Chapter 31 Vilgard At Last
Day twenty-seven. I sip from my cup of warmed milk as I watch Wessel move about our smoldering campfire packing up his supplies for the journey ahead. In my demented state, I had also lost Eric's hatchets and the rest of our packs. The only thing I somehow held onto was Eric's bear satchel, the one his mother made for him when he was just a young boy. I glance down at my lap, spying the satchel resting against my shin. God, I still can't imagine Eric being a child once.
"We should be reaching the valley by midday today," Wessel explains, pulling my gaze to him. He crouches beside me and rolls up his pelt that he slept on. "From there, it'll be a bit of a climb down into the valley. Then...Vilgard."
"Hmm," I hum into my cup, my stomach knotting and my heart stirring. If this winter remains kind to us this day, then I will see Eric again! Hopefully, he'll be awake, talking, smiling, perhaps even laughing when he sees us. I swallow the milk and lower my cup to my chest. I'm not sure how I'll be able to keep my hands off him. I will throw my arms about him and hold him tight. There will be tears. They prick my eyes even now just thinking of seeing him again. But what emotions will escape me? What words will leave my mouth? Will I be able to control myself and not press my frostbitten lips to his? Wessel gets up in my periphery. I watch him, trying to forget about Eric for now...yet there he stays, lingering in my mind like a permanent fixture. As Wessel moves about our campfire gathering the last of his possessions, something moves in the bottom of my sight.
My eyes drop to Wessel's waist. A small white object is dangling from his belt. My eyes widen. It's an animal's foot with a short piece of rope tied about it! Its fur is white like freshly fallen snow. Each of its four toes are clearly defined from each other and tipped with a small but sharp claw.
Wessel looks at me with hope and comes up to me, the snowshoes he had crafted for me hanging from his fingers. "Here they are, milady. What do you think?"
I sigh as he sets the snowshoes down before me. I cannot keep asking him to go against his character. Perhaps it's better this way as he will be less liable to accidentally call me my true name before the wrong ears. I look down at my new snowshoes. They are somewhat crude, their oval frames sprouting snapped nubs where branches used to be. The frames are held together by intricate weaving of leather strips.
I shake my head in awe and lift my eyes to Wessel, a smile lightening my mouth. "Beautiful. I could never make these like you."
The hope in his eyes turns to pride and a gentle smile. "Do not doubt yourself. I'm sure you could weave better snowshoes than these if someone taught you how to make them."
"That's very kind." I gesture to the animal's foot dangling from his belt. "Where did you get that animal's foot from?"
Wessel looks down at his belt and brings his gloved hand beneath the little white foot. I look between him and his animal's foot, watching him cradle the foot in his palm. His eyes soften as he gazes down at the foot.
"This is part of Wessel II," he says.
My eyes widen. "Your pet weasel!? That's his foot!?"
Wessel nods, still keeping his eyes on his pet's foot. "Wessel died four years after I was branded a traitor. I was going to burn his body twice and bury his ashes, but Eric suggested that I save one of Wessel's feet and keep it close...to remind me of the times when he was alive." He lifts his face to me, a touch of grief in his eyes.
My eyes prickle, my heart growing heavy at the loss of Wessel II. I remember how many nobles of the court scoffed and mocked Wessel behind his back for not turning the white weaseI into part of a lady's garment. As if the weasel sensed Wessel's mercy, he was always with Wessel sitting contently on his shoulder. Rarely did I ever see Wessel without his sweet weasel.
"I remember Wessel well." I sniffle and glance down at the lone foot still resting in Wessel's gloved hand. "He was quite clever. He was smarter than some of the nobles, that's for sure."
Chuckling slips out of us both. Though our chuckling ebbs after a few beats, our soft smiles remain.
I lift my eyes to Wessel, meeting his. "He loved you...and you loved him."
"I still love him." Wessel dips his head to me in silent apology, though I fail to see how he has wronged me.
"Of course," I murmur.
Wessel carefully lets the weasel's foot slip out of his hand as if he was still alive and picks up my snowshoes. "When you're done with your meal, let me know." He goes to stand with my snowshoes.
"Wait!" I set my half-filled cup of milk down and grab his wrist, though I barely do so with the big wad of linen binding my hand. "Leave those here." I gesture to my new snowshoes. "I'll put those on when I'm ready."
His eyes fill with concern. "Milady, I can carry you to the valley—"
"You've carried me for three days already." I hold my linen bound hands palms up, ready to receive my new snowshoes. "I have some of my strength back. I can walk to the valley."
He frowns in reprove. "Torrance said that walking on—"
"I know!" I snap. Guilt instantly stings me. "I'm sorry, but let me have this one last walk on my toes...please."
Wessel looks between my snowshoes and me, weighing out the options. "He might be able to save them!"
"And I beg him to try, but I know I won't be on my feet for a bit, so let me have this." God, when I started this hellish trek with Eric, I never imagined I'd be pleading to walk on frostbitten feet. Though Wessel puts his hope in this continent's so-called greatest healer, I know the damage has already been done. Only after my feet are rewarmed will I be able to see the extent of the damage.
Finally, Wessel sighs and sets my snowshoes down before me. "As you wish, milady."
Gratitude swells my heart and brims over, pushing a smile onto my face. "Thank you!"
He shakes his head. "I just hope I'm not causing you more harm."
I sigh and drag my new snowshoes closer to me. "Rest assured that you're not."
The day wanes on as Wessel and I trek along this winter wasteland side by side, kept above the frozen white sea by our snowshoes. I was not able to tie my snowshoes myself because all my fingers are bound, but thankfully Wessel did not refuse to pull off his gloves and help me. God, how good it feels to not be sinking knee deep into this wretched snow! These snowshoes would have helped a great deal when I was pushing Eric along on that blasted sled, but that's neither here nor there now. I still feel that larger space between Maacthis and my heart. It not only feels larger, but it is also stronger. I'm not sure how that's possible, but this could be a reflection of Eric recovering from the incendium poison.
I pat his satchel resting on my hip with my linen bound hand. An ache enters my heart. I've lost his hatchets, our trout that we caught, and my satchel. My lamia balm, his compass—all lost when I was losing my mind. I just pray that his satchel is enough for him. Once we reach Hammond's fortress, I will pay a blacksmith to forge new hatchets for Eric. Better hatchets, too, perhaps ones decorated with images of bears.
"Thank you again," I tell Wessel, looking his way as we continue along in our snowshoes.
He looks at me and frowns, his eyes brimming with concern. "I'll feel much better once we're in Vilgard and Torrance is looking at your hands and feet."
A small breath leaves me. Though part of me agrees with him, I'm still glad I could have this one last walk on my seven remaining toes. "We'll both be happy to reach Vilgard."
I look at the frozen white sea ahead, snowdrifts here and there like white waves frozen in time. God knows I'll be more than happy to finally step my snowshoe into Vilgard. Which one will be first? My left snowshoe or my right? Oh God, that hardly matters when my eyes and my heart are yearning so dearly to see Eric again alive and awake.
"There's the valley!" Wessel announces and points ahead. Sure enough, there's the fissure of the valley that I have missed so much! Though this time, the valley is to my right and not my left. God, I got completely turned around in my demented state.
"Yes!" I cry, the beautiful sight of the valley starting to blur with my tears. "I see it!"
Without either of us having to say it, we pick up our pace to reach the valley. As we draw closer to the valley, despite my blurry sight, I see the sloping path of land that cuts through the fissure. That must be the way down!
I have never moved so fast in snowshoes in my whole life. Though it has been fifteen long years since I last trekked through the snow in them, and granted it was in specially crafted snowshoes, I'm able to lift my frozen stumps. The climb is steep, but I move with ease as if I am walking on flat ground. In the middle of making the steep trek down into the valley, I manage to look up. I gasp, the sight so beautiful that it almost brings tears to my eyes.
Ahead is a large basin of land set between towering valley walls. No, those are not valley walls surrounding the massive white basin, but rather the beginnings of snow capped mountains! In the very heart of the basin is the unmistakable sight of frosted rooftops!
