The White Spell (Nine Kingdoms #10)(16)

“He didn’t bite my hand,” Acair shot back, “he tried to nibble my arse!”

Only years of hiding her emotions—ah, hell, there was no hope for it. She stared at that ridiculously handsome man standing there covered in dust and straw, looking as if he’d just endured affronts he simply couldn’t tolerate, and laughed. She didn’t laugh often, but she couldn’t stop herself at the moment.

“I beg your pardon,” he said stiffly.

She shook her head. The situation was beyond hope. She exchanged a look with a smirking Falaire, then handed Acair the pitchfork.

“Don’t turn your back on him,” she suggested. “I will give you a simple lesson in the management of powerful beasts—nay, do not speak—and then you can be about your work.”

“I know a great deal about managing powerful beasts,” he muttered.

She was going to have to stop looking at him very soon or she wouldn’t get a decent day’s labor out of herself again. “Horses?”

He seemed to be chewing on his words. “Are horses’ arses close enough, do you suppose?”

It had been a very long day already. That was the only reason she didn’t take the pitchfork he was holding and stab him with it. She forced herself to look at him sternly when all she truly wanted to do was continue to laugh. She got hold of herself, then turned a stern look on him. Once she’d made sure he was paying her heed, she drew an imaginary box in front of and including Falaire’s head.

“This is his domain.” She paused and looked at him. “Do you understand?”

Acair glared at her. “I am not such a simpleton.”

“And I’m not the one with horse slobber on my arse, so swallow your pride and learn. Just as he has his domain, I have mine. I don’t enter his; he doesn’t enter mine.”

“Then how do you get a bloody rope around his neck?” Acair asked in exasperation.

“Halter,” she said. “It’s a halter and you put it over his head. He tolerates it from me because I’ve told him that is what he will do.”

“Bossy, aren’t you?”

“I am First Horse,” she said simply. “I will admit I am forced to remind him of that every time we have tea. I would say his memory is poor, but the truth is, he’s a stallion. He would run over me as soon as look at me if I allowed it.”

Acair frowned. “I daresay he doesn’t have that same respect for me.”

“He can tell you don’t know the first thing about his noble kind, pitchforks, or the amount of manure the prince of beasts produces. I doubt he’ll let you anywhere near him until you remedy all three.”

He snorted. “Not a prince, surely. Something far more lofty.”

“Nay, kings generally sit upon their sorry arses and issue edicts. Princes do all the real labor.”

Acair turned and looked at her. “A useful thought issues forth.”

“I have many more of those,” she said smoothly, “and at the moment most concern where you might take yourself off to and what you might do there once you’ve arrived.”

He looked briefly startled, then he smiled. “Do tell.”

“I imagine you would enjoy it overmuch,” she said. “Besides, the horses might hear. Wouldn’t want to ruin their innocence.”

He pointed at Falaire. “That one there is not an innocent.”

“And how would you know that?”

“He has that look about him.” He stared suspiciously at the stallion. “He knows things I think I don’t care for him knowing.”

Odd, but Falaire was studying Acair with a fair bit of interest himself. He generally took no notice of who came to tend him save her and, on occasion, Doghail. He didn’t care for Slaidear or her uncle, but she supposed that shouldn’t have surprised her. That he was willing to even favor Acair with a look instead of a hoof in the gut was something indeed.

“I do believe he knows what I’m thinking,” Acair said finally.

“I wouldn’t be surprised.”

Acair frowned. “I hadn’t considered such a thing possible, but . . . well, it has been that sort of year so far.”

She suppressed the urge to ask him what a man of his obvious breeding found himself doing in a barn, mostly because she was tired and cross and there was a substantial number of stalls still to be tended. She took a halter off the stall door, then walked back to Falaire and looked at him briefly before she slipped the halter over his head.

“Ah,” Acair said, “you’re intimidating him.”

“As I said, he and I have an understanding.”

“I don’t think he’ll care for that sort of thing with me.”

“Do a decent job of his stall and I’m sure he’ll reconsider.” She led Falaire out into the passageway, then stood with him while Acair did the worst job of mucking she’d ever seen.

It took him at least half an hour and she suspected by the time she’d corrected him for the sixth time that he was close to losing his temper. But he did the work just the same, then moved the wagon away from the stall door.

“Satisfactory?”

“Your work? Barely. Your attitude? Definitely not.”

“Would you prefer it if I were to whistle a cheerful tune or dance a jig as I’m about these fine labors?”