Ragnall & Astraea, 1269-1270 CE

by The Modern Typewriter

Sometimes going home is harder than we think. Family isn't always how we imagine it will be. Sometimes the paths we take in life are simply beyond our choosing. There is more at stake now than ever for the Gonçalves de Clermont scion, and Addison finds herself once again caught up in the rapidly changing tides of history, wondering how on earth she'll make it through to spring.

14. Winter, Leavetaking

Thank you guys for reading and continuing to follow this story. As always I'd love to hear what you think!

Chapter Fourteen: Winter, Leavetaking

In a family known for keeping secrets, it would be safe to say the truth is never wholly attainable. When little gets discussed, the significant things can fall through the cracks. One can catch glimpses of truth scattered amongst the minutiae of several lives diversely lived. A scroll held in the fist of an heir. A diary with pages of papyrus stitched into its spine. A cave of dreams, and a dream with a warning. The words of a long dead mother, and a little snake chain bound into a knot of eternity.

And yet, not a single one of them could account for the whole truth of the entire tale.

Not one member of the Gonçalves de Clermont family could tell the entire tale as it occurred over the course of their lives.

Not one of them could predict what was bound to unfold, and what had unfolded already. The snake consumes its own tale. The swallow sits on a pair of perfectly balanced scales. And what will come for them someday has already transpired. For we began in the twenty-first century, long after it all started, and it will happen again someday in the past, long after it all ends.

All because Addison spends her winters in the wrong century.

But what question would suffice to find the answer to an unanswerable thing?

Which inquiry would lend sufficient for their need?

And for all the time in the world that they thought they had, why did it always feel as though it was running out?

It was as though the skies could sense that something was wrong.

Clouds gathered in the distance. Streaks of light flashed across the dark expanse. They lit the clouds and scattered like veins. Thunder cracked and the world trembled with rage.

---

Godfrey had never met a problem he couldn't solve on his own.

His brothers were much the same, he supposed, but he just seemed to do things better than they did.

While Hugh was driven to distraction by his dysfunctional family, and Baldwin was engaged with his former barbarian lover, and Matthew was busy sulking over yet another dead woman, Godfrey was busy trying to fix everything they had ruined, with their feelings and their impulses and their charity cases—

He scoffed and pushed away from his desk.

"Raymond," He called.

His squire appeared, "Sir?"

"Take these," Godfrey waved his hand tiredly over the tomes he had snagged from the library.

He pressed his knuckles into his eyes.

Raymond gathered the items and made for the door.

Godfrey watched him go with a dull look on his face and a throbbing in his temples. He stood from his desk and made his way to the window.

His study overlooked the paddock out the back of the house where people were less likely to roam. This was a deliberate design. Less noise from the humans meant Godfrey was less likely to strangle them when they disrupted his work.

He watched the girl try and fail to mount her horse.

He frowned at his nephew's words of encouragement.

If this was her skill, then on the road she would surely die.

His temples gave a throb and his mind wandered back to witches and mysteries, tales of time spinners and the like—

Below his tower, the young Fernanda finally had made it onto her horse, but she could not seem to make the beast move any way other than sideways.

Godfrey grimaced.

This would be a disaster.

A knock sounded on his door. He turned from his nephew and the little human who caused the mess they were in.

"Come," he called out, not moving to greet whoever awaited his response.

The door gave way to Baldwin. His brother lumbered into his study with a surprising amount of grace. Godfrey had always found his elder brother's stature to be excessive and distasteful.

Baldwin took over Godfrey's space as though he were entitled to it.

Godfrey regarded him – rather bored with family for the day.

Baldwin, bullish man, strode over to his brother's desk without so much as a greeting, automatically reaching for—

"No—" Godfrey snapped, pushing off the wall. "None of that. I'll not have you ruining my things."

Baldwin stared at him. He arched an eyebrow and settled a hand on the missive that Godfrey had tossed away hours earlier.

Godfrey hissed and lunged, but Baldwin snatched the item up and held it out of his younger brother's reach.

"Give it here," Godfrey demanded.

Baldwin frowned and shook his head. "We need to speak."

"Then speak and leave my personal matters to me—"

"Personal matters?" Baldwin intoned; his lips twitched as he let his eyes drift over the contents of the missive.

Godfrey lifted his chin. He narrowed his eyes and Baldwin shook the parchment to straighten it out and read the rest.

"Yes," Godfrey rolled his eyes. "Personal."

"Since when is the matter of Fernando's stray personal to you?"

Godfrey gritted his teeth, finally snatching the missive from his brother's hands.

"She is a problem," Godfrey snapped.

He turned away, tucking the missive into a pocket and clearing his desk of all matters regarding his nephew's mate.

"And you can't solve it," Baldwin said – intrigued but not surprised.

Everything about Baldwin's demeanor suggested he had known this truth long before Godfrey had ever been willing to admit it.

Godfrey could not, for the life of him, solve it.

---

Hugh sat in the gallery, on a bench that overlooked the grand staircase and the entrance hall below. With a casual sort of intrigue, he watched the traffic of his father's household ebb and flow.

A little girl of about six or seven skirted through a crowd of guests and workers. She was the daughter of the village seamstress, brought here under the tutelage of Ysabeau. A fine favor for a girl of lesser breeding, and the girl thrived in the heart of the family stronghold.

Hugh's lips quirked as she weaved through the heavy skirts of the maiden daughters and noble wives of the guests that stayed here for the winter, hurrying quickly to deliver her daily batch of secrets to the de Clermont family matriarch.

On the far end of the entrance hall, staring critically at a bust of Saint Julian de Brioude, a man under a false name waited for Sir Joao. The Kingdom of Castile had been restless of late. The wise king Alfonso had trouble brewing in the south by way of Granada and Murcia. The Muslim population was giving him grief again, and rebelling. The Castilian King was intrigued by tales of the French King, Louis', interest in the Holy Land, and fearful for his own sister Leonora who had resided in Gascony during her husband's Baronial strife in England.

Alfonso was, all things considered, a reasonable ruler, and Hugh took little issue with the man. But he did tire of the treachery in his father's house. A low born spy with little skill was lazy in a vampire holdfast, and it spoke of Alfonso's need more than his finesse.

Though he could not see them, out the windows and down a ways, Hugh could hear the hushed conversation of a pair of maids, most notable for seeing to Baldwin's vast and often bustling tower.

These were recent additions to the household. Mary and Juliana were altogether unnoticeable, unintriguing, and responsible to the point of eye watering boredom.

They were plain to the eye but not displeasing to look at.

They spoke softly and only when spoken to.

But their accents were... shall we say... slanted.

Hugh closed his eyes and chuckled at his brother's predicament.

Godfrey liked to call the woman in Baldwin's bed, his former barbarian.

But their brother was young and ignorant of the words he spoke.

Eevie had been in and out of their household for many centuries before Godfrey had even been a thought in his human mother's mind.

And Hugh had known her by many names.

She was good for his brother, and Hugh cared little if she infiltrated Philippe's staff with her maids.

She and Baldwin had always been rife with caprice and indignation. Though they were not mated, Hugh had long suspected them of such sentiments. But Baldwin was a conqueror and little Eevie had never been able to forgive him for that initial wound.

Where one had thrived on the battlefields of Germania, the other had survived against all odds, and somehow fallen into bed with her worst enemy.

And had continued to do so for centuries against her own better judgment.

So here she was, and here Baldwin would try to convince her to stay. And Hugh could not begrudge the girl her spying maids.

The skies broke overhead, and Hugh looked up as though to see the rain begin to fall, but all he could find were his father's vaulted ceilings. The doors banged open ahead and Hugh snapped his eyes back down to take in the visage of his son and Fernando's daughter, crashing into the entrance hall. They were soaking wet, riddled with laughter and dripping all over the floor, but he did not share their youthful delight.

Somewhere north of here, in the heart of a unified French kingdom, very soon, Louis de Clermont would be receiving a letter from a messenger bearing Philippe's seal. There would be a coin pressed into the wax, and a strip of cloth taken from the bed of a guest chamber in this very house.

Somewhere north of here, Louis would take in the scent. Understand the missive. And hunt Archambaud, Comte of Perigord down.

Neither king nor kinsmen could protect the man. Not when he'd put a member of Hugh's family at risk of kingly disfavor.

As it was, the young Fernanda would leave here this evening. And the king would never see her face. The family would bear the brunt of his inquiries, deny all of Archambaud's claims, and the king's bannermen would eventually be on their way.

---

One surefire way to find out you're not even close to significant in this world is to see how people treat you when the king is on his way.

Addison's trunks were packed.

She hadn't even known she owned any trunks. Let alone that they could be packed.

But they were full, and her wardrobe was empty. There was a cart in the courtyard, with her belongings piled on top. It was covered in a tarp and strapped to a mule.

When the sky broke, rain flooded the Auvergne, and all of Addison's life was already stuck outside.

---

She'd knocked on his door and pushed in before he could call for her to enter.

It mattered little. He'd told her he didn't mind.

Her eyes were darkened by lack of sleep and a bad feeling he knew that often plagued her. She worried her lip between her teeth as she let herself in.

She paused before him and looked up. Eric cocked his head to the side and stared down at her, concerned.

"Mo chridhe?"

She ducked her face and sighed, making her way past him into the center of his room.

"I spent so long in the beginning wishing I could leave here," she said softly. Eric shifted and frowned.

Fernanda looked over her shoulder at him, running her finger along the edge of his bed as she slowly crossed his room.

On the wall between the window and the headboard, rested his claymore. Broad and sheathed, nearly as tall as Fernanda herself. She stopped in front of it, and toyed with the hilt, before wrapping her fingers around it and pulling it off the wall.

The weight of the metal would be too much for her, he knew. Eric propped himself back against his desk as he watched her, allowing her the chance to explore. The sword tipped in her direction, catching in her hand and weighing her down.

"Careful," Eric murmured.

Fernanda twisted her lips at him ruefully, before slowly dropping to her knees, dragging the claymore to the ground. She cradled the hilt in her lap. Slowly – carefully – she pulled on the hilt, sliding the length of the metal from its sheath. The light from the window caught the flat of finely worked steel, and she ran the pads of her fingers along the inscription in the blade.

She frowned down at it, turning it slightly in her lap.

Eric pushed off his desk to go to her. "Don't cut yourself," he said and knelt down before her.

Eric wrapped his hands around hers and lifted the edge of the blade from her lap.

Fernanda blew out a breath and glanced up, liquid metal eyes catching his. Her hands flexed beneath him, still wrapped around the hilt of his blade.

"I don't recognize the language," she said softly, her scent wafting up to him as she spoke. Berries and beeswax, rose oil and something else that was undeniably her. Something he'd never been able to put a name to other than Fernanda.

"It's old Norse," he rumbled back. "Older than you or me."

Fernanda hummed. She traced the inscription with her free hand and released the blade, pressing it gently into his hands.

"I knew it would be heavy, but..." she let out a soft laugh. "Jesus, Sorley."

Eric chuckled, and accepted the blade, returning it to its sheath and setting it aside.

He pressed one knee to the ground beside her and leaned in closer so he could rest his forehead against hers.

"Are you ready to leave in the morning?" he asked, giving a lock of her hair a teasing tug.

Fernanda sucked in a breath and shook her head, leaning into him as she exhaled. She nuzzled her nose against his.

"I don't want to go," she whispered, closing her eyes as though to chase the thought away.

Eric hummed and brought his hands up to sweep her hair back out of her face. "Hey," he murmured.

Fernanda's nostrils flared. She opened her eyes and met his. Eric smiled and brushed her cheeks with his thumbs.

"Do you trust me?" he asked.