"Vilgard! I see it, Wessel!" I need to get down there! I start jogging down the slope, my feet slipping from under me!
"Careful milady!" Wessel pleads just as I land on my rump.
"I'm fine!" I laugh while I start pushing myself down on my rump, almost sliding down with the aid of the snowy slope.
"Ah, milady!" Wessel groans, though his voice is more distant.
"You better catch up!" I continue sliding down the slope at a controlled pace. That beautiful bubbling feeling of fun tightens my stomach. I laugh and cry as I enjoy the ride down into the valley, using my bound hands to control my descent. As I near the bottom, the air changes. It feels lighter and—warmer!? Is that possible!? I'm so close to the bottom now! Ah, screw it! I throw my hands up and let the slope carry me the rest of the way!
I squeal like a child as I slide down the remainder of the slope. Just as the ground starts to level out, I grab at the snow and use my momentum to spin myself about. I spin about a few times, each spin slower than the last. I manage to turn one final time until I finally stop, my back to Vilgard. I glance up at the massive slope that we had spent some time coming down. My smile pushes hard into my cheeks. Wessel slides down on his rump, his gloved hands high above his head! We both laugh as he reaches the bottom about a stone's throw from me.
He throws his arms down and gropes at the snow, slowing himself to a stop not too far from me.
"You finally gave in!" I tease Wessel across the small distance.
He laughs as he pushes himself to his feet. "Glad to see that your love for fun has not changed!" He snorts and starts his way to me. "And your love for breaking the rules."
I scoff and get to my frozen stumps. "I follow the rules!" My smile falters some, my cheeks flushing. "Most of the time."
He snorts while he stops a few feet from me. "You've always been spirited, milady."
I shake my head at him, my mind shifting to the strangely warmer weather. "Why is the air so warm here?" I look about at the towering mountain peaks surrounding this basin of snow covered land. The basin must be several miles about, at least.
"It's called Phenomena Valley for a reason. The weather is always milder here in the valley than in the land that surrounds it. The winters are not as brutal and the summers are not as scorching. Hmph," Wessel huffs, drawing my eyes down to him. He looks all about the valley. "It's a great place to stay for a bit, to get away from everything. I would come here with my father during the hunting season. Plenty of rams up in the mountains."
"Mm," I hum and glance at the snowy peaks of the mountains once more. There are at least five peaks of varying heights from what I can see down here. "God, they're beautiful," I murmur. "I can only imagine how beautiful they'd be with the sun shining on them and the blue sky above."
"Yes, milady. Yes." Wessel agrees, his voice soft with appreciation. Neither of us speak further nor move. We just stand here together in companionable silence enjoying Tabor in her natural majesty. To think that Ravenna has drained all of Tabor of her beauty and fertility, yet somehow this place seems almost untouched. The wind blows faintly. Though I know it's still cold, the air feels so good and refreshing.
"Oi there!"
My heart skips a beat. My eyes dart down of their own accord. Most of the strength I had regained over these last three days abandons me. There Eric is far across the snowy expanse, his black mare carrying him at breakneck speed! I cover my gaping mouth with my bound hand. My eyes flood with tears, blurring the distant hunter and his black mare into one blob.
"Eric!" Wessel calls out in greeting and starts toward the fast approaching hunter and his horse.
A sob escapes me. I collapse to my knees. My heart soars despite my near-paralyzed state. He made it! He's alive! I knew it in my heart, but to see him...I shrink into a quivering, weeping ball, one wad of linen covering my mouth and the other cradling what's left of my heart.
"Eric!" Wessel greets again as he finally reaches us. Ylva trots to a halt before Wessel. "Good to see you in your saddle again!"
"Aye, aye," Eric brushes Wessel off as his blurry head turns my way. He leaps off Ylva's back and rushes to me. I can do nothing but weep and gawk up at him with my damn blurry sight! He drops to his knees before me, the snow crunching beneath his weight. "Yer here!" His gruff voice cracks. That wrings my heart and another embarrassing sob out of me. He takes my numb face in his hands. That wonderful laughter of his fills my ears. "Yer alive," he says so softly I barely hear him, but I hear the quiver in his words.
"Eric!" his name escapes my mouth, muffled by my hand. I drop my head into his chest. My arms fall at my sides. He wraps his arms about me and pulls me into his strength and safety. I shake with my sobbing, tears spilling down my cheeks. His blissful laughter ebbs. One of his hands cradles the back of my head. I have no words for how good this embrace feels. All I can think is that this is not how I imagined our reunion. I thought I would be hugging him by now, holding his face, barely able to resist the temptation of his mouth.
He merely holds me as I sob, allowing me to let everything out. My body finally unravels with such relief. I had fought so hard to push him as far as I could on that sled. I did not reach Vilgard, but damn it, I got him far enough for Torrance, Locke, and Wessel to find him. I did that. Now, I can finally rest for a bit. Yes, the rest must be brief, but it can be true rest.
"Hey!" another voice calls out, not Wessel nor Eric, but another man.
"Torrance!" Wessel greets, his voice echoing across the expanse. I hear the faint crunching of snow beneath racing hooves.
Eric takes his hand from the back of my head and pulls back from me. I keep my eyes downcast on his chest. I feel the weight of his gaze on me. Though my sight is still blurry, I can see with each blink that most of his old leathers are gone save for his trousers and boots. He's got a new coat made of thick black leather and a linen shirt that's so clean it's almost as white as the snow. He's missing most of the belts and buckles that he wore before save for the one around his waist.
"Wessel, it's good to see you!" the other man—Torrance, greets. I hear snow crunching loudly beneath another horse's hooves, the horse slowing down to a stop and neighing. "What took you so long!? Tell me what happened!" Torrance says.
"Look at me," Eric pleads softly, his fingers appearing beneath my chin and urging my head back. Wessel starts talking, telling Torrance about all that happened these last few days, but his words never reach my ears. All I can focus on is the man on his knees before me.
"I saw the sled ye made out of our skis." He brushes his thumb across my chin. Enough feeling has returned to me that I can feel the roughness of his skin. Past my tears, I see the smile spreading his mouth. "That was clever." He steals a light sweep of his thumb across my bottom lip. "Torrance and Locke found me half a day away from Vilgard...out of the valley!" He trails his fingers along my jaw and cheek, catching the stray tears. "That's not where we started. Ye didnae leave me behind even after I begged ye to."
My head starts shaking, a new surge of tears coming forth. "Surely you knew you were telling me to do something that…," I suck in a shaky breath, trying to steady my trembling words, "...that I could never bring myself to do. Surely!"
His smile leaves him. "When Torrance woke me and told me ye were no' there…" He drags in his own stuttering breath, fighting like me to keep his voice strong. What's left of my heart almost fails to beat its next. His hand tremors against my cheek. His arm still about me is stiff. The bit of air between us is dense and heavy, so delicate that it will burst from the smallest pinprick. He's fighting so hard to keep himself together.
He brings his face closer to mine, his warm breath touching my mouth and chin. "I owe ye my life," he says so softly that only my ears hear him. I come apart weeping once more, guilt and yearning both tearing at my heart. How I both love and loathe his words, dying inside for them to be true whilst also dying from guilt. I love him. For that reason alone, I must deter him.
"You owe me nothing," I croak. It is I who owes him my life and more, but I dare not tell him that for his sake. "Do not think for one moment that you owe me anything. Especially your life." A terrible ache enters my heart. Though my tears blur his face enough to not see his reaction, I feel the air changing between us. It fills with so much bitterness and pain that it pushes out every last bit of sweetness from this blissful reunion. He barely pulls back, but it's enough to steal his warm breath from me. Though my words seem like the humble response to his gratitude, he heard the denial in my voice, the attempt to push him away. He knows me better than I thought.
"Milady," the third man calls. Snow crunches beneath approaching footsteps. Both Eric and I tear our eyes from each other to look up at the third man.
The third man comes up to us and stops with a huff of exasperation, his hard eyes turning to Eric. My breath leaves me. Though my sight is still blurry, I see that this man is easy on the eyes. He is well-formed, lean, and tall, his body shaped by his life. He's got that full blooded Taboran look with his black hair, dark eyes, and pale complexion.
