She’d been there for a few months and was completely comfortable with both her duties and the patrons when, for the first time, she questioned working away from home and her mother. A new young man had come in with some of the locals and he began to pay attention to her. She ignored him or brushed his comments off in jest, just as she always did, but then she could hear some comments that were mildly troubling. As she served another table, she heard the fellows at the newcomer’s table say, “Leave her alone, Hershey. I’m telling you, she’s Peyton Wolfgar’s girl. Leave her be. He’s the size of a mountain.” Chantaya went on back into the kitchen, but she worried at the comments like a dog at a bone as she continued to prepare things. Who were they talking about? It had to be her. There wasn’t any other her except Mrs. Bealle and she certainly wasn’t Peyton’s girl. Was someone out there going to truly bother her? And what was that about her being Peyton’s girl, anyway? Chantaya wasn’t Peyton’s girl. More like a little sister. That’s what they must have meant. She wished she was Peyton Wolfgar’s girl. He was the most handsome, entertaining man she’d ever known. She wasn’t anyone’s girl. Not yet. She’d hardly even spoken to anyone unless it was someone at church or here at the tavern. Not that she wouldn’t like to be someone’s girl. She just hadn’t had the chance yet. She’d thought about it. But there wasn’t anyone who intrigued her in the slightest. Well, the middle Bertram boy was adorably cute in a puppy kind of way, but he was really the only one. And Chantaya wouldn’t have truly wanted to get very close to him, but he was handsome. She worked about, thinking all of these thoughts and being perplexed about why someone would think she was Peyton’s girl. Just because they were the best of friends and spent untold hours together didn’t mean they were romantically involved, much as she would have loved it if they could have been. As she rolled out pastry, the more she thought about it, the more the whole idea troubled her. Certainly, she wanted to settle down someday with that elusive image in her head of the strong and gentle man who would be her true love some day. The one she and her mother had often spoken of, but the village boys just weren’t terribly tempting. At least not tempting enough to make her want to stop tromping around and pretending to sword fight with the Wolfgar boys. They were far more fun than the other young men around. Especially Peyton. Peyton kept her laughing every day of her life, it seemed. She pulled another pot of roasted meat out of the oven. Maybe that was a problem. Maybe she should already be someone’s girl. After all, she was fifteen. Some girls were married by fifteen. Not many, but a lot were by sixteen or seventeen. Her own mother had married at sixteen. That wasn’t very far away. Still, she didn’t feel anywhere near old enough to marry. That was actually kind of repulsive. What with the things married people did that her mother had spoken to her about. Well, some of it wasn’t repulsive. Some of it sounded kind of wonderful. Kissing for instance. Kissing would be nice and she loved affection. Just that casual skin on skin touch that made you feel loved, except that she wouldn’t be the slightest bit comfortable with some stranger being that close to her. She actually had an issue with people being too close to her. When people got within a foot or two of her she wanted to reach out and push them back. Except for her mother or the Wolfgars or Mordecai. She loved having them close. Their casual affection was very nice. But anyone else. Not so much.
What do You think about Warrior's Moon A Love Story?