Her eyes flickered as she studied his face, a small wrinkle formed in her brow. "Of course, I do."

Eric nodded and pressed a kiss to her cheek. And then another to the corner of her mouth.

Fernanda shivered and bit her lip.

Eric frowned, eyes drifting down to watch her teeth work into the delicate skin of her lips. The tether in his chest gave a stubborn tug and he had to stamp down a wave of indignation. Her lips may have been her own, but he felt the sudden irrational urge to remind her that they were his for marking. He leaned in, capturing her in a kiss, and swiped his tongue against the worry mark possessively. Eric sighed into the taste of her, warm and heady despite winter's persistent chill. He could still taste berries on her tongue, and he pulled away with beeswax on his mind – the maddening thought of her and honeycomb in the summertime.

She followed him as he pulled back. Soft eyelashes brushing against her sun-kissed skin. Eric smiled softly and kissed her nose, waiting for her to open her eyes.

She flushed when she caught him looking. Tried to avert her gaze, but he wouldn't have it. He caught her chin and tilted her back toward him. Her lips twisted and he gave her a reassuring grin.

"I can't promise the road will be easy," he rumbled, letting his voice and the thrum of her breath break the silence of his chambers. He listened as her heart stuttered and calmed down again, and his nose twitched with the smell of her pleasure mixed with her anxiety.

She averted her gaze and nodded.

"But I will be with you every step of the way," he continued. "You won't go cold. You won't go hungry. We will have thick wool cloaks and fire and all the food you can eat. It's just a bit of snow, mo chridhe."

She looked at him like she wanted to believe him, but he knew she wasn't convinced.

"There's just so much of it—"

Eric frowned and glanced from her to the window. It had been a light winter this year. "Of what?" he asked. "Snow?"

Fernanda's throat bobbed and her eyes shined up at him, wet with unshed tears. "The world, Sorley. The world is so much bigger here. It's..."

She trailed off and Eric tried to find the words.

"We'll be farther from home than I've ever been," she whispered. "It'll just be us and..." she looked to the window and the room flooded with the stench of her dread. "And all of that."

Eric followed her gaze to the fields, the mountains, the trees and the sky that stretched beyond it all.

"Aye," he said and looked back at her. But her eyes were stuck on the world beyond. Bright green trees and blinding white snow reflected back at him in her irises, and all Eric could do was watch her fear the only world he had ever known. "Aye," he said again and tapped her chin, tilting her slightly to look back at him.

"It's you and me, mo chridhe," Eric said. "It's you and me, and all of that out there. And that's okay. It may not have felt like it before, but that's always how it's been. In my chambers at Castle Sween, and at La Ithuriana. In the meadow, or in the village, or where we tie the horses up by the stream. We've been in this world the entire time, and all of that—" he said and gestured to the world she looked on in fear. "All of that has been with us wherever we've been. It doesn't matter where we're going, or how long it takes us to get there, or where we stop and rest for the night. It's you and me, Fernanda. It's just the two of us in the world figuring out how to get by. We've already done it, mo chridhe. We just have to do it again. That's it. We've done it before. It'll just look a little different this time."

Fernanda's lip quivered and she looked down at the space between them. She reached out and wrapped her fingers around the hem of his tunic, twisting herself up in it and giving a rudimentary tug.

"What if something goes wrong?" she asked.

Eric sighed and pressed a kiss to the crown of her head, lingering there and breathing in her scent.

"Nothing's going to—"

"But what if it does?"

"Then we will overcome it together," Eric said. "As we have done before."

"What if we get lost, or a storm hits or—"

"We won't get lost," Eric assured her.

Her eyes flashed with skepticism. "How do you know?"

Eric smiled wryly. "I've been wandering these lands for centuries now. Your father, and my uncles, far longer than that. There's not a single rock or tree we haven't turned over out there. There's nothing new left to see."

"There's always something new to see—"

"Fernanda," Eric chuckled. "If you're actively seeking something to fear, I'd be glad to supply you with more prevalent concerns."

She pursed her lips and tugged on his tunic. "No," she sighed. "No, thanks. I'm perfectly capable of coming up with scenarios on my own."

Eric snorted. "I know."

"And if this storm persists..." she looked up at him, reticent and hopeful that he'd take that fear away too.

Eric sighed and reached for her, rocking back on his heels so he could pull her into his lap.

Fernanda went willingly.

"Can you do something for me?" he asked.

"Hmm?"

"Let me worry about the weather and the world for a while," Eric said, smiling softly when she tucked her face into the crook of his neck. "I'll worry about all the things that can go wrong on the road, and you worry about packing. Worry about staying on your horse. Worry about saddle sores and waterskins, and how bored you're going to be while we travel. It's a long way, and often uneventful."

---

Addison rose in the darkness as she had done so often before. Jacqueline was already dressed and ready for travel. She had set aside Addison's travel dress and stockings, as well as her sturdiest pair of boots. When she finished, Jacqueline held up a comb for Addison to see.

"I'll comb your hair while you drink your tea," the maid said softly, voice complemented by the dark of the morning, and the crackling of fire in the hearth across the room.

Addison's throat constricted. Her heart hung low in her chest as she woke for the last time in the safety of her bedroom.

She didn't need to be prompted. Jacqueline set a few things out on the vanity, and Addison tossed her covers back, setting her bare feet on the cold stone floor.

---

The sun had yet to rise by the time Addison was dressed and fed. She'd taken her meal in her room, as the kitchen staff was barely rising to light the fires. The rest of the household would not break their fast for a few hours yet, and Addison was soon to be leaving.

A knock sounded at her door, and Addison turned to watch Jacqueline answer.

A voice sounded, quiet, from the landing, just out of view.

"Gallowglass," Addison called, not bothering to rise from her chair.

Jacqueline took the call of his name as a cue to allow Eric to enter.

She pulled the door back and stepped aside, allowing the young de Clermont entry into Addison's room.

Addison's eyes caught his in the mirror as she toyed with her braid, which hung cleanly over her shoulder. Gallowglass stood tall and easy there in the entrance of her chambers. His boots were thick and sturdy. His arms corded and loose down by his sides. He held a bunch of cloth in his hands, and he eyed her, with a level of intent and care that made her shiver.

He caught her reaction and smiled. Addison bit the inside of her cheek and turned to Jacqueline.

"Leave us, please," she said softly.

Jacqueline narrowed her eyes and glanced between the pair before dipping into a curtsy.

"My lady," she said and departed, closing the door behind her and making herself scarce.

Eric tilted his ear in the maid's direction, waiting a moment for Jacqueline to leave the stairwell before deciding to speak.

"Put these on under your gown," Eric said, and passed her the fabric he carried bunched up in his fist.

Addison stared down at the new pair of breeches, recently sewn, in complete bewilderment.

"How did you finish them so quickly?"

Eric smirked. "I don't often sleep, if you'll recall."

Addison scowled at him and snatched the breeches from his hands. Eric chuckled.

"Thank you," she sniffed.

"Fernando intends to have you ride for the first leg of the journey," Eric told her, leaning on the foot of her bed as she began to change. "But we will bring the carriage as well. Once we exit my grandfather's territory, it will be safer for you to travel that way."

"Whose coming with us?" Addison asked, slightly out of breath, as she hurried to latch the door to her chambers and tug the breeches on under her gown.

Eric's eyes drifted down her body, watching with appreciation as she hiked up her skirts and exposed her bare legs to him without an ounce of shame.

She took a second to wiggle in the breeches, shifting the fabric to sit comfortably under her skirts before letting the gown fall back down to the ground. She huffed and turned to him, catching his appraisal with exasperation and a smirk.

Eric snapped his eyes up automatically, focusing intently on her face, and adopting a look of innocence.

She smiled ruefully and crossed her arms over her chest, waiting.

"My uncles will travel with us—" he began.

"Where are we going?" she cut him off, shifting anxiously from foot to foot.

Eric frowned. "No one told you?"

He asked as though this hadn't occurred to him.

"You'll come to realize that people rarely tell me anything," she deadpanned.

Eric offered an apologetic cringe. "Mont San Michel. It's out of the way. And news on that front has been quiet of late. It'll be a good place to lay low for a while."

Addison hummed and reached up to smooth her hair, before unlatching her door. Eric stood from her bed. She stepped out onto the landing, and Eric followed, pulling the door shut.

Addison led their descent down into the main corridor.

"So, who's coming?"

"Baldwin, Godfrey and Matthew will go with us all the way to our destination. As will Fernando, of course. My father will go as far as the edge of our territory, and Philippe will escort us through the pass. A handful of knights will join us as well, as a precaution, Balder and Sir John among them."

"Why can't Hugh go with us to Mont San Michel?" she asked, glancing over her shoulder at him, skepticism plainly etched across her face.

Eric shrugged. "Someone has to be here to greet the king."

"Ysabeau," Addison said easily.

Eric's smile was wan. "A man, mo chridhe. My father will go with us to the edge of our territory and be back in time to honor the king as my grandfather's heir."

Addison rolled her eyes. "Philippe should do it then," she said in exasperation.

"Philippe doesn't wait for kings to come to him."

"But Hugh does?" Addison asked archly.

Eric chuckled, and reached down to tug her to a stop before they made it to the corridor. "The de Clermont family bends the knee. Philippe..." Eric trailed off and tilted his head down at her, a mischievous light in his eyes. "Philippe does not take such scrutiny lightly. My father will pay our family's respects and the king will wait for Philippe to grace him with his presence. It's just our way of handling things."

---

They hit the bottom step and the corridor was empty, most of the staff either sleeping or preparing for travel. Fernanda produced an old familiar trinket from her pocket. One Eric had not seen in some time.

"Help me put this on?" she asked.

The little pocket mirror he'd bought for her once in a market in Greece. The little pocket mirror he'd given her in his study at La Ithuriana. Eric took the little trinket from her hands, and warmly regarded the swallow and the scales it was perched on. Fernanda turned so her back was to him. She gathered her hair up and held it out of the way as Eric brushed a few stray strands from the nape of her neck. She shivered as he draped the chain around her. Cool metal nestled itself just below her clavicle. He secured the chain at the back of her neck, and Fernanda let her hair fall.

She turned to him with a soft smile on her face. Her hands came up to toy with the little mirror, thumb swiping absently over the swallow and the scales.

"Thank you," she said with a tilt of her head.

Eric swallowed and stared down at the place where the little mirror rested, watching how it rose and fell with her breath.

He cupped her face in his hands and leaned down to claim her lips in a soft kiss. Fernanda sighed into him and wrapped her arms lazily around his waist, leaning in.

"I love you, mo chridhe."

---

In the entrance hall, the rest of their party awaited them.

Eric led Fernanda over to her father and his. They spoke with Philippe about the nuances of travel. Hugh trailed off as they approached, leaving their conversation about Gerbert's territory for another time, when Fernanda was not within range of overhearing them.

Fernando's eyes drifted from Philippe to study his daughter and Eric critically.

Eric carefully removed his hand from the small of her back and fixed Fernando with a hard look that was not missed by the others in their party.

Fernando ran a hand over the back of Fernanda's head, and she leaned, a bit tiredly, closer to her father.

"Did you sleep well, cariña?" he asked.

Fernanda shrugged and offered a small smile that did not reach her eyes. "I've slept worse."

Fernando frowned and eyed her shrewdly. "Penelope has already been fed and watered this morning," he said.

Fernanda nodded her understanding, before glancing around at the flow of preparation that was happening around her.

"Where is Madame?" she asked, looking from the servants to Philippe.