"What?" Eric asks, trying to sound innocent, but he's like a child who just got caught with his hand in the bonbon jar.
The third man only shakes his head in reproach and turns his attention to me and crouches low, putting his face close enough to mine that I can see his features clearly. My heart jumps. He is quite handsome. Perhaps more handsome than Eric. "You must be that Greta I have been hearing so much about these last five days," the man says, casting Eric a brief look.
I clear my throat, my heart stinging with the lie. I feel Wessel's eyes on me. If I come clean now...God, if I do…I find myself nodding. "That's right," I croak. "And you must be that renowned healer who stole a night with King Adonijah's wife. Torrance."
Torrance's perfectly shaped brows dart up with a small chuckle. "Now who told you that!?"
I smirk, an ease settling over me that has not come with Wessel nor Eric. "A certain redhead we both know."
Torrance and Wessel both chuckle as Torrance twists around to look back at the aforementioned redhead. Eric chuckles, too, pulling my unwilling eyes to him. My heart beats harder when he glances down at me, his soft smile still on his face despite his dying laughter. He leans in closer to me and says, "I didnae build him up that much."
Warmth comes over my heavy, hurting heart. Though I try to stop it, a small smile pushes at the corners of my frozen mouth. "His renown precedes him."
"By Wessel's courtesy," Torrance says. I must take my eyes from Eric. It claws my heart up inside much like those delvir wolves did to Eric and me. Eric tears his eyes from me to look at Torrance, yet I find my eyes stuck on him. Hot desire flows into my loins, making me throb painfully, but another desire fills me up. It's the desire to speak with him, to laugh with him, to just lie in his arms and rest my ear on his beating heart in companionable silence. The ease that naturally came between Torrance and me...I want that ease between Eric and me. I sense it there between us. More than anything, I think he wants it too...but it's oppressed by my deception, by my lies.
"In that case," Torrance starts, laying his hand on my shoulder, "we should head to Vilgard." Those words manage to tear my eyes from Eric, though it takes every bit of me to do so. "Locke is there waiting for us." Torrance looks between Eric and me. "He's our bargaining chip for the debt Eric racked up at the healer's."
"Pff!" Eric scoffs, pulling my teary eyes to him. He shakes his head at Torrance. "He extortin' ye. Ye know that."
Torrance sighs heavily. "He's extorting all of us. Let's just take it one step at a time. After we treat her," Torrance nods his head at me, "we'll see how much we owe. Then we'll figure out how to pay him back."
Eric grumbles something under his breath, most likely cursing Vilgard's healer who's apparently an extortionist.
Worry stirs in me. "We cannot stay in Vilgard long," I say, pulling all eyes to me. My nerves buzz from having all their eyes on me. God, I think the two horses are even looking at me! I swallow hard. "Finn and his search party...God only knows how close they are. Or what other methods Ravenna will turn to!" I turn my chin up to Eric, meeting his worried gaze. He knows I'm referring to the delvir wolves. I don't have to say it. "Eric, please—"
"Easy, lass." He grabs my arms in a firm grip and squeezes them, trying to comfort me. It barely works. "Like Torrance said, one step at a time. Let's get ye to the healer's place first."
"I will not put the people of Vilgard at risk!" I snap, my eyes stinging with another surge of tears. "Not like Hymark!"
"Hymark was a raid that we were unfortunate 'nough to be caught in!" His eyes soften with sympathy. Or is that pity? "I told ye this before."
I shake my head. "Raid or no raid, my presence still put Hymark at risk!" Eric's brows furrow, hardening his eyes and deepening his wrinkles. "Just tell me we won't stay long!" I plead.
"We do have a cabin," Torrance chimes in, successfully pulling blue eyes from dark eyes. "It's further down in the valley, up the mountainside." Torrance looks straight at me. "I cannot tell you how soon we will leave, but I promise you we will leave as soon as we can."
I sigh, my heart sinking. I am fighting a losing battle. Still, I have to try for the people of Vilgard no matter how few they may number. Though I refuse to fight for my—Tabor's people due to the painful death I would end up suffering, I can keep running. At the very least, a brief visit to Vilgard will spare the people...or would even a brief visit put them at risk? I couldn't have been in Hymark for no more than a day when Ravenna's random raid rolled through and cut down innocents and burned everything to ash.
"Come, milady," Torrance urges me and rises to his feet. Eric starts to rise with me.
"Now I wonder if I even step foot into Vilgard, will that be their death sentence?" I choke up on the last few words, a sob shaking me as Eric helps me to stand on my frozen feet.
"I understand your worry, but I highly doubt that," Wessel says as he comes up to us, snow crunching beneath his snowshoes. He stops before me. "You need treatment now. You've been out in the cold far too long."
"Ylva!" Eric calls. The black mare nickers in response and comes to her hunter. She turns about, bearing her flank to us so that someone can climb up onto the saddle. "C'mon, lass," he murmurs and grabs my sides.
"Eric, what are you doing!?" My stomach drops as he lifts me up and seats me on Ylva's saddle. "Your back!—"
"It's fine!" Eric looks up at me, his brows still furrowed with annoyance, but something softens the edges of his eyes.
"She does have a point—" Torrance starts, but Eric casts him a look, silencing him. Torrance sighs in defeat. "You're still healing, that's all I was trying to say."
"A little late on that," Eric mutters and shakes his head. He glances up at me, his brows relaxing. He gives me a small smile, his hands lingering on me for a breath too long. My stomach knots up as he takes his hands from me and grabs Ylva's reins. "Let's head to Vilgard." He looks back at Torrance and Wessel.
"Yes, let's!" Torrance says with a huff and climbs up onto his horse. My eyes still on Torrance's horse. The animal is beautiful with its tan coat and dark legs and the striking black stripe that runs down the length of its back. I manage to tear my eyes from the striking steed and glance down at Wessel. He looks between Eric and me, worry in his eyes. He meets my eyes and frowns at me just as I frown at him. He did not miss how comfortable Eric was with holding me, cradling me, and lifting me up onto Ylva. He most certainly did not miss Eric's hands lingering on me.
Torrance spurs his horse and turns him about, guiding him towards the collection of snow-covered rooftops in the distance. Wessel tears his eyes from me and trudges through the snow after Torrance.
Guilty hands wrap about my heart and try to strangle it. If I told Eric my true name now, confess every lie to him...perhaps all he would see would be the eyes of his brother's killer and he would leave me out of rage. Even though Eric would be gone, I can be assured that Wessel would take me the rest of the way to Hammond's fortress. Snow crunches beneath Eric's boots as he starts walking across the basin, leading Ylva and me to Vilgard. I look ahead at all the snow-covered rooftops. Wessel and Torrance have managed to gain some ground ahead of us. Torrance is on his horse's back and Wessel is walking beside them, both men deep in their own discussion. My stomach knots more. Eric put that distance between us on purpose.
"No kiss?" Eric asks, a strange mix of teasing and disappointment tainting his words.
Against my better judgment, my eyes drift down to him, catching his sideways glance. He smirks at me, but his icy eyes are sad. My heart twists about itself, hurting terribly in my chest. What I would not give to leap down off Ylva's saddle, throw my arms about him, and press my frozen, cracked mouth to his. What I would not give, all except my love for him. I stay atop Ylva, both my legs dangling down her left flank.
I force a small smile for his sake, some words coming to mind to turn his attention elsewhere. "I'm just...overjoyed that you're alive, on your feet, laughing…" My eyes start to burn and my throat tightens up. My heart beats harder against my sternum, begging to be nearer to the hunter. I lean upon Ylva's neck and stretch my bound hand to him, barely able to reach his arm because of Ylva's height. She is taller than most horses, which suits Eric.
