Chapter 46 Call Me Lass
''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''
A hand presses on my shoulder, gentle and kind. It is too small to be Eric's. "Milady?" Wessel says in the void. My body stirs and rouses, dragging me out of sleep. Such hefty, demanding sleep. Hell, I don't want to get up now! I am cocooned in warmth. My eyes and limbs are laden with fatigue.
"Milady?" The hand squeezes my shoulder again. That pricks my nerves. I hum and force my eyes open. Wessel hovers above me, the black sky above him. The fire's gold light is on half of his face, and the other half is tucked in several shades of shadow.
He frowns down at me. "I'm sorry to wake you this early, but it's imperative we get your training underway."
I hum and blink my eyes several times. Last night rushes back to me. Beith and his raid, Wessel's bow—Eric. His plan to save me with a dwarven heart…"Right." I push myself to sit up as Wessel takes his hand from me. The bright flames sting my eyes. I squeeze my eyes shut against their light, dulling the sting.
"You should eat first. I'll get you something." Wessel gets up and goes around the fire to his packs, crunching the snow beneath his boots.
Eric. I pry my eyes open to see a slither of the world and look down to my right. There he is asleep on his back, his hands folded across his stomach and his right leg drawn partway to his chest, bent at the knee. I lift my heavy eyes to his face. His head is resting against his saddle and his face is tilted my way. My heart falters. His head either rolled my way as he slept, or the last thing he laid his eyes on was me before sleep took him. I rub my eyes, trying to get the sleep out of them, and drop my hands in my lap. I cannot help my eyes as they study his face. Faint streams of smoke leave his nostrils with his steady, silent breaths. Most of the wrinkles that usually crease his forehead are gone save for two; one closer to his peaked hairline and the other closer to his brows. Despite the marks his past and his sorrows have left on his face, they are nearly gone when he is asleep. The moths awaken and flit everywhere in my belly. God, he looks much younger than one who has thirty-seven years. If I didn't know better, I might guess him to have twenty-five, maybe only twenty years. A smile nags at my mouth, heating my cheeks. He really is young considering the three centuries his heart will beat for. He is a strapping young man with a face and a voice that would tempt virgins from their virtue of chastity and married women from their vow of fidelity.
"Here you are," Wessel says as he comes back round the fire to me, bread and dried meat wrapped in linen in one hand and a cup in his other hand.
I smile up at him and accept the food and the cup from him. "Thank you."
He returns my smile with a soft one. "Of course, milady." He sits down beside me while I peer into the warm cup. There is his creamy white nog nearly touching the brim, dark flecks of seasonings in the drink. I set the bread and dried meat down before me and begin eating and drinking breakfast. Wessel pulls out his own rations from his satchel and eats and drinks with me.
"Take a gander at this," Wessel says. He reaches over his shoulder, plucks an arrow out of his back quiver, and sets the arrow down before me.
My eyes pass up and down the arrow as I swallow my sip of nog and set down the cup. I wince at the scuffed black arrowhead. "I've only seen a handful of these." I pick up the arrow by its shaft and ghost my fingertip along the head's razor-sharp edge, from its needle-sharp tip to its curved hook at the end of its length. "It's barbed, right?" I look up at Wessel.
He nods slowly. "Yes. They're not effective against armor and mail, but they wreak havoc on flesh."
"I can imagine." I slip the arrowhead between my two fingers, the fire glinting on the shiny black surface. "That'd be hell to pull out of your leg or your shoulder." I pull the arrowhead back, the barbed ends catching on my fingers—as they would catch on someone's flesh in their panicked attempt to rip the arrow out.
"That's Torrance's favorite arrowhead to use," Wessel says. "You'll rarely see him use any other arrow."
This arrow would tear flesh apart! "Of course it is." I run my fingers along the waxy wood shaft. "Hmm," I hum and turn the arrow horizontal, testing its balance and weight on my fingers. "This is lighter than I remember." I pass the arrow back to Wessel, minding the barbed head and delicate fletchings.
He nods as he slides it back into his quiver. "The shaft is made from an eastern wood, I think. Liger wood?" He shrugs and scratches his head of dyed black hair. "I think that's what it's called." He drops his hand. "It's strong, but lightweight. It's more unforgiving to any errors the archer makes before he releases the arrow, but it can go faster and farther."