Eric's grandfather tilted his head at the human girl before him and shrugged. "My wife is a very busy woman—"

Fernanda narrowed her eyes, far too accustomed to de Clermont family dismissals. "I had hoped to say goodbye before our parting, unless that is suddenly not the custom between the lady of the house and her guests?"

Philippe's lips twitched and his eyes lit up at the girl's challenge. "Perhaps the drawing room," he said boredly. "And perhaps not."

Fernanda's eyes tensed at the edges and Eric smirked at the effort it took her to keep from rolling them in his grandfather's face.

Fernando pressed a hand to her back and gave her a slight nudge. "Make haste, Fernanda," he said. "We depart shortly."

She reached her hand into her pocket and toyed with something hidden inside, before glancing back at Eric with trepidation and taking her leave of their party.

Eric watched her go until she disappeared from view.

"What news of Archambaud?" he asked, turning to his father.

Fernando beside him tensed and looked at Hugh who offered an easy smile and a nonchalant wave of his hand.

"All will be well," he said simply.

Eric gritted his teeth, a wave of resentment washing over him. The man had endangered his mate after all, he should have had a say in how they took their justice. "I could have gone and been back again—"

"Even you could not have accomplished that so quickly," Hugh said with a roll of his eyes. "In just two days' time, to be back to travel with your mate to Mont San Michel."

Eric opened his mouth to respond, but Hugh held up a hand and his eyes flashed with warning. "She may be your mate, but Archambaud's insult was to my house. If I need your counsel on the matter, Sorley, I will ask for it."

Eric bit hard on his tongue to keep back a vicious retort, and he could feel his grandfather's eyes burning holes into the side of his face.

Philippe and Hugh may often have been diametrically opposed over the course of Eric's life, but on the matter of his restraint, they had always been entirely agreeable with one another.

Hugh demanded Eric's loyalty to Philippe.

Philippe demanded Eric's obedience to Hugh.

Either man was a formidable opponent on his own, but together they were a force otherwise unknown to the world. And Eric could feel the weight of their combined gazes weighing down on his shoulders and spine, daring him to argue.

---

Addison arrived in the drawing room to find Ysabeau sitting on the sofa before a deck of cards.

The other woman did not look up upon her entry, and Addison paused just inside, wondering what exactly she was supposed to say.

She reached into her pocket where a freshly sealed letter was tucked away. A hot flare of anger burned its way through her chest, and Addison bit her lip hard, nostrils flaring.

Ysabeau must have sensed the shift in her, for her hawk-like eyes snapped up to Addison and flitted over her as though taking her measure.

Ysabeau turned back to her cards and gave them another shuffle. She nodded at the sofa across from her.

"Sit," she said.

Addison drew her shoulders back and sucked in a breath. She glanced back at the doorway and made to refuse. "We depart soon."

"They depart when you are ready," Ysabeau countered abruptly, and again she shuffled the deck. "Sit."

Addison snapped her mouth shut and moved stiffly over to the sofa.

She sat, back straight as a rod, letter heavy in her pocket.

Ysabeau's lips twisted into a knowing smirk. She did not look at Addison as she dealt the cards.

One card, face down in the middle.

Addison sat back and waited. Ysabeau arched an eyebrow at her stubbornness before rolling her eyes and moving first.

"That mentality of yours is meant only for chess," Ysabeau said dryly.

Addison matched her expression. "What mentality?" she asked.

Ysabeau let out a quiet, bell-like laugh. "Black moves last," she said.

Addison tilted her head to the side. She watched as Ysabeau flipped the first card and came up 5 of hearts.

She reached over and flipped her own card – 3 of diamonds – and pushed her card Ysabeau's way.

Eric's grandmother swept her cards neatly into a pile at the edge of the table.

Ysabeau flipped another card, and Addison flipped hers. Once again, the cards went to Ysabeau.

"You wished to see me," Ysabeau observed, as she flipped again.

Addison flipped and took the round, swiping her cards up and piling them on her own side of the table.

"I did," Addison said.

"I had not realized you had developed such sentiment toward me in your time here," Ysabeau hummed, gathering yet another winning set to her pile which was quickly stacking up.

"Sentiments aside, it is customary for some sort of acknowledgement between us before my departure," Addison hummed, mimicking Ysabeau's blasé manner.

Ysabeau paused, the corners of her mouth ticking upward, as Addison suffered her appraisal.

"Of course," the matriarch said, gesturing for Addison to flip her card.

Addison did as she was asked and drew the Queen of Spades.

She slid it over to her pile before snatching Ysabeau's 10 of clubs.

"I wrote you a letter," Addison said after a beat, though she did not produce the item in question.

"Did you?" Ysabeau asked, caught somewhere between intrigue and nonchalance.

Addison hummed and watched Ysabeau draw a King, which could be a winning hand only if Addison did not draw a Knave.

She sighed and leaned back, pausing the game near completion, to regard Ysabeau.

Ysabeau cocked her head to the side to regard the girl curiously and Addison crossed her arms over her chest.

"You don't deserve it," she said.

Ysabeau fixed her with a flat look. "Nor do I desire it," she countered. "If it matters so much, the fire is just there," she said and waved her hand to the hearth. "Burn it and spare us both the sentiment."

Addison's lips flattened into a hard line. A knock sounded at the door of the drawing room and the footman pushed in. Addison did not look back to see who entered.

"My lady," a voice sounded.

Jacqueline.

Addison reached into her pocket and held up her letter for Ysabeau to see. She put it in the center of the table, on top of the cards that had yet to be played.

Ysabeau followed the action in a calculated manner before letting her eyes drift back up to her.

Addison stood from the sofa and smoothed her skirt. She reached over to flip her remaining card, and left it there on the table for Ysabeau to see.

"My lady," Jacqueline said again. "It's time."

Addison didn't say a word.

She left Ysabeau with her letter and the card she had flipped second.

Black had the board.

The knave took the king, and Addison was soon to be leaving.

---

The sun had finally begun its early morning lift on the horizon, though the courtyard was still blue with shadows.

Her belongings, which had spent one long rainy night tucked away in the back of the stables, had been carted out again and secured to the back of the carriage she was meant to travel in once they left the Auvergne.

Addison had spent countless hours in and out of this courtyard. She had spent months in the company of these men – some of them family, most of them strangers – but she had never felt more dwarfed than she did now.

The people around her moved with a practiced efficiency that filled her to the brim with uncertainty.

Eric, who had always towered over her, seemed taller and sturdier in this light. With his light armor on and his temperamental warhorse, Ulysses, prepped and dressed for a long, arduous journey.

It should have made her feel safe, but instead Eric seemed more distant, and Addison only felt incredibly small.

Philippe and Baldwin's black Percherons stamped and snorted across the way, doing their best to intimidate and shake off their handlers. Hellbent on wreaking havoc on the occupants of the courtyard and Balder's docile mare.

A cart bustled past, and another warhorse stamped around her. Addison tensed and backed away, not stopping until her back came to rest on the solid bulk of the carriage that was waiting for her to use it.

Her eyes drifted over the faces of those who would travel with her, and her mind turned over the journey ahead.

She'd never left like this before. She'd never left the safety and security of sturdy walls and a well-built roof, for the cold, wet, uncontained wild beyond. Not of her own volition anyway.

At Castle Sween, the ocean just miles away had been an inconceivable distance.

At La Ithuriana, she had balked at a walk through the woods to picnic by the river beneath the shade of an ancient tree.

Here at Sept-Tours, she had thoroughly adjusted to the great maw of a tunnel, and its vicious looking portcullis. The walks to and from the gardens were predictable and easy. And her ventures to the meadow with Balder and Eric were spine-tinglingly contained.

Sept-Tours, for all her earlier reservations, was blessedly rigid in its sense of security. Addison found immense pleasure in the walls and took extreme comfort in that the place was crawling with guards.

Her eyes found Jean Luc's across the way.

He stood with Philippe's manservant Alain, and another man she now knew as Pierre.

There were two others standing there, at the base of the stairs that led to a pair of massive, metal plated doors. Godfrey's man and Baldwin's, Addison supposed. The group of them were huddled together in a space just out of the way. Half-hidden in the melancholy blue of the morning shadows. Dark cloaked men looking on dark horses. Sharp eyes and shrewd expressions seemed to be part of their uniform. Nothing they did was ever an accident. From how they dressed to where they stood. Even now, they had situated themselves centrally and unobtrusively. Off to the side and yet ready for any eventuality, within easy range of any family member who may require their aid.

They spoke to each other in subdued voices. Some did not speak at all. And Addison knew – from their neutral expressions, their stances of casual confidence, and the way their eyes flickered about the courtyard taking in the family members, guests, and servants alike, that these were the men she would encounter quite a bit on the road should the family cloister itself away and leave her guessing at how to proceed.

Jean Luc caught her eye and Addison was startled by the sharpness of his gaze. The attentiveness. He offered her a stiff bow. A small but formal acknowledgement that she was who she was, and he was who he was, and that somehow despite all these changes, all would be well.

---

Jacqueline stood a few paces away supervising the final account of Addison's belongings before their journey. Two teenaged servant boys labored over Addison's trunks while her maid oversaw their efforts.

Balder had joined her, bringing his horse to stand by Penelope's side.

Penelope was saddled and waiting, impatient to get on the move, and agitated by the overeager presence of so many stallions and geldings far more accustomed to travel than she was.

Domenico Michele appeared from inside the chateau, dressed for the road. Addison's eyes widened at the sight of him. He mounted his horse and turned it. It was a graceful, rageful looking beast. It snorted and puffed out a cloud of hot air in the cold winter world and Addison felt her belly twist and her chest tighten. She stepped back – accidentally bumping into Balder. She turned, and her guard regarded her neutrally.

"He's coming too?" she whispered, though she knew it was pointless and that anyone who was listening could hear her.

Balder's eyes drifted from her to Domenico behind her. He had a hard look about him today, and she imagined her traveling on horseback for an unknown time made his job considerably harder than it needed to be.

"Aye," he said. "It looks to be that way."

Addison hummed, not at all comforted by his words and turned back to look in Domenico's direction.

He didn't look at her or act as though he'd noticed their exchange at all.

He reined in his finicky horse and brought it up beside Matthew's, leaning over to whisper something in his friend's ear, and pulling away with a smirk.

Matthew laughed and briefly glanced at her, eyes alight with some bright and chaotic emotion.

He caught her looking. She jumped and looked away.

A hand landed on her shoulder, and Addison gasped, whirling around to find her father staring down at her darkly.

"Up you go," Fernando said and grabbed Penelope's bridle, holding her steady so Addison could try and mount her.

Addison sucked in a breath and cast him a doubtful look. She hadn't had much success at this on her own before.

She stuck her foot in the stirrup and reached up to grip the saddle, grunting and pulling herself up with some difficulty.

Some of the knights gathered had the grace to look away, others watched on with varying degrees of amusement and concern.

After some effort she seated herself in the saddle, straddling it with her legs much to her father's dismay. There were several scandalized sounds from the men already mounted around her, and Addison rolled her eyes.

"Of the lot of us," she said loudly. "I can guarantee you, the human girl trying to stay on her horse is hardly more scandalous than an army of vampire knights infiltrating the Holy Land, yeah?"

This quieted a few, though others failed to look convinced.

Addison gritted her teeth and glanced down at Fernando who spared her a sympathetic look. He patted her leg and double-checked the straps on her saddle.

"Take it slowly," he murmured and ran his hands over Penelope's haunches for good measure. He glanced back at Addison where she sat above him. "Less is always more when riding. Don't let her dictate your direction, and if you feel you cannot contain her, speak up. Whoever is closest will come to your aid."

Addison gulped and held her breath, hating how fast her heart was beating in her rib cage. Beside her, Balder had mounted and was studying the faces around them, taking stock of their party.