He glances down at my bound hand and frowns. He stops suddenly in his tracks, letting Ylva take a few steps ahead before she stops too, bringing me right beside him. He looks up at me with sudden determination and grabs the back of my neck. My heart lurches forward. Tingling trickles down all the nerves in my neck, back and chest like raindrops. That warning voice inside me screams for me to pull back, to turn away, yet the sight of his parted mouth nearing me and the gentle, guiding press of his hand upon the back of my neck...my weary eyes drift shut as if to sleep, my flesh surrendering with frightening ease. His mouth presses against mine, tender and almost still. My heart wrings itself with guilt, but all that leaves me is a slight whimper of protest. Tears slide down my cheeks and soak his cheeks. He moves his mouth, taking my bottom lip between the softness and warmth of his. Feeling flows back into my mouth with my lifeblood, tingling with pin pricks all over. The salty tang of my tears appears on the tip of my tongue.
My chest tightens and burns with the demand for breath, but my guilty heart begs me not to break this kiss. My every nerve, my every muscle fiber, my every sinew, down to the smallest bit of my bone marrow—all my flesh pleads to not be parted from Eric no matter how desperate I am for air. If my death is imminent anyways, why not die here and now like this? But somewhere deep in my soul, there is a cold stirring, reminding me of every single lie I've ever told him.
His lips part from me. The cold air assaults my warmed flesh almost immediately, stabbing my cracked lips with a thousand needles. I force my eyes open and blink furiously, trying to clear the tears so that I might see him more clearly. I manage to clear my sight of him enough to see the wetness of my tears on his cheeks. His eyes—the corners are glistening with tears! He shed some tears, too...over me. He cannot weep for me. He cannot mourn me when I die!
He sucks in a deep breath, puffing out his chest. "Yer here," he breathes out and presses his forehead to mine. I peel apart my stinging lips and try to force my true name out. I tighten my stomach, my chest, my whole damn body just to squeeze my true name out of me! His eyes fall shut, his chest falling and rising with purposely slow, deep breaths. All that leaves me is an audible breath. Why am I so weak!? Can I not even say these four simple words to him!? These four simple words that are right and honest, these four simple words that would spare his heart from me...yet would shake and shatter everything that has grown between us. Do I truly love him? That dismal thought rends what is left of my heart.
He pulls back from me and forces his heavy eyes open. He breathes out again as he takes his hand from my neck and brushes away my falling tears with his fingers. "Let's get ye to Vilgard." He takes a slow, reluctant step back from me, as if some heavy boulder is chained to his ankle. I can only watch him with tear-filled eyes as he turns to the snowy basin ahead. He looks at Ylva and pats her neck. "C'mon, lass," he murmurs to her.
Ylva nickers and starts walking alongside Eric. Even though her reins are still in his hand, he has no need to lead her. I tear my eyes from Eric and Ylva and scrub them on the back of my linen-bound hand. I manage to clear enough of my tears to see that Wessel and Torrance have gotten far ahead of us, both men already halfway to the village. Fright shoots through me. Did Wessel and Torrance see us kiss? Or Eric resting his forehead against mine? I swallow hard. I can only imagine how Wessel would be if he knew that I let Eric kiss me. I am leading his heart down this path that is full of lies and deceit, which can only end in grief and ruin. I would end up hurting Wessel, too. He called Eric his brother. He cares for Eric as he cares for me. If he knew that I let Eric kiss me, that I did nothing to deter him, that I did not utter the truth to him...how would he see me then? A liar? A traitor? Would that be enough to drive him away from me? Not his physical presence from me, but his heart from me? Would he grow to hate his little sister? To go from having no love in this world to having my brother back...I cannot lose him again. Perhaps one of these days I will somehow find the strength to confess my true name to Eric. Perhaps once I am rewarmed and I have slept enough, I will find the strength to tell him. But for now, I am too weak.
"Eric?"
He looks back at me immediately. I open my mouth to ask him this favor, but no words leave me. His eyes soften. "What is it?" he asks.
I can't help frowning. My heart aches terribly. Once I am healed and rested enough, I will have the strength to utter my true name to him. I must. But for now, I am too weak. "Can we not...uh…," I trail off, my cheeks heating up. Why is this so damn hard to say!? I've uttered far more obscene things to him.
He raises his brows. "Can we no' what?"
I swallow again, hurting the lump in my throat. Just say it, damn it! "Hug – kiss," I shrug my shoulders in a strange attempt to loosen my tongue, "in front of Wessel and Torrance, in front of anyone."
His eyes widen with surprise. "Why no'?"
I shrug my shoulders again, trying to make this request seem less grave than it truly is. "I'm just...I don't want that attention. Their questions, their teasing...perhaps even their criticism." I gulp down more spit that has gathered in my mouth. Despite my blurry sight, I see that frown dragging down his mouth. "I just want this to be between you and I."
"This?" he repeats with a faint smirk. He looks from my toes to my head, his smirk growing and his eyes darkening. "Aye, then." He looks ahead to Vilgard and chuckles. "We'll keep this secret. It'll be fun...for a bit."
Worry stirs in my gut. "For a bit? What do you mean by that?"
He looks back at me, his amused look gone. He stops walking. Ylva, too, stops beside him. My teary eyes do not, cannot stray from him as he reaches for me and covers what's left of my heart with his bear-sized hand. "I've asked ye this before. Please dinnae cut off yer heart from me."
My heart wrenches itself. "Eric!—"
"Listen to me!" He takes in a deep, difficult breath. "Whatever this is between us, wherever it takes us…," he swallows, the bump in his throat moving up and down with his spit, "...if ye decide to give me any part of yerself...I want all of ye. Yer body, yer spirit…" He glances down at his hand covering my whole heart. His eyes slowly drift up to mine. He doesn't have to say the last of it.
God, how right I was. He has lost himself down this path just like I have. Perhaps he has gone even farther down this road than me. I shake my head at him and place my linen bound hand over his. I would push his hand away if I had the strength to.
"My spirit and my heart would bring you no good." My sight blurs with too many tears. I drop my head. I don't want him to see me crying over this. "Believe me," I plead, my voice shaking.
He lets go of his breath, torturing my chilled ears with the sound. His hand leaves my heart and covers my whole cheek. "I'll decide that for myself," he says. He brushes some tears from my face and steps back. "No more dallyin'."
With that said, he turns and leads us towards the settlement. What am I going to do? At least he is willing to keep this—whatever this is—secret for now. But that doesn't change my seeming inability to utter the truth to him. Were I anyone else, my future full of unlived years, no lies spouted out of me like diseased shoots, I would be overjoyed that Eric wants all of me. Yet this is nothing to rejoice over. Disgust for myself fills me. Once I am rewarmed and rested, I must tell him my true name. Behind closed doors. With Wessel nearby in case I must cry for help...though deep down, I know Eric would never attack me like he did my father. At the most, he will leave me out of rage. Perhaps even hatred. A terrible ache torments my heart. How painful that will be to watch. To remember. I scoff to myself. That will probably drive me to drink.
As we near Vilgard, the faint buzz of voices reaches my ears. My heart picks up and my stomach tightens with anticipation. It's been sometime since I last heard that beautiful sound of people. God, I pray this lovely sound is not soon followed by cries and screams of horror. Just let the soft hum of people continue in calm and peace.
Finally, we step into Vilgard onto a small road that cuts through the settlement. The road is only visible because the traffic that frequents it has matted down the snow. There are a few souls out now. Three men are trekking into Vilgard at the opposite end of the road with heavy bundles of firewood strapped to their backs. Two women linger in the open doorway of the cobbler's shop chatting with one another. One of the women has a young girl at her feet playing with her dolls, looking to have no more than three or four years.
A distant memory comes to the forefront, bringing a faint smile to me. I remember the doll I found abandoned on the roadside of Kalobarrow one day while visiting the town with William. It was mudstained and ragged, clearly a common folk's doll with its shoddy stitch work. I couldn't even tell if the doll was a boy or a girl. I had picked up the doll and asked all the little ones I could find if it was their doll. None of them claimed the doll as their own, so at the end of the day when William had had enough of searching for the doll's owner, I decided to take it home. My decision to keep the dirty doll was met with William's disapproval, but I hardly cared then. Hell, I hardly care now! I just...I wish I had that doll in my hands now. God only knows what has happened to it.