"So it's an arrow for experienced archers?" I pick up my cup of nog and take a sip, the milk creamy, tangy, and sugary—a perfect mixing of flavors.
Wessel nods. "I think Torrance would fair better with shooting the arrow than me."
I offer my brother an assuring smile. "Don't sell yourself short. You're a good shot. Dare I say better than most Taborans."
Wessel chuckles nervously and averts his eyes to his bread and dried meat. "I appreciate that, milady." He rips a piece from his unleavened bread. "Half my blood is Taboran, after all."
"So does that mean you're only half as good as I am at shooting?" Torrance asks from behind us.
Wessel and I look back. The healer stands near the edge of our fire's light wearing a small, handsome smile.
Wessel laughs, minding his tone for the two men still asleep. At least, I hope they're still asleep. "Why Locke puts up with you, I'll never know," Wessel says. I peek back at Locke and Eric. Both are still fast asleep…my eyes linger on Eric's face.
Snow crunches beneath Torrance's boots as he comes to us. "Is that the tolerant Southern half of you speaking?" Torrance asks with the sound of a grin.
Wessel laughs again. "If my people were as tolerant of others as you claim, we wouldn't have nearly as many fireheads as we do."
"Yeah…" snow crunches again, louder this time "...you fireheads would go extinct if you kept breeding with outsiders."
"Breeding!?" Wessel asks, trying and failing to feign offense with the sound of his grin.
"That's a very unromantic way to describe love and marriage," I say. It takes a concerted effort, but I tear my eyes from Eric and turn my head to Torrance. He is sitting on the other side of Wessel plucking apart his own piece of bread.
Torrance grins at me. "I'm not the most romantic of men, my dear. Not like Eric, anyways." He nods to the sleeping hunter. "His head is in the clouds with you."
More than the fire warms my cheeks. "What about Josie? Back in Vilgard?" I ask Torrance.
Wessel snorts into his cup of nog.
Torrance glances at Wessel. "What was that for?" Torrance asks Wessel.
Wessel shakes his head and lowers his cup. "She knows she's a dilliance to you, right?" he asks and throws a bite of bread into his mouth.
"A dalliance?" I raise my brows at Torrance who meets my gaze. "She seemed to like you more than that!"
Torrance shrugs casually and looks at the fire. "Any lady who fancies me, I'm upfront with them about my intentions. I'm not sneaky or dishonest about it. I let them know, this is just a good time for you and me. We'll make each other feel good, and when we've had our fill of each other, we'll part ways and move on with our lives...Unfortunately, there have been a few ladies who have let their hearts get the better of them." He barely lifts his gaze to me as he fiddles with his half eaten bread. His embarrassment, perhaps his shame is palpable. "I think Josie may have let her heart get the better of her." His eyes dart back to the fire, his fingers fiddling more with his bread. "I might have to end things with her soon."
"You mean break her heart," Wessel says under his breath before he takes another drink of his nog, though it's loud enough.
Torrance sighs and nods. "Yeah…break the poor woman's heart…that's what I'll be doing."
My brows furrow. Unease, and a bit of disgust stirs in me. How can he treat women like that? My mouth parts, words coming up my throat—Who am I to judge? I close my mouth. I…I plan to do the same thing to Eric's heart. At least Torrance is honest the whole time. If I could be honest with Eric without fear of him abandoning me…I pray to God, Ursus, Maker, whoever will hear me! When Eric learns of my deceit, please do not let him abandon my people, too. Please! My people cannot die because of my lies.
Wessel finishes eating breakfast first. "I'm going to take watch," he says as he gets up. "Join me when you two are finished."
"Will do," Torrance says before he drains some water from his waterskin. Wessel smiles down at me and starts about the fire, minding his feet as he goes so as not to wake the two men still sleeping. I return his smile and watch him as he goes to the edge of our fire's light to a particular tree that looms over the clearing—a tree clear of man and horse. For when my shots miss. No need for them to strike one of us.
"Here, my dear," Torrance says. My eyes go to him. He pulls up his left coat sleeve, revealing a plain leather bracer protecting his forearm. "You'll need this for shooting." He turns his arm over and unfastens the buckles securing the bracer to his arm.
"Oh, an armguard," I say and stuff the last piece of dried meat into my mouth.