Penelope pranced back a bit and Addison gasped and swayed, gripping her reins too tightly and upsetting the beast she was supposed to ride out of the valley.

Balder reached over to help her steady herself and then fixed her grip on the reins.

Fernando eyed the pair warily before stepping back to make his way to his own mount. "Breathe, Fernanda," he said in parting.

Addison sucked in a shaky breath and held it.

---

The night before his departure, Ysabeau had laid with her husband in their large marriage bed. She had dozed with her cheek pressed against his bare chest, fingers dragging lazily through the thick hair that covered him there while he massaged the small of her back, knuckles digging pleasantly into the curve of her ass and causing her to shiver.

"He'll be in a vicious state when he arrives," Philippe said roughly, his voice quiet in the heady air of their chambers.

Ysabeau hummed and dragged herself up to look at him, winding a leg between his, and offering him a contemplative frown.

"He's a cantankerous old fool," she said blithely, but Philippe fixed her with an unimpressed look.

"He's not coming because of Fernanda," he said.

Ysabeau arched an eyebrow. "He is and he is not," she reflected.

Philippe's frown was prominent on his strong face, and Ysabeau traced the bridge of his nose with her delicate fingers.

"The remaining suitors will be a problem," he told her pointedly.

She groaned and rolled her eyes dismissively. "They are easy enough to contain."

"Ysabeau..."

"My love," she cut him off before he could begin yet another tiresome scolding. "This is not my first kingly visit. These are not the first simpleton young men who have stayed here. We have managed far worse than the rumors of a little girl who has not been presented at court."

"The king and his brother wish for war, Ysabeau," Philippe said with a dark edge to him, sitting up and taking her with him so they were eye to eye.

The sheet fell down her back and left her bare. Ysabeau frowned and crawled into her husband's lap, straddling him, and draping her arms over his shoulders.

"I know they do," she said softly. She kissed his jaw, and then his ear. "The girl is but an excuse for them to demand your ear."

Philippe tilted his head toward her as she nibbled on his ear lobe, blowing on the mark she left, and pulling away with a smirk.

"I'll return as swiftly as I can manage," he said, tracing his hands along the soft skin of her legs and hips.

"Stay and leave the girl to her father," Ysabeau rolled her eyes, cocking her head at him.

Philippe growled a warning. "You've caused enough trouble where the girl is concerned," he said and smacked her ass for good measure, as though to emphasize his point.

Ysabeau let out a laugh and then sighed under her husband's attentions, pressing her face into the crook of his neck.

Philippe pressed a kiss to her shoulder, and nipped at the skin there, immensely satisfied to see the little red mark he left, before dragging her with him as he lay back in their bed.

"It would be best if you did not show your face in the morning," he said. "Hugh may be the best of us, but Eric has not yet learned his father's restraint."

Ysabeau let him drag her, but her head had snapped up so she could stare at his face, uncomprehending. His voice had gone abruptly cold, and he stared up at the ceiling. His eyes were hard. Her face and chest stung at the gentle order her mate issued. Ysabeau felt suddenly exposed – bare to him and the cool air of their bedroom. Straddling him with her thighs and skin humming with pleasure, she wished suddenly for a blanket to cover herself.

"It's my house—" she began. It was customary for the matriarch of the house to see off their guests. And it was unheard of for a grandmother to not see her only grandchild before his travels.

But Philippe knew this. And she fell silent without him having to say a word.

He stared up at the ceiling, and Ysabeau stared at his face, daring him to look her in the eye and order her again.

But he didn't look at her. He simply wrapped an arm around her waist and pulled her back down to his chest.

"I will see you when I return," he said, and closed his eyes when Ysabeau let herself drop beneath the press of his hand. She lay on his chest, eyes still intent on his face. Her brow furrowed in indignation. "Until then, it would be best for the family if you did not show your face on the morrow."

---

The next morning, Ysabeau sat alone in her drawing room as the rest of the household prepared for the young Fernanda's arduous journey. Philippe had risen before her and left her in their bed so he could see to his duties.

They had laid awake together all night long, and though he had known Ysabeau was awake when he left her, he did not say a word.

She had risen afterward, when Marthe came in to find her. She pulled on her dressing gown as Marthe ran a comb through her hair.

But her maid didn't ask and Ysabeau didn't say a word. This was not the first moment between her and Philippe which had gone less than favorably, and it would not be the last.

She'd sent Marthe with a request to her grandson, hoping to see him before he departed, but Marthe had returned with a sympathetic look in her eye and a slight shake of her head.

Eric had refused. He would not come to see her, and she could not go to him.

Ysabeau's face burned.

In the drawing room, she was quiet. She had shuffled her deck of cards a few times and then set it down. Leaving the deck on the table in front of her, but unable to play her games while she was on her own.

She looked to the window, where the sky was a dusky sort of grey, and she watched an ugly little nightingale flit past the window, hurrying its way home to sleep before night came to an end and the lark took its wing.

She hadn't expected the girl to be the one who came looking.

Not Fernanda. Not after everything.

But the swish of her skirts was undeniable. The heavy tread of her masculine gait. Her scent wafted over to Ysabeau before she strode through the open doorway. Ysabeau didn't look up at first.

She was not foolish enough to think Fernanda had coerced her grandson into shunning her. The child lacked the finesse required to accomplish such a feat, but part of Ysabeau blamed the girl, nonetheless. If she had never come, then Eric would have continued to dote on his grandmother as he had always done.

If it were not for Fernanda, then Archambaud would not have—

Ysabeau pressed her lips together and stamped down the thought. Philippe was right after all, Ysabeau had known what would come of her games. Perhaps she should have reined in the pompous little Comte sooner.

The sharp scent of vitriol emanated off of Fernanda in nauseating waves. The blood beneath her skin seemed to slow and thicken with her ire, and her heart thudded faster in her chest.

Ysabeau bit her lip, trying to contain a smirk. She glanced up at the little Gonçalves girl, giving her a casual once over.

Fernanda stood just inside the doorway, one hand clenched in her skirt, crinkling a bit of parchment hidden in a pocket there, the other hand hung limply by her side.

But her face was hot with aggravation, and Ysabeau tired of the girl's emotions. Would she never learn to contain them? A de Clermont did not perform their feelings for all the world to see.

Eventually, Fernanda would have to learn the lessons everyone else in this family had learned. It was best to give in to neutrality. If she didn't contain herself, this world would eat her alive.

"Sit," Ysabeau said, reaching for the cards and shuffling them again.

---

The pretty little blonde came to collect Fernando's daughter, and Ysabeau didn't move from her place on the sofa. The door to the drawing room remained open. None, but Fernanda, had bothered to say goodbye. Ysabeau had followed her husband's advice. She knew better than to show her face.

She had endangered her grandson's mate. Neither Hugh nor Eric would take that lightly.

The only thing between her and them was Philippe.

So, she rested her hands primly in her lap. She set her shoulders back and refused to stare down at the knave Fernanda had flipped face up for her to see. In parting, she had taken Ysabeau's king.

The child had not even stayed to comment on her success. She had simply turned on her heel and gone.

Ysabeau's throat bobbed. With her superior hearing she could pick up the gathered men mounting their horses. The clatter of the carriage as it pulled out of the courtyard. The young Fernanda's voice as she spoke with her guard.

Her eyes fluttered at the sound of her mate's voice. Philippe spoke with his usual authority, directing the men as they moved out.

The portcullis groaned as they raised it from the place where it rested, heavy on the thick cobblestone ground. Ysabeau closed her eyes, counting quietly the minutes it would take before they could pass beneath it.

In her fist was a letter – a letter from a girl she had not wanted to know. She'd already unfolded it, but she could not bring herself to look down and read the child's parting words.

It would be days before Ysabeau read this letter – once the sting of her husband's dismissal had been soothed by routine and the absence of family. With no one around to remind her of her meddlesome ways, Ysabeau took her time.

It would take days, as the young Fernanda traversed the wilds of the Auvergne, before Ysabeau would sit herself once more on that very same sofa and produce the crumpled letter.

It would be days before she could swallow the little girl's words, and see them for the grace that they offered her.

Ysabeau,

It seems unfair that you should be the first goodbye I ever issue here. In two hundred years, I've never had the chance to say goodbye to Sorley. Sometimes, I'm still afraid I won't get the chance to say goodbye to him. Even worse yet, how am I supposed to say goodbye when I don't want to leave?

Believe it or not, I don't want to leave Sept-Tours.

Your home was a home to me even when I did not want it to be. Neither of us wished for me to come here. Your roof kept me out of the rain, and your food kept me from going hungry. You clothed me and taught me how to live in this world of yours. I wouldn't call those early days particularly easy, but they would have been a lot more difficult without you and Marthe by my side.

I need you to know that I will return. I am going to return, and I will keep returning. I don't know how or why, but I know this much to be true.

I don't think you and I will ever be close friends, but I feel the need to thank you for what you have given me during my time here. I feel the need to thank you for your hospitality. I know what this world can do to girls like me, and I thank you for not perpetuating those things. Though you may have played your games, I know how much worse it could have been. I've lived the horrors of this world too. I realize now that perhaps no one would have mentioned this to you. And I also realize that it may not make much of a difference, all the same. It's a small favor that you were not cruel, but I know a favor when I see it.

Someday, if ever the unthinkable should befall you, I hope that I will be able to show you the same courtesy if or when you have the need.

I am a part of this family whether either of us likes it or not. And one day I will marry your grandson with or without your blessing.

I think it's fair to say that you and I will eventually have to find some sort of common ground.

If it happens that I leave this world without seeing you again, please – even if you never grow to care for me – think of me with fairness, and I will endeavor to do the same for you.

With respect,

Fernanda

---

The last house at the end of the village was nothing like the little hut at the edge of the woods. When you lived in de Clermont territory, there was no such thing as being on the brink of security. You were either in it, or without it. There was no middle ground.

The door to the house was open as they passed it. Addison, and Eric, Philippe, his sons, and their men. Fernando rode ahead of her with the other ancients, and Eric had chosen to remain by her side.

The woman who lived in the house at the end of the village wore a thick cotton dress with her sleeves rolled up. She was bent over a basin, washing a large pot in cold water, while a little one – barely walking – stumbled between her legs and toddled in the grass around her feet.

The woman looked up, an arm blocking the sun. She squinted at them as they ambled past and offered a small nod of her head to Philippe, recognizing the members of his party, but not slowing her chores.

Philippe called out a warm, familiar greeting on behalf of his men before leading the party beyond the borders of the village. The woman caught Addison's eye. Addison stared down at her and could not stop her mind from conjuring Ailios. With her mousy brown hair and her pale skin, and that suspicious, harried look on her face that spoke of overexertion and too many mouths to feed.

Addison held up a hand as though to wave to the woman who lived in the house at the end of the village, but the woman had already turned away.

---

When Addison was a little girl, she used to stare out the car window in the back seat while her grandmother drove. Over bridges, the ocean on either side of her, she would often stare out at a vast and endless sea and erase all traces of modernity.

There, a tanker would be replaced by a great ship with white waving sails. Here, a car and a jersey barrier became a carriage with horses drawing it, and a wooden railing with slats that revealed the blue deep beyond them.

Inland, on the freeway or side streets, Addison would erase every billboard. Blind herself to stoplights. Instead, she would paint herself an open blue sky with great puffy clouds. The orange-grey California haze would all but disappear. Horses would run in wild grasslands. Asphalt roads, and concrete pavers would become dirt and stone and wood. The trees would be taller in her mind's eye, and the houses beneath them just slightly crooked and a little more loved.