Eric veers off the main road onto a matted down path along the edge of town. Damn me, I shouldn't care about some dirty old doll from my youth! I have lost Eric's hatchets, the compass his dead mother gave him, the lamia balm that could have been used for him, most everything he possessed save his bear satchel and the meager supplies in it.
My eyes prickle with another bout of tears as we approach a modest sized stable at the end of the path. Only one of its doors are cracked open. Two men linger next to the open door speaking with each other. One of them is unmistakably Torrance. He is leaning against the brick and mortar outerwall of the stable with his arms crossed. He looks relaxed. Confident. The other man he is speaking with is a head shorter than him. As we near them, I scrub the tears from my eyes to get a better look at them. No, the shorter one is not quite a man yet, nor is he quite a boy. He is caught somewhere between, barely sprouting his first chin hairs. He sweeps his boot across the snow in front of him, his chin lowered just enough. He is the exact opposite of Torrance. Timid and reserved.
"I don't believe she'll ever notice me, Sir," the boy says. "She barely noticed me when I tried to talk to her."
Torrance chuckles and shakes his head. "I remember when I had your years. The hardest thing a man can do is strike up a conversation with a lady he likes. It was the hardest thing for me to do, especially with my first love."
The boy frowns. "You had a first love?"
"It was Veronica if I remember correctly," Eric says with a grin as we reach them, pulling their gazes to us.
The boy's cheeks redden as he shrinks beneath Eric like a wilting flower. The poor boy. I know exactly how he feels.
Torrance huffs and waves Eric off. "It took you long enough to get here. Did you take the scenic route!?"
The boy hastens to Eric and takes Ylva's reins from him. He must be a stablehand. Eric chuckles and retorts, "Somethin' like that."
The boy looks up at me and grows still. His mouth parts as his cheeks turn redder. My heart softens for him.
"While you were taking the scenic route, we had an interesting development occur," Torrance starts with Eric.
I take the opportunity to lean down to the boy. His eyes widen, which makes me smile. "This girl you like, does she have a good heart?" I ask the boy softly.
His brows furrow. "A good heart?" he echoes, bewildered.
I nod once. My smile presses into my cheeks. "Young man, what is your name?"
He swallows hard. "Andrew."
"Andrew. I can tell you have a good heart." My smile suddenly feels too sweet. My heart beats harder with guilt. "A good heart can be taken advantage of so easily. You deserve a good heart, I can tell you that right now." Andrew's eyes grow even bigger. I force my smile to stay and place my linen wrapped hand on his shoulder. "Before you try to speak with this girl again, see how she treats others. Her family, her friends, and strangers she happens upon. Her actions will say so much more than any word she speaks. If she's even worthy of you."
"I, uh...thank you, milady." Andrew nods his head in gratitude. A smile suddenly spreads his mouth. "When I next see her, I'll see how she is with others before I try to talk to her again."
"Of course," I murmur and glance up at the two men.
"You think we could pull this off?" Torrance asks Eric.
My stomach stirs with worry as my eyes dart to Eric. There's a hesitant smile tugging at his mouth, yet there is concern in his eyes. Dread fills me. Dread for what, I'm not sure. "Pull what off?" I ask them both just as Eric is about to speak.
He closes his mouth and glances at me, clearly thinking over whatever Torrance just told him. "A way to pay back Hector, the good ole healer here," he mocks the man that I have yet to meet.
"The extortionist?" I frown at him.
He sighs and nods, his gaze lingering on me for a breath too long. He manages to tear his eyes from me and turns his attention back to Torrance. "Let's stick to what ye said for now. One thing at a time. Healer's place for the lass first." He reaches into a small leather pouch tied to the one belt he is wearing and pulls out a bronze coin. "Here lad," he hands the coin to Andrew, "for my horse. I'll take the lass." Eric scoops me off Ylva's back and starts carrying me back down along the path!
My stomach and heart twist. Why is he carrying me!? "Put me down, I can walk! Your back!—"
"Is fine! I carried firewood into town yesterday!"
"Which I begged you not to!" Torrance snaps, trailing close behind us.
I twist about in Eric's arms to catch a glimpse of Torrance past Eric's shoulder. "Is this really bad, Torrance!? Should he not be straining himself like this!?"
Torrance opens his mouth, but Eric beats him to it. "I'm no' strainin' myself! Do ye both forget I'm a mountain man!? A son of Ursus!? I'm stronger than ten of ye lowlanders put together. Tsk!" He glances down at me, too smug for his own good. "Yer the lightest thin' I've ever carried."
I scowl at him, my nerves frayed. Torrance is not going to pluck me out of Eric's arms. It'd be like trying to snatch a salmon out of a bear's paws. "You know it's only out of concern for you. I mean, it's not as if you were lying comatose on a sled that I made from our skis only five days ago!"
That wipes the smug look from his face. He frowns down at me, hurt in his eyes. "I'm no' as frail as ye think," he murmurs only for my ears. He breathes in deeply and looks up at Torrance who is now walking beside us. "Ye and Locke carried me all the way here. Ye purged the poison out of me. She pushed my dead weight on a sled she was clever enough to make for days. She kept me safe from frostbite. Really, she feels like nothin' in my arms." He glances down at me, his eyes brimming with so much that it rends my heart. "Let me do somethin'. It's either Torrance or I carry ye. Ye cannae be walkin' on yer feet right now. No' with the frostbite."
I sigh in defeat and look to Torrance. "I assume you would have pulled me out of his arms by now if he absolutely could not lift anything."
Torrance groans in shared defeat. "Yes. I'd prefer he give his back a rest, but," he shrugs his shoulders and looks at the path ahead, "I can't tell him what to do for the life of me, but now that you have access to a proper healer," he looks at me, "it's essential you stay off your feet. Walking on frostbitten flesh only makes the injury worse."
Fear forms a heavy pit in my stomach. I know I've lost toes to this ordeal, but have I lost more than just my toes? My fingers? My ears? My nose? God, if it came to it, I would give my limbs and my life just to save Eric! I'm beyond words that he is alive and his old stubborn self again, but I cannot shake the part of me that fears how he will see me after I lose more parts of my body. Already I am nothing more than scarred skin over brittle bones. I shouldn't care...yet I want him to see me as beautiful. Not only that, but the questions that would arise. I don't believe he knows I am missing three toes already. If he sees them missing, he'll ask what happened. What I did to Sara's body...that is the one dark truth I can never tell him.
Eric follows Torrance all the way to the healer's home with me cradled in his arms. The house is not much from the outside. It's a simple log cabin. Perhaps there's a small cellar below where food and other essentials are kept to preserve with the earth's chill. It's actually a bit smaller than the other businesses and homes surrounding it, but it must serve its purpose to this little settlement and its visitors. The healer saved Eric...or did Torrance save him?
Torrance approaches the front door of the healer's home and opens it. He steps into the darkness of the cabin and looks about. "Hello, anyone home!?" he calls out, the log walls soaking up his voice. I tense up in Eric's arms, my ears dying to hear some response. Nothing. Just the faint whistle of the wind out here and the soft cracklings of a fire coming from somewhere inside. "Tsk!" Torrance scoffs and steps aside, holding the door wide open. "It looks like we've got the house to ourselves for the moment." He grins and waves his hand in an exaggerated gesture. "Please, come into my humble abode!"
Eric snickers as he carries me inside. "I'm no' surprised."
"Right!" Torrance agrees with a grin and shuts the door behind us. I scan the small, cluttered space. It looks like a healer's home, yet it's more spacious than Eliza and Geoffrey's home was—before it was burned. If my presence brings Finn and Ravenna to this healer's doorstep—Don't think of it, Snow. Don't. There's shelves lining the far back wall that are stocked with salves, linens, books, and other sharp looking instruments that send a shiver down me. Drying herbs hang from the ceiling like party streamers. There are three straw cots set up in the middle of the room before the hearth for the ill to lay on. My heart wrenches itself. I can just see Eric's comatose body stretched out on one of those cots, his feet hanging off the edge because of his unusual stature. I hum to myself and try to push the thought from my head. I glance at the low fire crackling in the hearth. I can already feel its warmth from here.