Torrance nods with a growing smile. "That's right! To protect you from string slap, especially with your healing werewolf, er wolfman bite." He shrugs and hands me his bracer. "Though you shouldn't have much danger of that happening if you keep your form right."
My stomach twists. That terrible night comes rushing back to me. No, don't think of it, Snow! Bury the memories! Your arm is on the mend, last Torrance looked at it. Soon enough, it will be just a scar…a scar that will bring back the memories everytime I see it. I swallow my last bite of breakfast. "Right. Thank you."
Torrance smiles. "Of course!"
I pull my right arm out of my coat sleeve and position the leather bracer on my forearm. The layers of bandages and my shirt sleeve offer sufficient protection from the bracer itself. "It might be a touch big for me, but you make do with what you have."
Torrance smiles as he helps me to fasten his bracer snugly to my arm so it doesn't slip about. He wouldn't have given me this bracer if it would harm my wolf bite. "I might have some old armguards at the cabin that will fit you better. We should be arriving there by midday tomorrow."
"I can't wait to get there." I carefully bend my arm, the bracer thwarting me from completely bending my arm. "It'll be nice to have a roof over our heads once more."
"I agree," Torrance says. "That shouldn't affect your shooting." He points at his armguard. "You'll also need this." He reaches into his satchel, pulls out a small leather piece and shows it to me. A finger tab!
My gut twists instantly with that vitriol hatred. "I don't need that," I say.
"What?" Torrance blinks once, trying to process his shock.
"I like to feel the string on my fingers." I rub my left thumb across my three fingers, the callouses still tough from my fourteen years of handling rocks and stones. I point sharply at the blasted tab! "That will stop me from doing so!"
Torrance tilts his head, casting me a reproving look. "My dear, your fingers just healed from the frost! You need to protect them. Especially since you'll be practicing with a longbow!"
"But that has always affected my shot!" I throw my hand towards the tab. "Torrance, when I was a girl, I toughened my fingers. They've stayed tough over the years!" I rub my three fingertips again. Indeed, they are still tough! "My fingers are healed, just as my shoulder is!"
Torrance frowns at me. "Please trust me. You can shoot for a bit without a tab, but you're not going to want your fingers bleeding for the raid!" He pushes the finger tab into my hand.
I clutch the tab in my hand. "Fine. So long as I can shoot without the tab, too. At least let me start my training without this! I need to feel the string on my fingers."
Torrance sighs reluctantly. "Alright, but promise me once your fingers start to feel sore, you'll use the tab."
I frown, but nod. He is being reasonable, and I cannot fault him for caring for my wellbeing. "I promise, Torrance. And thank you."
He only nods. I tuck the tab safely in my belt and look down at my left hand. At least I get to feel the string on my fingers. I…I need to feel it on my fingers…to convince myself that this is reality. God, to be able to shoot again after fourteen years…I imagine a bow in my right hand and hold my arm out, keeping my shoulder relaxed and the bow grip on the root of my thumb. I curl my last three fingers about the imagined grip and keep my thumb level with the earth—aimed at my target.
"Don't forget your elbow," Torrance says.
"Oh, right!" It's a slight challenge, but I turn my elbow outward without twisting my wrist and my shoulder and without altering the angle of my arm.
"Very good!" Torrance says with a smile.
I can't stop the smile that lifts my mouth as I push my arm back into my coat sleeve. God, I miss the bow pressing into my hand, the string's hum after that release, and the thud of my arrow striking my target. "Come on, Torrance!" I pat his knee and leap to my feet. "I need to get a bow in my hands. Now!"
Torrance's eyes widen with surprise, but he pushes himself to his feet. "Alright."
We both trek between the fire and Eric's feet, minding our steps as we go. I glance at Eric as I pass him. His eyes are still closed with sleep. His chest rises and falls steadily. My heart aches for the hunter. Though the three of us were quiet, for us to not have woken Eric up…he really is exhausted.
I tear my eyes from Eric as Torrance and I near Wessel who is tucked within the shadow of one of the trees, keeping his watch.
"Wessel!" I greet as we reach him.
He pushes himself from the tree and turns to us with a warm smile. "Ready?" he asks us. Me.
My grin grows on its own. "Yes."
Wessel pulls his bowstring over his shoulder and head and offers me his longbow. "Form first," he says. That brings back memories.