There had always been a hole inside of Addison where memory should have been. She knew nothing of her own family history. Nothing of where she came from, but the name of an island, given to it by foreign men.

Lala had done her best. Addison knew this. She'd reminded herself time and again when the anger took hold. But there were secrets in her grandmother that she took with her into unmemory. That forgetful place had swallowed up everything, Addison included. Lala's secrets would die with her in a nursing home a million miles, and hundreds of years away, while Addison was stuck in the wrong place, the wrong century, out of time and options, and tired straight down to her bones.

Addison could never fool herself into seeing this place as her ancestral home. Where the Auvergne offered mountain land and villages, Addison yearned for beaches and humidity, colorful houses and people who could tell with a look and a conversation the depths of her identity without having to ask. She yearned for her own history, not someone else's.

The Middle Ages had become her home. This was her home now. But she wondered what life would have awaited her had she shown up in the middle of an island all those years ago, rather than a patch of mud in the Scottish Highlands. She wondered, but she didn't let the feeling linger. Even then, she would have been too soon for her Taino ancestors to comprehend. She would have still looked and acted differently from them. She would have still been foreign. And what could she have said? The dilemma would have been the same. Her own people but before Columbus came. Before the slavers and the Spanish, and later the Americans and on and on it would have gone.

It would have been centuries before she was even a thought on the Caribbean tide. A speck of life lost in history, and not exactly what Lala, or her mother, had in mind. But still, in the shade of the forest of a French kingdom she'd never asked to know, Addison thought of the islands and wished Lala had told her of her home.

But this place—

Addison looked around as they rode upwards into the mountains.

This place had become home to her, in a way she could never have anticipated.

Fernando was here. And despite her reservations when she'd first met him, he had become enough. Eric was hers. That went without question. He was hers and she was his. She wouldn't give him up now. Not after everything they'd been through.

And with those two came Hugh and Jacqueline. And the pair of them were more integral to Addison's life than she ever could have imagined they would be.

They were all she could claim as family now. But she could not forget her grandmother, sitting in a home, alone without all her memories. She could never forget that she, herself, was missing those memories. She lacked the names and faces of a family that was still out there somewhere... living and breathing and laughing on a beach in a land on some distant sea she never even got to know.

She would never get to know them. They didn't even know she existed. And she had no way of finding them. Not with Lala's condition, and her mother, a runaway or a victim of some unspeakable—

Addison turned her face.

This place was her home now, but she could not fool herself into belonging. Not wholeheartedly.

As they circled the winding road out of the valley, Addison turned to look over her shoulder at Sept-Tours and the village they forced her to leave behind.

Would she always be condemned for leaving? She couldn't imagine she'd ever find a way to stay.

The castle stood stark against the landscape. Seven towers reached – prominent and unyielding – toward the sky. And she held her breath at the thought of leaving. She exhaled and thought of the sea. Thought of Mont San Michel, a name with no meaning. They'd given her nothing to picture, nothing to expect, but that Mont San Michel was the place she needed to be.

Five days to get to the pass. Two days gone already before they'd even left the safety of the de Clermont family home. And countless more ahead of them until they reached their destination.

Now they made haste into the wild lands of the Middle Ages, and she just had to trust that they knew what they were doing. She just had to trust that, from one place to another, as long as they had each other, they would have a home.

This was officially the farthest she'd ever wandered from her medieval home – the farthest she'd ever willingly strayed from the safety of four walls, a kitchen, and a roof. Even more, this was perhaps the highest mountain she had ever climbed.

The side of the road was blocked off by a small wall made of sturdy, rough looking stones. Beyond that was a drop off. It was a long way down, covered in rolling grass and thick patches of snow. The mountainside tumbled downward back into the valley as though to remind her she did not have to go.

She looked out over the edge of the king's road, tipping just slightly sideways in her saddle as she did. Penelope shuffled under her shifting weight. The horse's barrel-like ribs expanded as she let out an agitated sigh. The sun beamed bright down on the valley, and Addison followed a little swallow's path upward, as its wings carried it higher and higher above the tree line. Addison blinked, feeling as though the entire world had zoomed out and come into focus.

She was seeing things again from the back of her mind – like she had come untethered from the world and was viewing it from a higher plane.

The sun was high in the sky, bright and near burning the land with its clear light, so bright she nearly had to close her eyes. The sky was a vast and brilliant blue, and the road behind them was winding and dusty. It made her nose itch. The breeze that drifted up toward her from the valley was cool on her skin but not unpleasant as it once would have been.

Winter was not a barren wasteland to her anymore. Snow was only beautiful when you knew it wouldn't kill you, and Addison was startled to realize that the fear had abated. The constant ache inside of her, that warned her against freezing, had not reappeared this year. She pressed her fist into the space between her ribs and frowned. She didn't think she'd ever stop dreading winter, but perhaps she would no longer die from it. Perhaps she could take snow off the list of things that could kill her. Perhaps it was time to let it go.

Addison marveled at how small she had been down there, safe behind the gates and walls that guarded Sept-Tours. And her belly tightened and fluttered. She was overcome by the oddest sensation that she was larger somehow, though she had not grown. She was bigger than her body, and her pulse thrummed warmly in her fingertips, beating against the gentle pressure of the reins in her hands.

And then she gave them a gentle tug, and murmured a quiet, "whoa." Penelope slowed to a stop.

The company of knights and retainers halted with her, immediately and without complaint. Somehow, they sensed the significance of her silent goodbye.

The rhythmic thud of hooves sounded against compact earth, as someone guided their horse to stop by her side. Ulysses appeared in her periphery, tall and beastly, breath puffing in the cold air, as he huffed and tugged on his reins. Eric didn't look at her, and she didn't look at him.

He simply followed her gaze. Side by side, on the edge of a road she'd never been on before, they took in the sight of the valley, and the village. She glanced at him and watched his eyes drift upward to take in the sight of his family's chateau. The little spool of thread in her belly loosened a bit and unwound. She'd reach for him, and he'd let her, but she feared she'd fall out of the saddle, so she kept to herself.

The trees curled overhead and shaded her from the sun, but she wanted to feel the light on her face. She closed her eyes and remembered the ocean. When she opened them again, Eric was watching her intently, with a sympathetic look on his face. Her face twisted. She didn't know what to say. Her vocal cords wouldn't move. And Addison felt that old familiar panic clawing its way up her spine. Her skin rolled with unease. A lump had formed in her throat, but there were no tears in her eyes. But she had been rendered mute by the events of the morning, and unexpected memories.

Perhaps in her past life, in the twenty-first century, she was still riding in a car somewhere, over a bridge, over the ocean, in the backseat of a car driven by her grandmother. Perhaps she was staring out the window and imagining a million histories out there on the sea.

And perhaps Sept-Tours—

She stared at the tall towers of stone, and the windows that glinted in the sunlight. The happy little village and the fields that had thawed enough for planting. The great portcullis was visible even from here, and Addison felt a pull deep inside her belly that called her to go back. To travel back down the mountain, and pass into the shadow of the tunnel, to dismount her horse and hand off the reins to a stableboy.

She didn't want to leave.

But the clop of horses behind her told her the men had once again begun to move. Jacqueline peered out at her from the windows of the carriage, honey-colored eyes sharp and sympathetic. And Eric leaned over to cover her hand with his own.

"It's time, mo chridhe," he murmured.

Addison swallowed the lump in her throat, and twisted her lips. She blinked rapidly, unsettled to find her eyes were still bone dry.

Perhaps in her past life, in the twenty-first century, Sept-Tours was already a ruin. A shadow of the home it had once been, old and decrepit and entirely out of reach, long before she ever claimed it as her sanctuary. Perhaps it had fallen into nothingness, crumbled and skeletal, long before they ever forced her to say goodbye.

Addison thought again of Ailios – her quiet resignation and the lines on her face from despair. And Lala in her nursing home, waiting for a daughter to come home, not knowing that she hadn't seen her in years. Unaware that she had a granddaughter at all, let alone that she was missing.

Penelope began to move. Addison hadn't directed her to, but she did not correct her. Penelope had a gut for survival. The knights and their warhorses were leaving, and she'd be damned if she got left behind with her simpleton human rider. Addison's throat ached with emotion, and she rubbed a hand over her chest as though to stem the flow from an invisible wound. Her fingers caught on the little mirror that laid near her throat. She flinched back but then quickly returned to cool metal. She brushed her thumb over the swallow and the scales.

Penelope guided her upward along the king's road, and Addison tried to imagine a freeway here and road signs. And she blinked a few times, trying to understand the dryness in her eyes. Knowing, discomfited, that they would stay that way. Too much had happened, and she didn't have the time to cry, so she fixed her grip on the reins and sat up a little straighter. She reminded Penelope with a gentle tug that this was the last time she'd get her way.

Addison followed a long line of ancients along an old, winding path, and settled into the rhythm of her horse's gait. Eric rode beside her, at ease despite the effort it must have taken to control his unruly steed. The carriage creaked and rattled as it slowly began to move, and Addison took comfort in her friend at her back, as Jacqueline leaned out the window to feel the wind on her face and take in the scenery.

---

The first few hours had been rough and aimless. Addison squirmed in her seat and failed to find comfort in her horse's gait. Penelope was wide beneath her. Her ribs expanded and retracted with each forceful breath of air she expelled as she labored beneath Addison's weight. Her hooves were heavy but sturdy as she traversed the valley with the other horses who she followed with relative ease.

The members of their party were relaxed, all things considered. That would change once they left Philippe's territory. And she imagined, once Hugh left them to return to Sept-Tours, she'd feel a bit unsettled too.

Hugh and Fernando rode at the front with Philippe and Godfrey.

Eric was a few paces ahead of her, chatting with Sir John and Balder about some new weapon or another that Addison had tried and failed to visualize. They were deep in the particulars of a new mechanism, a hinge that would allow for a better range of motion. Addison had tuned them out. Some things were just not worth her time, and siege weaponry was high on the list of unnecessary information.

Baldwin had drawn the short straw for the time being. At first, she had figured he had simply lost a game of chance, riding next to her.

But watching the men move now, and how they navigated their horses – even how they moved through the valley and watched the trees along the road – she quickly realized that nothing happened by chance in this company. And Baldwin was hardly one to stumble into anything by accident.

His place by her side was deliberate. Just as Philippe's place at the front of the line was as well. She supposed even Jacqueline at her back had a purpose, or why else would no one ever accidentally take up the space between Addison and the carriage which held her maid?

No, Baldwin's place beside her was by design. Eric was within reach of her as well. Balder was too.

There was a pattern here, a rotation she had yet to make sense of. They shifted seamlessly and often without making a sound or gesturing wildly with their reins. An imperceptible squeeze of their thighs, perhaps, had their horses obeying them without question. Men would pause off to the side and take up a place at the back, and then occasionally those at the back would overtake the middle and ride ahead.

A hand gesture from Philippe would send someone galloping off out of their party, into the world beyond them. And a few minutes to a few hours later, they would return and report whatever they saw to the front of the group.

A tilt of Philippe's head would bring the requested party to lend their ear. Usually, this was one of his sons. Occasionally, it was Eric or Fernando.

Philippe made a new gesture Addison hadn't seen before. She perked up, intrigued. And the next she knew, one of the knights, who she had never met before, released a great, vicious-looking bird of prey.

The falcon took wing and screeched as it soared overhead, and circled their party—

"There's your father's mountain," Baldwin said and moved on as though that was a normal thing to say to someone.

Addison jolted out of her reverie and turned to him. He had never been particularly conversational with her.

"My father's... mountain?" she deadpanned.

Up ahead she saw Hugh turn to smile at Fernando. Her father had tensed and shot a dark look behind him in their direction.

