help but feel wistful whenever she saw the gentle blush creep into Moira's cheeks or the way Stephen gazed longingly at her when she wasn't looking. It made Bianca wonder what it would be like, to be the object of someone's affections, pure and true. Just something so simple as two people liking one another, tentatively exploring their feelings for each other.

In the days that followed, Bianca had also avoided the Laird. Their exchange had been heated and it had left Bianca with far too much to ponder. She did not know why she bothers, for Callum's engagement to Rosalind was holding true. They dined together each evening, or so the priestess heard from Moira. Callum had also taken Rosalind riding, showing her the lands and people she would soon rule with him.

Avoiding them both seemed like a safe option.

The days had become unusually bright, despite the time of year. The sunlight was weak in its warmth, but it braved the clouds that hung overhead. It made bIanca want to spent most of her time in the stables rather than in the castle.

On the final day of the tournament's preparations, Bianca had dared ride Freo. She had devoted her time to building trust between her and the horse, but when she finally brought out a saddle, Freo's dark eyes seem to gleam.

"Say she wants ter stretch her leg just as much as ye do."

Old Nab's voice had becoming another comforting presence in the stables, though he rarely occupied them. Stephent's father had spent most of his days preparing for the tournament to defend Clan Lockhart's honour.

Bianca murmured her agreement, bending to adjust the buckles. She hadn't been used to such contraptions, for she had always rode bareback. But like many things, the priestess had learned to adapt, to embrace the differences.

"Don't be goin' too far off now lass," Nab warned, though there was nothing threatening in his tone. He sounded like a concerned father, if anything.

Bianca hoisted herself up into the saddle, slinging her other leg over. "I won't," She promised, taking the reins.

"Should ye really be ridin' like that?" The priestess paused,glancing over at Nab, whose face was flushed with awkwardness.

"Like what?"
"Like..." The older man trailed off, looking uncomfortable "Like, it no proper, I mean."

Bianca glanced down at herself. "I have always ridden like this." She watched as Nab's mouth opened, as if to protest further, but Bianca had already kicked her heels into Freo's flank, bolting out the stable door.