I chuckle at the sweet memories and take his longbow from him. "Yes, Sir."
'''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''
My coat rests on Wessel's shoulder, but I care not. It's frigid, but I care not. All I care about—the center of my universe, is the center of that tree trunk—my target, and Wessel's bow and Torrance's arrows—my treasures that have lightened my heart and caused it to thrum with excitement, and have urged too many smiles to count upon my mouth.
I stare down at the center of the tree. My target. Seven arrows are clustered tightly together all about the center. Four have strayed some inches to the right—an issue that I've been reacquainted with. It's an issue that I never got the chance to fix fourteen years ago. Wessel. Eric…It's an issue I must fix in the next four days. I take the last arrow from Torrance, nock it, and draw back to my anchor point. The old bow creaks with the tension, the pent up energy begging for release. For relief!
"You can do it," Wessel says. "You showed me you could sixteen years ago."
The sweet memories come back to me. All the tips of aiming that Wessel and William had for me. William put his faith in me…before I even proved myself to them both.
"You're Taboran," William reminded me over and over. "It's in every drop of your blood."
I stare at my target, not at my arrowhead. The dead center of the tree trunk. The string slips past my fingers, and the arrow flies. The hum of the bowstring, the whistle of the arrow, and that thud mix into a beautiful, three note melody.
Wessel chuckles. "Look at that."
There my arrow is embedded in the center of my seven clustered shots, in the dead center of the tree trunk—in my target.
"I told you," Wessel tells Torrance.
My chest swells with so much, pushing a painful grin into my mouth. I can't help but start to laugh. Tears of joy sting my eyes. "I did it! I hit it!" I barely catch Torrance's surprised and pleased face as I take off through the matted path of snow towards the tree to retrieve my—Torrance's arrows. I have to see my struck target up close!
I reach the tree and peer closer. There are my four stray shots, my seven clustered ones, and there in the dead center is my first sure shot. "I hit it," I say softly. To no one in particular, but for my ears alone. My eyes travel up the shaft of my—Torrance's arrow to its fletchings, the tips of the black feathers bending to the chilly breeze.
My arms tingle and my hair rises painfully. The cold grows and bites deeper and deeper into my arms until it clamps down on my bones. The men chatter behind me, but their voices are too soft for me to hear what they're saying. I can't help but shiver as I slide Wessel's bow onto my shoulder and pull Torrance's arrows out of the tree trunk with practiced hands. This is my fifteenth trip to the tree to retrieve the dozen arrows Torrance loaned me. I sigh as I pull my best shot out of the trunk and gather the shafts in my left hand, the wood clacking softly together. It took, what…one hundred seventy-nine shots to finally strike my target? My stomach starts churning. God, I hope and pray that this one hundred eightieth shot was not sheer luck, but the start of reclaiming a skill that I nearly lost.
I turn back to rejoin—I halt, nearly stumbling forward in the snow, but I catch myself. There Torrance and Wessel stand at the other end of the matted path of snow I had created with my fifteen trips to the tree and back. Standing with the two are Locke—and Eric. The four of them look at me, three of them grinning with satisfaction. There's no smile on the face of the one I care about the most.
Torrance beckons me with a wave of his hand. "Greta, come join us!" he says. My gut wrenches, nearly making me sick, but I manage two nods and force my feet down the matted path. My heart grows heavier and heavier the closer I draw. My eyes catch his blue ones and try to leave them…they cannot. I finally reach the men and stop, keeping six feet between Eric and me. This six feet is not six feet, but a gaping chasm with the black oblivion deep in it.
"Wessel was right about you!" Locke says. To me. I try to tear my eyes from Eric…I cannot. Snow crunches beneath Locke's heavy boots as he starts towards me. "I was right about you!"
A small, sad smile lifts Eric's mouth. My heart flutters and aches. There is some pride in his eyes, though the revelation that I can successfully lose an arrow is disappointing at best. Angering at worst. He does not want me along for this raid.
The snow stops crunching when Locke stops beside me, towering over me. "May I?" he asks me.
Somehow, I manage to tear my eyes from Eric this time and look up at Locke. His hand is stretched to me waiting patiently for something…Oh, he wants Wessel's bow!