"Mont Ferrand," Baldwin said. "A gift from Hugh many years ago."

Addison stared at Baldwin and then turned to watch her father who was stiffly riding ahead of them. She saw Eric's shoulders shake with laughter and Hugh turned back to offer her a grin.

"Hugh gave my father a..." Addison turned to regard the side of the mountain which sloped upward and disappeared amid a cover of low hanging clouds. "He gave him a mountain?"

"A matter of courtship," Baldwin said, not detecting her judgement.

"A courtship mountain?" Addison's voice rose in alarm.

The men around her broke into laughter, but for Sir John who flushed and coughed uncomfortably at the thought of Hugh and Fernando, who he had not known were more than friends. And Jacqueline, who had been watching the landscape from the window of the carriage, primly ducked her face to hide her own fit of giggles.

Fernando kicked his horse forward at a faster pace, and Hugh shot her a wink.

Baldwin nodded and cleared his throat, reaching over to correct her horse when it tried to pull ahead.

Eric slowed his horse to ride beside them when he noticed Baldwin's correction.

Addison fixed him with a look. "I don't want a mountain."

Eric grinned. "I have no mountain to give."

"Bullshit you don't," She snapped. "And I don't want one."

Sir John had picked up on their exchange. His eyes flitted between the pair suspiciously, but he held his tongue. He had come here to court Lady Fernanda. And he had traveled with their party out of concern for her safety, and at the behest of Sir Philippe. She spoke quite easily with the young de Clermont lord. And the assumption of such a gift as a mountain would have been presumptuous and embarrassing for her, if Eric de Clermont had not already expressed his interest in the girl. But he did not raise his concerns in such a fortified de Clermont company. The insult would have to go unspoken for now.

But Addison didn't see this. She had eyes for Eric and only him. Eric wisely kept his mouth shut but offered her a teasing smile. He opened his mouth again like he couldn't help it.

"What about an island?"

Before Addison could respond Baldwin cut in again.

"And let's not forget the chateau at the peak," he spoke as though the conversation had not already shifted completely in a different direction. "You may not want a mountain, but you're bound to inherit the chateau. He has no other children—"

"Yes," Addison deadpanned, staring blandly at Eric's uncle. 'Thank you, Baldwin."

A sly look overcame Hugh's closest brother, and the dark-haired de Clermont offered her a smirk. He clicked his tongue and rode ahead, giving the two younglings their privacy.

Addison stared at his back blankly as she turned his words over in her head. He'd always been so serious. Baldwin was a stick in the mud, enforcing Philippe's rules and warning her off things that would likely get her killed. She hadn't thought him capable of...

Surely, he hadn't been teasing her the entire time... had he?

She caught sight of Sir John as Baldwin overtook him. The mountain of a de Clermont rode again at the front beside his father and brother. Godfrey pulled back as the second eldest arrived and took his place. And Sir John was watching, face colored with confusion and hurt.

Her face softened and she furrowed her brow. Addison tilted her head at him and offered a confused smile, but he only turned to face forward again.

Her smile faded, and she frowned at his back. A pang in her chest. A small noise from her left brought her attention back up to Eric. He rode easily, with a casual lean. He seemed for all the world unmoved by his surroundings and the people in his company. But the sharpness of his gaze told her that he'd witnessed her and Sir John's entire exchange. She gave him a half shrug and tilted her lips into a sad smile. She shook her head and wrinkled her nose, as though to say everything was okay. But Eric narrowed his eyes thoughtfully and reached back into his saddlebag. He withdrew an apple and tossed it her way.

"Eat," he said. And Addison stared down at the apple in consternation.

"I'm not hungry," she replied, confused.

Eric arched an eyebrow, unconvinced. Her stomach growled. And his lips quirked ever so slightly, his eyes glittering with mirth and something softer. Addison flushed and took a bite, sighing gratefully as fresh fruit met her tongue. She spared him a warm smile, conveying her gratitude, before taking another bite and humming contentedly around the fruit.

Eric, thoroughly satisfied with himself, nodded once and faced forward. He studied the path ahead of them, content for the time being to have his mate – alive and hale and thriving – riding by his side.

---

They halted at the mouth of a stream. Behind them was a vast and open nothingness, and ahead of them was much of the same.

Philippe and Hugh were the first to dismount, and embrace. Fernando had followed suit but held back from embracing his mate. Balder came over and took control of Penelope.

"Down you go, my lady," he gruffed out, rubbing a hand down Penelope's neck to soothe her after her long journey. "I'll water your horse while you say your goodbyes."

Addison frowned at him and slid from the saddle. Her legs shook from disuse and her skin buzzed with uncertainty. She'd known this moment was coming. Eric had told her Hugh would ride with them until the end of Philippe's territory. But that was... here? In the middle of nowhere? How exactly did they delineate it? And why had there been no warning?

And—and...

Hugh caught her eye from where he stood with his father and brothers and offered her a small, tired smile.

Her lips pulled down and she hugged herself, feeling suddenly a little sick and a little cold. Balder guided Penelope away and Jacqueline disembarked from the carriage to join him by the water.

Hugh excused himself from Baldwin and made his way over to her.

"How are you feeling?" he asked, knowing she hadn't ridden a horse for so long before.

Addison frowned at him and then looked down at her feet which were regaining some feeling.

"Numb," she said softly, scuffing her heel in the snow and the mud.

Hugh laughed – it was a quiet sound – and he nodded. He rested a hand on her shoulder and ducked down to catch her eye.

"I will join you and your father at Mont San Michel as soon as I am able."

Addison pressed her lips together and avoided his eyes. She found instead a patch of grass near the stream that was riddled with wildflowers and creek bugs. She watched a beetle amble over a rock and failed to feel squeamish as she once would have been.

"Fernanda," Hugh called, drawing her attention back to him. Addison bit the inside of her cheek and contemplated ignoring him. She wished she could beg him to stay with her and Fernando.

Hugh was the first person she'd ever met in this world, after Sorley. He'd been the hand that pulled her up out of the gutter when the world robbed her of her footing one too many times. He'd been the first to put a roof over her head and food in her belly.

Without Hugh, she wouldn't have been Fernanda Gonçalves, daughter of Fernando. Without Hugh, Eric would have died years ago, of grief or old age or in battle. Sorley Maclean, a widower to a wife he'd had for less than a day, a knight who could not trust his brothers, a gall óglaigh surrounded by people who would never call him by the name she'd given him as Malvina, the simpleton maid. Hugh is the reason she still had Eric, and her father. He's the reason Godfrey hadn't killed her yet. The reason Philippe and Ysabeau had given her a home. Hugh was the reason for all of it, more than she could ever put into words. More than any of them could ever know.

She didn't like this world without Hugh in it. And though she was far from alone, with him gone, she feared the road would be longer and lonelier and far more terrifying than it needed to be.

"Why can't you come with us?" Her voice was barely louder than the wind that whipped around them on this endless plain, but even then, she knew her question would never be private.

Hugh's eyes were sympathetic but hard around the edges as though he knew this question was coming.

"I've duties to attend to back at Sept-Tours," he told her and gave her shoulders a squeeze. Hugh looped his arm around her to guide her toward the rest of the family. "I expect you to tell me of your travels when I see you again."

He kept his voice light, and Addison felt a bit embarrassed for how childish it all seemed. As though she were being dropped off at pre-school for the first time and needed to be talked down from her anxieties.

He pulled her to a stop beside Eric who was blessedly steady out here in the middle of nowhere. He watched her with warm eyes. He'd been more attentive than usual, more than aware of how foreign all of this was to her, but he kept quiet so she and Hugh could make their goodbyes.

"And I want you to listen to your father," Hugh continued with a chuckle. "Wait until you reach Mont San Michel to give him any more grey hairs, please."

Addison rolled her eyes. "I'm the only one growing grey hairs in this family."

Hugh grinned and released her, shooting her a wink as he turned to say goodbye to her father.

Godfrey strode up from behind her and bullied his way over to his eldest brother's side.

Baldwin across from her rolled his eyes and shot her a commiserating look as Eric tugged her out of his uncle's path. She smirked at the second eldest de Clermont brother, stifling a laugh when he picked up a little stone and tossed it into the hood of Godfrey's cloak when the youngest wasn't looking.

"I'm expecting a letter, brother," Godfrey said as Hugh made his goodbyes.

Hugh nodded at him but turned to Fernando to speak with his mate. Godfrey, vexed by his brother's half-hearted acknowledgement, pushed in and grabbed his brother's hand, clasping his own hands tightly around it, and looking Hugh in the eye.

"You must send them to me directly," he said. "With haste."

Hugh's smile was easy, and his eyes had that typical tired quality she'd always known him to wear. "I hear you, Godfrey," Hugh said. "Your correspondence will find its way to you."

Godfrey stared at him harder, not liking his tone, and the easy set of his shoulders. "You're certain—"

Hugh's eyes flashed with warning, he clapped his brother on the shoulder and lightly shoved him off. "Leave me to my mate, man," he said and brushed the youngest off, taking Fernando by the arm and leading him away so they could part in private.

---

Addison watched, forlorn, as Hugh and Jean Luc rode away from their party, back to Sept-Tours as though the longest journey of her life so far had been nothing but child's play.

Jacqueline waited by the open door of the carriage in which Addison was meant to ride.

Penelope was tied to the back, and out of the way, along with a luggage mule and a spare horse should someone else's injure itself and go lame.

Eric was busy checking Ulysses. Tapping his legs and cleaning out his horseshoes. All the de Clermont's did this with regularity, their weight being more of a problem for the wear in their horse's hooves than the average human.

Fernando appeared next to her, watching her as she stared at Hugh's retreating form.

"He'll meet us at Mont San Michel when he's done with the king," he told her gently, tugging her into a sympathetic hug.

"What if I don't see him again?" she asked at a whisper.

Fernando pulled back a bit to look down at her. "He'll not be gone forever, Fernanda. It'll likely be a matter of weeks, perhaps a month or two—"

"And if I leave before he finds us?" she asked, glancing up at her father with an abundance of doubt.

Fernando's face twisted momentarily. He sighed and turned to watch the landscape. Hugh and Jean Luc had already disappeared into the trees, and the wind was blowing rather more fiercely out on the open plain.

"Then he will eagerly await your arrival in the coming fall," he replied.

"You mean fifty years from the coming fall," she countered.

Fernando closed his eyes and held her a little more tightly. Before turning to regard their company.

He caught Matthew's eye a handful of paces away. "Where is Domenico?" he asked roughly.

Matthew glanced between father and daughter. He had heard the words and how carelessly she had said them.

"Hunting," he said, jerking his head toward the trees. "Lost the sound of him a few minutes back. I doubt he heard her."

Fernando worked his jaw and nodded tersely at Ysabeau's son. "I'd thank you to keep it that way."

Matthew's lips pressed into a firm line. "I don't deal in the secrets of my family," he said, as though he had taken some offence.

Fernando stared at him, a hard look in his eye. Matthew's words did not seem to satisfy him.

Matthew straightened and matched his expression. "I have no quarrel with your house, Gonçalves. If not for Hugh's favor, then for Eric's, the girl is as good as blood."

Fernando seemed to bite his own tongue. He bowed his head for an extended moment as though to signify to Matthew a debt he could not put into words.

He guided Addison toward her carriage and the safety of Jacqueline's company, holding her back before she ducked inside.

Addison stared up at her father, an uneasy pit in her gut after his exchange with Matthew.

"You must not say such things out in the open anymore," he said tersely. "We are not at home. This is not La Ithuriana. We are not in Hugh's tower. We are in the wild, and not all who travel with us are friends to you and yours."