"Where's Locke and Wessel?" Eric asks.
I pick my head up off Eric's chest to look at Torrance and speak up. "I haven't seen Wessel since we came into Vilgard."
Torrance nods. "Wessel and Locke were in the barn with me while we were waiting for you two to show up." He crosses the space to the shelves and gathers some salves and linens. "We were approached by Beith with a — proposition, if you wish to call it that."
"Beith!?" Eric echoes with surprise, pulling my eyes up to him. "I huvnae seen the wee bastard in years!"
Torrance laughs as he fills his left arm up with the supplies. "He asked about you." He turns about and arranges all his supplies on a table beside a straw cot. "He wondered how you're doing, believe it or not!"
"What!?" Eric asks in disbelief.
My brows furrow and I turn my chin up to him. "Who's Beith?" I murmur to him.
He looks down at me, scorn in his eyes, yet there's a smirk turning up the corner of his mouth. "He's ah...hmm," he hums as he tilts his head, "I dinnae know!" He straightens his head as his smirk leaves him. "Certainly no' a friend, but I'm no' sure I'd call him my mortal enemy."
"Yet," Torrance mutters loud enough that I hear him from across the room.
I frown at Eric. "But who is he?"
He sighs. "An old accomplice."
My eyes widen. "An accomplice!? You mean as in crime!?"
He returns my frown with his own. "Thievery," he admits. "It's no' somethin' I'm proud of."
"Milady, if Wessel has told you anything about us," Torrance starts, pulling my attention back to him, "we're not innocent men. The four of us lost our way for years after the Phantom War. It didn't get better when we crossed paths with Beith and his merry little band. We ran together for sometime. We stole from nobles who were out travelling and raided the Queen's caravans. But we weren't completely depraved either. We kept what we needed and gave the rest to the poor."
Thieves with a moral code. Rationalization to ease the panging guilt of the sin. "Like Robinhood?" I smirk.
Torrance chuckles. "If only." He shakes his head of the topic and glances up at Eric and I. "You can lay her down here." He nods to the straw cot before him.
"Aye, alright," he sighs. Perhaps a little slower than he should, he carries me to the cot and sets me down on it with all his care and gentleness.
I turn my head up and offer him a small smile as he pulls away. "Thank you," I utter. Never have I been more honest in my whole sorry existence. Eric merely returns my smile with his own and sits down on the edge of the cot.
"Sweeter than honey," Torrance mutters to himself. I glance at him, my brows furrowing. I watch him as he pulls up a stool to the foot of the cot and sits down on it. What's sweeter than honey?
He turns his eyes to my bound feet. "Alright, Greta, let's see what we have."
A sharp pang enters my heart. Not my name, but her name. I am a thief, really. And here I was a moment ago judging Eric and Torrance for thieving once. I brace my bound hands on the cot and push myself to sit up. Torrance slips one hand beneath my left leg and lifts it up. He examines the shamefully big wad of linen about my foot and finds the tucked end of the linen. He pulls out the end and begins the nerve wracking process of unwrapping my left foot.
I swallow hard, my stomach knotting more with each strip of linen that he unwraps from my foot. I watch as the wad of linen hiding my foot steadily shrinks with each strip he pulls away. The worst are Eric's eyes on my foot. I can see him in my periphery, the worry knitting his brows. It takes everything in me to not look right at him, yet it is also the easiest thing to do. I don't want him in here. I don't want him to see my frostbitten feet, nor my three missing toes. He will ask about them. I cannot be put on the spot, spinning another half-baked lie. He hates lying. He said as much back in that dark forest. It'd be so much easier to say I lost my toes to this ordeal. Granted, that is also a lie, but at least it does not need a whole new story to explain it away. I sigh. No matter how much I have missed Eric these last five days, I do not want him to see me now.
The bed creaks as Eric leans forward. Torrance pulls the last strip of linen away from my foot and rolls the leg of Wessel's trousers up my thin thigh until he exposes a strip of pasty skin above my outer stocking. He must leave now.
"Eric, please leave." The words are out of my mouth before I can think of a nicer way to say it. Torrance looks up at me with worry, stilling his hands. The stuffy air of this healer's house grows hotter. I force my eyes to the crackling flames in the hearth, their once wonderful warmth suddenly oppressive.
"Why?" Eric asks softly, though there's an edge to it, like he's ready to fight just to stay seated beside me on this cot.
That snaps something in me. Why does he have to see my hideousness and my shame? Morbid curiosity to see what parts of my body I gave up to save him? "Please Eric, I don't—" Fear stops me. It's no longer fear of how he'll see me after all this is said and done, but rather him discovering the dark truth of how I desecrated his wife's corpse. "Torrance is enough. You can go to the tavern down the road." I gesture to the front door.
Eric shakes his head in my periphery and grabs one of my bound hands in his. "Why chase me out? Let me help. I know a few thin's about frostbite—"
"So do I," Torrance cuts in. I glance at Torrance. He looks at Eric with hard eyes. "She just wants less eyes on her. I doubt she means anything harsh by it."
For a moment, Eric does not move nor take his hands from the wad of linen about my hand. Part of me is grateful for the layers of linen separating his skin from mine, but a larger part of me longs for the feel of his rough hand.
Eric sighs in defeat and takes his hands from mine. "Fine," he says stiffly and rises from the bed, the wood frame groaning with relief from his weight. "Send word when yer done." He starts for the front door.
"See if you can find Wessel and Locke while you're there. I have a sneaking suspicion Beith took them to the tavern," Torrance calls after Eric.
"Aye," Eric grumbles dismissively. He does not intend to find Wessel and Locke. No, he intends to find the bottom of a tankard. Worry stirs in me. It's a foolish one, but it spikes jealousy in my heart and turns my eyes to him as he opens the door and steps out into the darkening world. There will be women at the tavern, no doubt. Young, pretty women with full breasts and soft hips, their feet and hands and face free of frostbite.
Just before he closes the door, his eyes catch mine. His gaze softens with something that rends my heart. He doesn't want to leave. I don't want him to leave...but isn't this how it must be? Say he does find a young, pretty woman at the tavern like he once did Sara. It will spare his heart of me. It will be enough when he learns my true name. Perhaps he will not hate me as much this way. My stomach wrenches suddenly. To think that he will hate me one day. Soon.
"I'll see ye soon," he tells me.
I frown at him, my heart pounding against my sternum. "Just don't repeat what you did in Hymark."
That makes him pause for a few breaths. He sighs reluctantly. "Aye, then. One drink, then I'll find those sorry fools." He closes the door behind him, leaving me and Torrance in this cramped, stuffy space.
"May I?" Torrance speaks up. My eyes remain stuck on the last place they saw Eric. I'm not quite sure I want to see the damage that has been done.
I nod. "Go ahead."
I barely feel the brushing of his rough fingers as he rolls my two stockings down my leg. He takes my ankle in his hands and angles my leg in several different positions, no doubt examining my foot.
"Do you feel this?" he asks me.
My brows furrow, but I keep my eyes fixed on the front door. "I feel your hand about my ankle...barely."
"What about here?"
Dread fills my stomach like a dark, heavy pit. "I know what frostbite feels like...when it claims a part of you."
Torrance sighs and sets my leg down on the stiff mattress as gently as he can. "I see that. Do you not wish to look?"
I shake my head and swallow hard. "Not really. How much have I lost?"
"Milady," he starts and rests a gentle hand on my knee, "you have deep frostbite, but I cannot say right now how severe your frostbite is. We need to rewarm you first. Would you be alright with me helping you into a warm bath?"
My eyes snap to him, my stomach knotting terribly. "Why can't I warm myself in front of the fire!?"
He frowns at me, though his eyes are soft...understanding. "Trying to rewarm yourself by the fire runs the risk of burning yourself. If you would really prefer the fire, then at least let me put your hands and feet in buckets of warm water. I'll prepare some herbs for you that will help with the pain that often comes with rewarming." He stands up from his stool and plucks some dried leaves off several plants dangling from the ceiling. "I'm also going to give you some herbs that will help open up your vessels and thin out your blood—"
"Thin out my blood!?" I ask, fright shooting through me.
