Free Shade of Destiny (The Foreseeing) by Shannon M Yarnold Page A

legs walking the same beaten path to the stables. She half expected to see Byron, the new Hunts Marshal, to be tending the horses, but when she peered around door he was nowhere to be seen. Wynn smiled and relaxed, walking forward to Ebony’s stall to stroke her neck, resting her face into the horse’s warm flesh, smelling the fresh hay.
         “You again,” a voice said from behind her. Wynn spun round, fearful, but felt herself relax slightly when she saw it was only Byron, grinning at her, oblivious to her fear. He set down the bucket of oats he had been holding.
         “Your face seems better,” he commented as he opened the stable door and tipped the bucket of oats into Ebony’s feeder. Wynn raised her hand to her lip unconsciously. She had not had time to look in the mirror and had completely forgotten her cut lip and marked face.
         “Yes, it feels better,” she agreed quietly, watching Byron brush down Ebony’s flank. Byron nodded and went on with his work, leaving Wynn to wonder if it would be rude to leave. She was planning the best way to excuse herself when Byron smiled at her unexpectedly.
         “I heard you singing last week,” he said softly, raising his head to see Wynn’s expression, clearly unaware of the connotations his words would have.
         Wynn face paled, she could feel it drain of blood, but forced herself to remain expressionless, “Oh,” she replied, “you are with the army?” She said as loftily as she could. She could not recall seeing Byron at the table, but she had hardly looked at the men as she had walked in, not to mention the distraction of her dream and the eerie atmosphere after she had sung.
         “No, no,” Byron said sharply, as if the idea offended him, “I was outside walking the horses and heard you through the window... You have a beautiful voice.”
         Wynn inclined her head in thanks and the silence resumed. Inside her conflicting emotions writhed. She felt like she was drowning under so much sadness and confusion. Byron was a man, and she had never in her years been treated with kindness by men. Men were all the same she had decided many years ago, and one kind act was not enough to change her mind, and yet there was something about him. She had the overwhelming urge to talk to him, to spill out her life. She felt both comfortable and awkward with him. She stared at him working, watched the nimbleness of his fingers as he shod Ebony’s shoes and brushed down her coat.
         The past few days had felt like years. From the need to steal the book from the Master, her dream which refused to be silenced, and the strange reaction the men had had to her voice, she felt like life was twisting in a confusing and frightening direction. In her bones she knew something was going to happen, something which would change everything. It was something else that she could tell no one, something else which burdened her and threatened to drag her into the darkness of depression. Byron stretched his back after a long moment of silence, forcing Wynn back into the present, and opened his mouth to speak when a large commotion sounded from the front of the Manor. Byron dropped the brush he had been holding and set off at a run to see what was happening. Wynn followed behind him, curiosity peaked.
         The noise echoed from the front of the Manor. A young man was on his knees in the dust and dirt, a soldier holding his arms behind his back. Wynn stopped behind the corner of the stables and peered across the courtyard, not wanting to attract attention. The man was struggling under the vice-like grip of the soldier. Around them more soldiers stood, arms folded, sneering at the prisoner. The forest hugged them and made the moment seem private, at least to Wynn. Byron twitched beside her and for a moment Wynn thought he was going to rush over and attempt to free the man, but instead he stepped closer her and peered around the corner.