Addison blinked up at Fernando. The hard set of his jaw and the walls that had slammed down in his eyes.

"Sorry," she croaked, voice cracking with her confusion.

She glanced behind him toward Matthew who was watching their exchange. He caught her look and pressed a hand to his chest, bowing ever so slightly in a formal acknowledgement before turning on his heel and disappearing into the trees.

Fernando tilted his head, as though he sensed Matthew's departure. He watched the other knight from his periphery as he disappeared before turning back to his daughter. He brought a hand up to tap her chin. She dragged her eyes from the tree line to look up at him.

"In you go," he said. "We depart shortly. Now that you're in the carriage we will not stop for some time."

---

The carriage was made of warm, brown wood. Its wheels were thick and sturdy, also wooden, with large metal bolts holding in the spokes at the center. There was a window on either door to her left and right, and a window toward the front so that the passenger could easily speak with the driver on the outside. A bright red curtain hung over that window to allow her and Jacqueline the illusion of privacy should they want it. The windows on each door were also outfitted with long, red curtains, but these were drawn back to allow sunlight in the cabin, and the breeze to cleanse the carriage with fresh air.

Addison sunk into the wooden bench at the back of the carriage, leaning heavily into her seat, and thankful that someone had the forethought to line the benches with thick cushions. Jacqueline entered behind her and took a seat across from her, back facing the driver.

Addison didn't open her eyes as someone closed the door and gave it a rudimentary tug, ensuring that it did not swing open mid-travel, and cause problems further on down the road.

The heavy gait of a horse sounded, as it slowly made its way up to the window to her left.

"Mo chridhe."

Addison snapped her eyes open and leaned toward the sound. Eric's blue eyes were bright, caught in the sunlight, as he took in the state of her and her carriage.

"Gallowglass."

"Does it suit you well enough?" he asked, gesturing to her new, temporary abode.

Addison glanced around. It was rudimentary in some ways. It was a medieval carriage, and a far cry from your typical, twenty-first century sedan. But she could recognize quality in this era when she saw it. The wood was finely treated. There were small decorative designs carved into the edges of the doors and there was a painting on the ceiling, white and gold, red and blue. It was biblical because of course it was, and entirely ostentatious, because... of course it was. But she understood the appeal. If the road was long, why not put a painting on the ceiling so you could look at it?

The cushion beneath her was soft and not lumpy as it could have been. There was a fur pelt on the bench across from her beside Jacqueline who had politely looked away, out the opposite window, as though to give her and Eric some modicum of privacy.

Addison offered him a smile. "It does," she said.

His eyes were soft as he took her in. "And your legs?" he asked. She had been cramping up in the saddle, and he caught her more than once, leaning over to rub a Charlie horse out of her calf, biting back an uncomfortable cry.

Addison flushed and stretched her tired legs out in front of her.

"I think they'll be grateful for the break," she said.

Eric chuckled. "I can imagine."

A shout sounded from the front of the party – Philippe calling the men to ride out. And Addison sat up straighter at the sound, brow wrinkling now that her vision was hindered by the carriage walls. She could not see the front of the party or any of the riding men. She could not see the road from where she sat nor could she see where they were heading.

The window between her and Eric was small, and easily covered by a curtain. Dread weaseled its way into Addison's stomach and crept up into her throat. She shifted in her seat, suddenly antsy to get out and get moving. Eric was distracted by something ahead that she couldn't see. But she wanted his eyes on her.

"Sorley," she called quietly.

His attention snapped back to her. She eyed him with trepidation.

"You'll ride beside me, right?" she asked, scooting closer to him and sticking her hand out the window to reach for his. The carriage door feeling suddenly like it belonged to a prison cell.

Eric twisted his lips in sympathy. He reached for her hand and gave her a gentle squeeze, bending from the saddle to give her knuckles a lingering kiss.

"Of course, mo chridhe."

---

As it turns out, carriages were the devil's handiwork, and Addison was trapped inside of one like it was her own personal hell. The windows were too small to allow for fresh air even when the carriage was moving. And the road was rough and unforgiving. Addison had never thought she'd come to yearn for the smoothness of Penelope's gait and the rough brush of wind against her face. But the air was dense inside the twisted wooden contraption they'd shoved her in, and though Addison's face was hot and her stomach upset, the air inside was uninsulated and incredibly cold. Jacqueline rode with the practiced grace of a medieval lady. Addison, on the other hand, bounced and bumped and slid around like she was on a shitty wooden roller coaster.

"Holy Studebaker—" Addison lurched forward in her seat. The carriage had picked up speed around a turn and sent her cushion sliding. Her body hurdled toward Jacqueline.

Addison gripped the bench in front of her as her friend murmured sympathetically. Jacqueline held tightly to the back of her gown, trying to keep her from being further unsettled.

Addison's stomach rolled and she closed her eyes. She clamped her mouth shut to fight back a wave of bile and breathed heavily through her nose.

Jacqueline, above her, winced at another close call and eyed the little bucket under Addison's bench with disgust. She may have been a maid, but she did not revel in the scent of human vomit.

The cart went around another sharp bend and Addison moaned, her body tipping with the force of the motion. Jacqueline gripped her tightly, hauling her over to her own bench, and wrapping the younger girl up in her strong embrace, trying her best to offer her aid.

"Perhaps some water—" she suggested, tense with concern and doubtful that it would work.

Addison swallowed thickly at the thought of clear liquid sloshing around in her empty stomach. The carriage went over a rough bump and the pair bounced in their seat. Addison choked and made a miserable sound.

"No water—" she bit out, sucking in a sharp breath and holding it.

---

"Mother of Gloria," Addison groaned, shoving the door open and stumbling out.

She crouched on solid earth, head spinning, feeling as though she'd just disembarked a boat rather than Honda's archaic predecessor.

"Lady Fernanda?" Sir John's voice called out with an abundance of concern, but Addison was far too busy scooping up handfuls of snow from the side of the road and pressing them to her face.

"By Christ, Fernando your child is doing it again!" Godfrey cried out, turning on his heel and muttering about the heathen ways of the young Gonçalves girl.

"Mo chridhe," Eric said, kneeling by her side and pressing his hand between her shoulder blades. "Are you alright?"

Addison sighed and sucked in a breath of fresh air, before turning to Eric and narrowing her eyes.

"You didn't tell me it was a death trap."

Eric pulled back in alarm. "A death trap?" he asked.

She nodded sharply and gestured to the carriage. "That thing's freaking awful, de Clermont."

Eric swung his head around, wide eyes taking in the carriage he'd helped her into hours before.

Addison scowled at him and then blinked up at the sky which had already begun to darken.

"It's already evening?" she asked, wracking her brain for how on earth that had happened. "How did I miss sunset?" she asked skeptically.

Jacqueline, leaning against the door of the carriage, frowned in sympathy. "The windows are small, my lady," she answered when the men did not.

"Yes," Addison scowled at her friend for stating the obvious. "Thank you, Jacqueline."

Jacqueline nodded primly and turned for the bucket of puke Addison had left for her to dispose of.

"You're welcome, my lady," she sniffed.

Addison lost her scowl and flushed miserably.

"Sorry," she groaned at her back as Jacqueline took her vomit the appropriate distance away.

"And she apologizes to the help," Godfrey rolled his eyes and nudged Matthew at the thought. Matthew smiled, sharp-edgedly and stared at the little human with amusement. Beside him, Domenico took in the scene with no small amount of intrigue.

Eric helped her up and she turned around to regard the rest of their party, most of whom were still mounted. Her father had a pained look on his face as he took in the scene. She met his eyes blearily, and he closed his own as though wondering how he had ended up here with the likes of her.

"Why did we stop?" she asked, glancing around at the empty road, and eyeing the coming darkness with trepidation.

Philippe was ahead of them, set apart from their group. He had his head ducked together with Baldwin's as they took in the state of the road.

"We are at an impasse, my lady," Balder supplied from behind her.

Addison whirled around to look at him in alarm.

"An impasse?" she asked. "What do you mean?"

"The road is damaged, mo chridhe," Eric supplied, guiding her away from her carriage so she could see what Philippe and Baldwin were looking at.

"Damaged?" she asked.

"Aye," Eric said. "The mud is too thick here, and the road too near to a creek. They overlaid it with wood a while back, but that seems to have rotted out in the middle. The carriage cannot pass."

"That's fine," Addison said. "Let's dump it and ride the horses around..."

"The horses will sink in the mud, and we are not abandoning the carriage here," Eric said with an arch in his brow. "Ulysses under my weight, would be too heavy to pass through without injuring himself. We cannot go around to the west of here. We would pass into another creature's territory which would be a cause for some great strife between our house and his. To the east, we seek aid from a landowner not far from here. His men should provide the supplies we need to repair the road."

"Repair the road?" Addison asked dubiously.

"Aye," Eric said.

"Now?" she asked.

"Now," Eric confirmed.

"Right now? In the middle of the night?"

"It is still evening," Eric eyed her skeptically, and brought a hand up to feel her forehead. "Are you well, mo chridhe? You're quite warm."

Addison huffed and batted his hand away. "I'm fine," she snapped, though Jacqueline at her back hummed in disagreement. Addison shot a glance at her maid, half in annoyance, half in guilt.

The blonde held up a freshly rinsed bucket for her to see and placed it once again under the bench seat in the carriage. Addison winced and faced the problem in front of them again.

"So, you're just gonna repair it? That quickly?"

"Of course," Eric said with his arms crossed over his chest, nodding in approval as Philippe sent a rider out for aid. He furrowed his brow and glanced down at her. "Is this not how it's done where you're from?"

Addison gawked at him and the men around him who all waited for the necessary supplies so they could repair the king's road and move along.

"No," she said with a slow shake of her head. "No... it usually takes a bit longer...? You have to call on the government and they put in a ticket and then you wait a while and... if you're rich or you know someone it gets done a lot quicker... but sometimes it doesn't get done at all and you take a different route—"

"And you do not have men who do it themselves?" Philippe asked, turning to regard her thoughtfully from some distance away.

Addison stopped mid-ramble and snapped her mouth shut. She flushed and glanced at Fernando who too was watching her with some intrigue and didn't seem to take exception to a brief glimpse into her world.

Addison cleared her throat and shrugged. "Only if they're paid by the government," she said slowly.

"Government..." Philippe said, rolling the word around on his tongue and weighing its foreign feeling. "You mean Governor, child," he supplied correcting her Occitan.

Addison shook her head. "No, I mean Government..."

Philippe tilted his head and eyed her curiously, mind turning over the deviation. "I see," he said.

Addison hugged herself self-consciously. "Let's just say lawmen," she supplied instead.

Philippe's eyes lit up. He offered her a rare, indulgent grin. "Of course," he said and bowed out of the exchange gracefully.

She narrowed her eyes as he turned back to the matter at hand. And Fernando offered her a small smile and dismounted. She may have slipped up, but it was harmless enough, and no cause for concern. Even with Domenico at her back with Matthew. He may have thought her odd, but that was nothing new. She cringed in Fernando's general direction, and he held out a hand for her to come to him.

"How are you faring?" he asked.

She swallowed thickly and felt her stomach give a treacherous turn. "I don't feel well."

Fernando sighed. "I know," he said. "It sounded pretty rough back there."

Addison pulled a face and buried it in her hands. "Oh, please don't tell me—"

"I won't."

"Everyone heard?"

"I didn't say that—"

"You didn't have to," Addison groaned and let her father tug her into a hug.

"Trust me, every man here has heard worse than a bout of illness."

"That wasn't a bout of illness," Addison moaned, utterly mortified.

"That's exactly what that was—"

"I sounded like I was dying."