He chuckles softly and drops the plucked leaves into a mortar on the table. "It's nothing dangerous, I assure you." He picks up the mortar and pestle in either hand and grinds up the dried leaves as he explains, "It's good practice when treating anyone with frostbite. Frostbite can create blood clots. Generally, blood clots are good. Say you have a massive wound that is bleeding profusely. Your body will try to stop you from bleeding out by making your blood clot, but should that clot break away and travel through your body, it can block up one of your other vessels and stop your blood from going where it must go. I've seen men die from rogue clots that get caught in their lungs. It's not a pleasant way to go. Now, if you'd prefer the buckets over a warm bath, I can do that, but I'd recommend the bath." He glances at me, still grounding the pestle against the clay mortar. "Would you feel more comfortable with a woman helping you into the bath? I could find a friendly neighbor here, easy. The folks here are generous."
My shoulders slump as I let go of my breath. My stomach is knotted so much. My nerves are buzzing. I'd much rather that this healer, this stranger really, not see me naked. What will be more embarrassing than my naked body will be my starved form, my bones gaunt beneath my pasty skin, the scars that riddle my arms and legs, and my flat chest. He may be a healer, but he is also a man. Surely, he would notice all my shortcomings. Perhaps in his mind he will compare me to all the other far more beautiful women he has seen. Perhaps he'll pity me. God only knows as I already know Torrance would never utter cruel remarks to an ailing person.
Torrance grinds the pestle about the mortar one last time and sets the pestle on the table. My eyes follow him as he goes to the hearth and grabs a ladle out of the black iron pot hanging over the flames. He stirs the ladle about the pot three times and scoops a serving of the pot's watery contents into the mortar. He rests the ladle's curved tip on the pot's edge and turns back to me, offering me the steaming mortar. "Drink all this. It will make the rewarming more tolerable."
My heart swells with gratitude. I lift my bound hands and carefully take the mortar out of his grasp. I bring the steaming mortar to my mouth. The steam wafts up to my nose, its warmth so wonderful on my chilled flesh. There's a faint bitter scent, though I cannot pinpoint what it is. It's not unpleasant. A painfully tender smile pushes into my cheeks. "Thank you," I utter. Perhaps that's the second most honest thing I've ever said.
Torrance returns my smile and nods. "Drink it up." He grabs the stool and drags it around the bed to my right foot. "Would you prefer I find a lady to help you into the bath?" He sits down on the stool and props up my right leg in his hand. "Or would you prefer to dip your hands and feet in some buckets?" He looks over my foot, searching for the tucked end of the linen. "I'll also put some warm rags on your face to warm up your cheeks and nose."
My heart beats harder and faster. The horrifying image of parts of my cheeks turning black and my nose falling off plays in my mind mercilessly. "How bad is the frostbite on my face!?" I croak, my eyes tingling.
"Oh!" His worried eyes dart up to me. "Please don't worry about that, my dear!" He pats my knee with his free hand in an effort to comfort me. It barely works. "I would not call that frostbite to your nose and cheeks, but rather frostnip. Once your nose and cheeks are rewarmed, you'll have full feeling there again. You might have an increased sensitivity to the cold there for the rest of your life, but that's the worst of it, I can assure you."
For the rest of my life. The relief of his words wants to come and fill me, to ease the tension in me, but the bitter reminder of how short my life is now...well, it doesn't matter now. All that matters now is Eric and Greta. Eric is alive because of the thirteen years I gave him, but Greta is still imprisoned in that cursed cell. I still need to reach Hammond's so that I may implore his help to free her. I need to be in as good of shape as I can possibly be. That starts with me taking this healer's advice. I know I am already going to lose my toes. I see the stiff, grey flesh of my remaining toes in the bottom of my sight. The last thing I need to do is burn myself before a damn hearth!
I offer Torrance a faint nod. He frowns at me, but he takes his hand from my knee and begins the torturous process of unwrapping my foot. I bring the steaming mortar to my mouth and down the warm mixture in five gulps. The bitter taste lingers on my tongue and at the back of my throat as I rest the mortar in my lap and watch Torrance continue undressing my foot.
"You can help me into the bath."
He spares me a quick glance. "You're alright with that?"
I nod. "Yes," I answer, that 'yes' coming easier than I thought it would.
He nods as he pulls the last strip of linen from my foot, rolls up the trousers' leg and carefully takes off my stockings.
I hold the damp, warm rags over my cheeks and nose, though they are dry. My ears, nose, and the tops of my cheeks are tingling and burning now. My freshly wrapped hands almost feel like they are on fire! My wrapped feet barely tingle, though. Torrance said I'd feel this.
I try to sink back into the bed, but it's hard to relax with my feet propped up on a bunch of blankets. This bed is not as stiff as that damn straw cot out there, but at least it's just me in here. Whether the healer who owns this business will let me stay the night in his bedroom remains to be seen. Torrance gave me his word he would ensure the healer does not chase me out. At least for tonight. How he's going to do that, I'm not sure.
Despite the burning of my face and hands, I am warm—for what feels like the first time in years! There's not even a slight draft in here. I've got ten blankets on me, a fat pillow beneath my head, and a belly full with warm food and drink. Eric is alive and well. I still feel that large space between Maacthis' evil and my heart. Now I can rest. Now I can truly close my eyes and sleep.
My eyes grow heavier with each blink. The soft orange glow of the candle dancing on the walls and ceiling creates its own silent melody. Worry grows in my stomach. What if Eric has found a woman to pass the night—stop thinking about it, Snow! You should be relieved. Not just relieved, but happy for him if he finds a good and honest woman. Not just happy, but overjoyed. He deserves no less. Hell, he deserves even more than that.
I suck in a deep breath and let it go through pursed lips. Forget about the worry. Forget about anything pertaining to him. Just focus on the candlelight. I need sleep. It's heavy in my body, nagging with my eyes.
After what seems an eternity of fighting with myself, I finally start sinking into the bed. My eyes grow heavier and heavier until they are almost impossible to keep open. The door creaks softly. A faint draft passes over my forehead. The floor groans beneath each footfall as it draws near the bed. Unease stirs in my gut. A towering figure comes over me, the pulled back hair and broad shoulders so familiar.
"Hey lass," the looming man rumbles. The greeting instantly soothes me, coaxing every last bit of tension out of me. My eyes finally fall shut, though I am awake enough to feel his presence standing so close to me. Am I dreaming this? Him being here?
The door creaks until it clicks. He draws near the bed once more and rests his warm hand across my whole forehead.
"Ye look better already," he murmurs so close to my ear. My heart picks up, stirring me enough to turn my head and force my eyes open. Icy eyes greet me, so foreign yet so familiar at the same time. A faint smile shapes his mouth. His smile grows as he strokes my forehead.
"You came back," I manage to say, my voice hoarse with exhaustion.
His eyes widen with a smirk. "Course I did. I came to see how ye were doin'."
"Hmm," I hum, my eyes drifting shut. "Mhmm."
He chuckles softly with a closed mouth. "I know ye said I dinnae owe ye my life, but…," he sighs, the sound of his smile gone, "...if ye were no' in Hymark, I'd be dead. If ye had left me in that snow cave like I'd begged ye to, I'd be dead. My debt to ye is growin'."
That gets me to open my eyes, though just barely. "Eric, no—"
"Shh." He presses his fingers against my mouth, silencing me before he pulls them away to rest them on my chin. "I jus' wanted to speak my piece."
My throat tightens and my eyes tingle and burn as the rest of me already is. How am I ever going to fall asleep now? There's no doubt now whether I am dreaming of him or not. He is here. God, how did I go from being overjoyed to see him to now wishing he had found his way into another woman's bed? My heart pounds against my sternum. I throw the damp rag off my face and wind my arms about him, forcing him into the crook of my neck. His arms tighten about me while he presses a kiss to my neck.