"No, you didn't," Baldwin supplied from a few feet away.

Addison whirled around to stare at him in horror. His teeth shone in the darkness. His face twisted into a wicked grin and humor lit up his dark, roman eyes.

"Trust me," he said. Beside him Philippe chuckled, and Matthew and Domenico – even farther away – spoke quietly with a matching pair of smirks.

Fernando sighed and pulled her back into a hug. "They jest, Fernanda," he said in exasperation. "Pay them no mind."

---

They made camp a few hours further up the road, once the path had been repaired. The moon was high in the sky when the carriage rolled to a stop, and Addison was jostled out of her half-restful doze.

"We're here, my lady," Jacqueline murmured, leaning over to ensure she was awake.

Addison stretched, popping her back and neck, before following Jacqueline out of the open carriage door.

Someone had already started a fire, and Addison blinked blearily at it. The brightness of the flame stood stark against the dark of the woods, and all around them the trees were alive with the energy of nightly creatures.

Addison eyed the inky blackness with a shiver, before turning in the direction of her father's voice, joining him on a log by the fire as a piece of meat turned on a spit.

"I thought you might appreciate a warm meal," he said softly.

Addison's stomach turned as she watched the little, skinned animal twisting over the fire. Typically, she would be inclined to agree, but now...

"Thanks," she said with a tense smile. She didn't have the heart to tell Fernando the sight of her dinner made her want to hurl.

Across from her, Philippe sat, pouring over a bit of parchment.

"Is that a map?" Addison asked, pitching forward in her seat.

Philippe's eyes ticked up to hers. He lifted his eyebrows and glanced down at his work again. With a twist of his lips, he shook his head.

"No need for a map," he said.

Addison's face twisted. "I would probably disagree."

Philippe chuckled and folded up his parchment, tucking it into his shirt.

"You would have every need," he said agreeably. "But we do not."

"Everyone gets lost from time to time," Addison said, feeling contrary.

Philippe grinned. "Of course," he said with a shrug. "But I am not everyone."

"You're leaving us," she countered.

Baldwin sat down beside his father and Philippe jerked his head toward his son.

"He is not everyone, either."

Addison narrowed her eyes at the pair, and Baldwin stared with boredom at the fire that sat between them.

Eric took his seat by her side and gestured to a space outside of their circle.

"I've set up a tent for you, mo chridhe," he leaned over to speak near her ear.

Addison shivered and followed his gaze to the little tent, pitched and waiting for her. She brought her hand up to cover a yawn.

"Thank you," she said and bumped him with her arm.

He grinned at her and offered a bit of bread.

Addison stared down at the item in consternation.

"I'm pretty sure Jacqueline packed me food," she said, taking the roll from his hands. "You didn't have to bring any."

Eric tilted his head at her and shrugged, before turning to stare at the meat roasting on the flame.

"Better safe than sorry," he said.

Addison hummed and took a bite.

She couldn't argue with that.

---

Addison didn't remember falling asleep.

One minute she was eating before a massive burning fire, and the next she was waking up on a bed roll, on the ground. Addison found herself staring out of a small canvas opening, confused. Trying desperately to remember when exactly she'd gone camping. The sky was large, and gloomy, and the ground was covered in a fresh dusting of ice and snow. Wracked with shivers, she turned on her side, swiping her hand across the ground, and shuddering to find grass beneath her rather than tightly woven rugs and floors of immaculate stone.

The image of Ailios flashed in her mind. And the bland, medicinal scent of her rustic nature stew filled up her senses.

Dazedly, Addison tried to recall when she was, and who she was with. She tried to remember what her name was in this era. And whether or not she was mute. She half expected the other woman to come striding through the opening, with a little one on her hip.

"Good morning," came a low rumble from the entrance of her tent.

Addison groaned and blinked up at the opening in the canvas, finally noticing the man who was sitting beside it.

"Gallowglass," she croaked, eyes still bleary.

He glanced over his shoulder at her, giving her a once over. His face twisted into a smirk, though he seemed to soften in the early morning light.

"Sleep well?" he asked.

She sucked in a long breath and stuck her arms out of her blanket, stretching them over her head and arching her back until it cracked.

"Mhmm," she hummed, sticking her arms under the blanket again and dragging it up to her chin. She blinked a few times, taking in her small tent again, and trying to orient herself in her mind. She was with Eric. And she was Fernanda here. There was snow on the ground, but she wasn't going to die.

She looked at Eric again and saw that he had been whittling, a small figurine in one hand, a knife in the other. He looked from her to some movement beyond her tent. She could hear male voices talking quietly to one another and hear the telltale signs of them packing up camp.

"Did you sit here all night?" she asked.

"Aye."

She nodded her understanding and stared up at the top of her tent, before letting her eyes drift back to him. She traced his profile, from his jawline down to the deft hands that handled his knife.

"How long did I sleep?" she asked.

Eric turned back to her. His hair was loose today. It fell from his shoulders as he moved.

"Hard to say," he shrugged. "You woke a few times from your dreams—"

Addison flushed and sat up, shoving her blanket back, and shivering as the morning chill rushed at her, unimpeded.

"I didn't," she shook her head, belly twisting with unease.

Eric narrowed his eyes at her thoughtfully. "You did," he said.

"I didn't—" Addison started and cut herself off. "Did I say anything?"

Eric de Clermont was no fool. Addison had known this from the very beginning. He had an easy smile and a way about him that put people at ease, despite his large stature and the great blade that he wielded like it was nothing. But he was clear eyed and sharp focused, always. Her question drew his attention. He was zeroed in, and his mind was turning. She was a mystery none of them could solve. And when prompted so far for clues, she had flat out refused him.

His eyes were trained on hers. She held his gaze, anxious but not retreating, knowing that she'd given herself away. He wanted her secrets. She knew that one day she'd give them freely, but that day wouldn't be today. Addison wasn't about to spill her guts to him while she was sat here on the ground, in a tent, on the road, surrounded by his grandfather's men. Perceptive as he was, perhaps Eric knew all of this without her having to say it.

Perhaps Eric understood from her in a glance what he could never learn by asking questions. They had met and married and loved each other as Sorley and Malvina, only ever having exchanged one coherent word.

"Gallowglass," she whispered.

His face softened. He glanced from her to the little figurine he had carved and then back at her again.

"Nothing comprehensible," he said after a moment.

Addison crawled out of her tent on her hands and knees, and shuffled to a stop beside him, sitting inelegantly in the dirt.

"You swear?" she asked, taking his hand in hers. She didn't remember dreaming last night, but she could only imagine whatever dreams she'd had, were far from pretty.

Eric's eyes were sad. He brought her cold hands to his lips, pressing a kiss to each of them, and keeping them clasped between his own.

"I swear," he said and then. "Will you tell me of them?"

Addison pulled back, and averted her gaze, but Eric held fast, and she didn't tug her hands away.

"I..." she started and trailed off. The horses were agitated as the men readied them for another day of riding.

She glanced back up at Eric. "I'd like to," she said, but unable to promise any time soon.

Eric nodded. He released her and held up his figurine.

Addison studied the little trinket. "Is that a—" but she cut herself off. She couldn't quite figure out the image.

She pulled a face, and Eric's face twisted into a knowing grin.

"Your guess is as good as mine, mo chridhe," Eric chuckled. "I've always been dreadful at whittling."

Addison snorted and watched him stand, waiting in the dirt for him to help her up, the little spool in her belly spinning with pleasure at the touch of his hand.

---

Storm clouds churned with malevolence on the horizon, and there was a bite in the air that spoke of snow. Addison climbed into the carriage with a pit in her belly and an urge to flee clawing at the base of her spine.

She glanced out the door of the carriage, before the driver forced it closed, and caught Gallowglass's eye. He had tied his unruly hair back again before mounting Ulysses, and his armor was a dark and ominous gunmetal grey, tinted by the bleak weather looming on the road ahead.

He studied her from his place in the saddle, a slight tilt to his head and a quirk of the lips, before a shout sounded and he straightened up, urging Ulysses toward the front of the line without looking back.

"How about we read, my lady," Jacqueline said, producing a text she had swiped from Jean Luc's collection when they departed the day before.

Addison blinked at her as the carriage began to roll. Her stomach twisted – preparing itself for later upsets.

"I don't think I can focus on text right now."

Jacqueline's lips twisted. "No," she said. "I was thinking you could lie back and close your eyes, and I could do the reading."

Addison worried her lip doubtfully, but the horses picked up speed and the carriage rattled under its own exertion, and she met Jacqueline's eyes.

"You don't mind?" she asked.

Jacqueline quirked an eyebrow. She held up the book and nodded pointedly at Addison's seat.

Addison pursed her lips and lay back on the cushion covered bench, Jacqueline moved over to sit by her curled up body and locked an arm around her to try and keep her steady.

With one hand she balanced the heavy looking tome and turned to the page where she wished to begin.

"On Mary Magdalene and the Golden Legend," Jacqueline began, swiping Addison's hair out of her face as they rode.

---

Addison sat up abruptly right around the time Mary, Marthe and Lazarus had been cast out to sea by the pagans who had crucified Jesus. She waved Jacqueline away and reached for her bucket, leaning over and spilling her guts inside.

Jacqueline sat back, closing the book with displeasure. She pulled the curtains back to allow fresh air inside, and rubbed Addison's back while she hurled, and the carriage rocked a little more forcefully.

---

The road was winding, and Addison could not stop shaking. Jacqueline had tried just about everything, and the men – though they no doubt could hear her dry heaving up her empty guts – did not call for a stop or come to her aid.

At one point, Eric had rode beside her window and tried to ask her if she was okay. She didn't remember what exactly she had said, but there had been several rude gestures, a long, dry, coughing wretch, and a moan of pain, before he had backed off in fear of her ire, and rode away.

At some point they began a steady incline. Jacqueline had stuck her head out the window, as Addison lay on the floor of their carriage, cradling her puke bucket to her chest.

"Visibility is low, my lady," Jacqueline murmured.

Addison moaned out in confusion.

"We're approaching the pass," she said softly. "The mountain is still tempestuous this time of year, and the snowfall is thick and heavy—"

Addison shivered and hugged herself. She felt her heart stutter and give a great, rib cracking thud.

And the carriage jolted and slid a bit, and her mind conjured the image of a great cliff.

Addison froze and then bolted up right, clinging to the edge of the bench. They were sliding still, and the horses protested. The men shouted. And Jacqueline whirled around to look at Addison who had embedded her nails in the wood of the bench next to her.

"It's okay, my lady," she said. "We just hit a patch of ice."

"I want out," Addison said, her voice small.

Jacqueline wrinkled her brow. She reached for her and lifted her up onto the bench at the back of the carriage, before taking a seat across from her and holding tightly to both of her hands.

"We cannot get out right now," she said.

"I want out," Addison said again, skin jumping. She eyed the window but didn't have it in her to look outside.

"We are on the king's road," Jacqueline supplied, catching her glance.

"On a cliff," Addison said.

Jacqueline frowned and shook her head. "No, my lady. There is no drop. We just hit a patch of ice, but we've passed it now."

Addison shivered again. Her belly was tight.

There were more calls from the men ahead of them. And calls from the back as well. The driver at the front of the carriage was silent.

The wheels rattled as they entered a white cloud of heavy snow. Addison's breath came in short, desperate gasps as Jacqueline tried to reassure her. This time, instead of darkness consuming her whole, as it had done so many times before, it was a bright, freezing light that did it.

The temperature dropped well below freezing as they hit the massive winter storm. It shook the carriage, and rattled the horses. And the cold burrowed deep down into Addison's bones.

The world outside disappeared.