I prop my chin on his shoulder, putting my mouth near his ear. "Where are the others?" I croak, losing the fight to keep my tears at bay.
He lifts his mouth from my neck and chuckles into my ear. "Wessel and Locke are asleep in the main room. Torrance is still at the tavern. That bastard managed to get the healer so drunk he willnae be comin' home tonight."
My eyes pop open. "What?" Breathy laughter escapes me.
He chuckles again and pulls back to look at me. "I jus' came from the tavern to check on ye."
"Mm," I hum softly, searching his face with my teary eyes. Several loose strands of hair hang in his face, having escaped his ties long ago. I pull my left arm from him and gingerly scoop the loose hairs from his forehead with the back of my wrapped hand. I grit my back teeth against the burning now consuming my fingers. His gaze drops to my mouth. My heart beats harder, threatening to shatter my sternum and leap out of my chest just to be closer to him. I must ask him to leave. If I have any love for him, I will make him go.
He presses his hand across the back of my neck, urging my mouth to his. I plant my hand against his chest to push him back, but my resolve leaves me as soon as his warm breath strikes my mouth and chin. He stops a mere breath from me, his exhales fast and unbearably hot. He looks at me with those icy eyes, hesitant and brimming with so much that has gone unsaid.
My heart is thumping in my throat and pounding in my ears. My whole body is tingling and burning. Is my blood finally flowing back into my vessels that have been frozen for days or is this desire consuming me like hellfire? God, whatever it is, my body is crying for relief. That relief is only a breath's space from me. I lunge forward, crushing my mouth to his. A muffled yelp leaves him, but he tightens his hold of me and kisses me back. I sit up more to get closer to him, straining the tendons behind my knees. The fire inside me grows as our kiss deepens, allowing our tongues to meet.
He breaks our kiss suddenly, leaving me gasping. Gasping for air and from shock. I force my eyes open, crossing his concerned gaze.
I suck in a deep breath in a vain effort to compose myself. "What's wrong?"
"Now's no' the time," he whispers. My stomach clenches suddenly. I shrink back and drop my chin to hide my face from him. To think that bedding me is even in his mind… "Yer hands and feet are wrapped up. I doubt ye've had any decent sleep in over a week."
I swallow hard. "I'm sorry." I snatch my hands from him and lie back down on the bed. I force my head straight and fix my wide open eyes on the ceiling.
"Dinnae apologize...if ye want me to leave—"
"No!" I bolt upright. He looks at me, his eyes wide with shock and worry. "Please don't go." I shouldn't be begging him to stay. Look what started to happen. Yet, I can't watch him walk out that door. Not yet.
He slowly relaxes as his eyes flit back and forth in mine, searching for only God knows what. "Are ye sure? I'll be in the next room, ye have my word."
A frown weighs down my tingling mouth. "I don't want to chase you out. Not again." I scoot over in the bed as close to the wall as possible and pull the blankets back. "Lay with me."
His brows furrow with concern as he looks between me and the empty half of the bed. "Is that wise?" he asks me.
My heart beats harder, forcing more hot blood between my legs. I clench my thighs together in a vain effort to ward off my throbbing desire. "It may not be," I force out. Perhaps those are the most honest words I have ever spoken to him. "But I know that no matter what happens tonight, you'll be kind and gentle with me. I just want to feel you beside me, to lay in your arms...that's all I want this night." I dare not tell him I may not be able to sleep should he refuse to lay down with me. If I love him at all, I will not make him feel guilty for my inability to sleep soundly.
He looks between my and the empty half of the bed a few more times, his thoughts far beyond my grasp. Not once does he glance back at the door when his eyes finally rest on me. His gaze intensifies on me as he shrugs off his coat and tosses it over the back of a chair in the corner. My heart falters. He's made his choice. He undoes the one belt about his waist and drapes that over his coat. I scoot back until my back is flush against the wall to give him as much space as possible. He turns his back to me and sits down on the bed. The bed groans beneath his weight while he leans forward and pulls off his left boot and then his right boot. I cannot stop my eyes from skimming over his strong shoulders and down his back. They still on the very spot where he had been pierced. What does his wound look like now? Surely dead flesh cannot remain on the body lest infection set in?
My eyes dart up to him when he turns about and lifts his legs onto the bed, being careful of my bandaged feet propped on the blankets. He lies back and stretches out, his feet reaching past the edge of the bed because of his size. I snicker to myself and throw the blankets over us both as best I can.
"What're ye laughin' at?" He grabs the edges of the blankets and pulls them over the rest of himself.
I glance back at him, a smirk on his face. I place my hand on his heart, feeling the life beating strong in him. My chest swells with triumph and pushes a painfully tender smile into my cheeks. If I had to die for him so that he might live, I would do so gladly. "You're too tall," I tell him.
He busts out chuckling. "It's no' my fault ye lowlanders make yer beds too small for us mountain men." My brows furrow with confusion. Before I can speak, he wraps his arm about me. "Lie down," he says. He pulls me down beside him, guiding my head to rest on his shoulder. His shoulder is hard with muscle unlike that fat pillow I had under my head on a moment ago, but it's also warm with his life.
I take my hand from his heart and stretch my arm across his stomach. I have control of this power when I am awake, but when I fall asleep...Ravenna once told me that she loved a man. She laid with him with her hand on his heart, but that night she had a terrible dream. When she awoke, her lover was nothing but ash beneath her. If she is capable of that, then that means I am capable of that too.
I swallow hard and try to push that dreadful thought from my head. I was going to ask Eric something, but he cut me off when he had me lie down. What was it? What— "Oh yes, that's it!" I blurt out.
"What's it?" he asks above me, bewildered.
I snort. "Sorry. I meant to ask you before. You keep calling me and my fellow Taborans lowlanders. I suppose you call yourself a mountain man because you're from the mountains in the north, but why are we—why am I a lowlander to you?"
"Ah…," he trails off, sounding reluctant. Why? "I mean nothin' bad by it...though I guess it is condescendin'." He grips my arm and squeezes me. "I only call all ye lowlanders because it's a bad habit I ne'er bothered to shake. Where I was born and raised, we lived high up in the mountains. We could look down from our mountains on all ye who live in the lowlands and judge ye for all yer shortcomin's. Hence, mountain men and lowlanders. I'm sorry if I offended ye. I'll try to stop."
I burst out laughing. Wait, Wessel and Locke are close by! I clap my hand over my mouth to muffle myself. Sudden pain shoots up my wrist, cutting my laughter short. I grit my teeth to keep from crying out and lay my hurting hand back on his stomach. "You think I care that you call me a lowlander?" I force out a few small chuckles to make my point as clear as possible. "I was once like any other Taboran. So distrustful of outsiders, always suspecting treason from foreigners...but Greta, Wessel, you…" Lukas, too. To think that I am the daughter of his brother's killer...not killer, but murderer. "You have proven me wrong," I spit out. "Call me whatever you like. I deserve it."
He chuckles. "I could call ye a few thin's."
My stomach churns while my nerves buzz. I pray I do not regret asking this. "Like what?"
"Clever. Strong. Stubborn."
I snort, my cheeks burning. How embarrassing. "Oh God."
He chortles at me. "Beautiful. Kind. Generous. A wee bit feisty."
"Oh God, stop please!" I bury my face into his chest, a strange mix of nervous laughter and sobbing shaking me. I did not ask him to rattle off all the virtues he thinks I possess!
His breathy laughter dies as he rolls onto his side and folds me into his arms. "Yer a survivor. More so than me. There's a lot to adore."
My nervous laughter ebbs, but my sobbing continues. If only he knew the truth, I doubt he'd be saying any of this now, especially about adoring me in any way. I try to stifle my sobs. I manage to silence them save for my shaking breaths and sniffling, but I still soak his clean shirt through. He doesn't say anything more. He only strokes my back and holds me close to him, letting me weep against his chest and soak his shirt through to my heart's content. I don't fight the tears this time. I let them come, but I keep myself as quiet as possible.
Sometime in the black abyss, my tears dry up and I lose myself in his security and warmth.