"Oh, yes! Of course!" Get it together, damn it! I shake my head and look at Wessel as I slip his bow from my shoulder. "If that's alright with you?"
Wessel grins and nods. "By all means!" He holds his hand towards the tree.
Locke takes the bow from me, and I offer him one of my—God, one of Torrance's arrows! "Thank you," Locke says. He nocks the arrow, draws with his right hand—reversed, and he releases. The string hums and the arrow whizzes and thuds in the tree's center.
"Good shot. You shoot differently," I tell Locke.
He nods and hands Wessel his bow as he joins us. "It is only a reverse draw of your people's style. It is not that different at all." Locke gives me a smile and looks at the others. "I am not sure if you have noticed, but first light is well past us." He points up at the sky. The three of us look up. Indeed, the sky is laden with those perpetual bright grey clouds. "Eric and I have packed up what we could while you three were…training." He gestures to us and our tree. "You three pack and we will go." With that said, Locke turns and treks through the snow to Abasi.
Torrance comes to me and holds out his empty, waiting hand. "I'll take my arrows back now."
"Of course!" I pass Torrance his arrows as Wessel approaches.
"Milady, here. You must be cold," Wessel says and offers me my coat.
"Oh yes, I am! Thank you!" I take my coat from him, force my arms into the sleeves and chafe my arms. Anything for warmth!
Torrance sighs. "As he said, we should pack up and go. We'll train more tonight when we make camp." He pats my shoulder and gives me a stern look. "You're going to use that tab tonight as well, as you promised."
"But my fingers aren't sore!" I stop chafing my arms and brush my fingers with my thumb, a slight sting growing in them as I do so. I frown and look down at my fingertips. They are a bit red…and raw.
"They look sore to me," Torrance says. "You promised me."
I sigh. "You're right. I did not realize they were sore. I will use the tab with my next draw."
Torrance smiles with relief. "Thank you. That gives me a peace of mind you don't realize."
I can't help but frown. Torrance pats my shoulder once more and starts for the tree his last arrow is embedded in.
"You shot well, milady," Wessel says.
I look back at him, meeting his gleaming eyes and proud smile. I return his grin, though it is weighted with Eric's presence—and disappointment. "It took one hundred and seventy-nine shots to get the perfect one," I say, unable to keep the gloom out of my voice. "I'm not sure if I…"
Wessel's smile lessens as he glances Eric's way. "Don't sell yourself short," he says and looks down at me, forcing his smile bigger. For my sake. "You're remembering your skill. Give yourself time." He gives my left shoulder a squeeze. "I'm going to pack."
"Of course." I nod. Wessel takes his hand from me and passes me by on his way to camp, Torrance a small ways ahead of him with his dozen arrows in hand. My heart leaps into my throat. "Wessel!" I call him. He stops and looks over his shoulder at me. "Thank you for your faith in me. It…means alot." I bite the inside of my lower lip. It truly does.
Wessel smiles kindly at me. "How could I not have faith in you?" he asks me, his words sounding genuine. Doubt creeps into my heart. How can he have faith in me when he knows my true name and that I am choosing to keep it from Eric? To keep deceiving him?
Wessel's smile lessens as he looks ahead and trudges through the snow to camp.
Snow crunches beneath familiar, heavy boots. An ache appears and grows in my heart with each stride he takes to me. I turn to him, meeting his icy eyes when he stops two feet from me, towering over me as a bear on his hind limbs. The ache in my heart—it's a pining for him—a pining that is intensifying and consuming more of my heart despite him standing right here! I part my mouth and draw in breath. I try to speak…to say something, but my breath sticks in my throat. That need to cry wells behind my eyes and stings them.
He forces a smile for me, though it's so heavy. "Ye did good with yer shootin'." He barely lifts his hand and points at the tree I put arrow after arrow into.
"Thank you." I try to smile. I try to, but I cannot lift my mouth. "Do you…" I gulp down my spit, fighting back my tears. "You don't…" I take in a deep, shuddering breath. Just say it, damn it! "Eric, I know you don't want me along for this raid, but I wish you had faith in me." His smile drops in the blink of my eyes. "It would mean more to me than anyone else who claims to put their faith in me—"
"I have faith in ye!" He closes the space and grabs my shoulders. "Even before I learned just last night of yer passion for the bow, I had faith in ye!" he says, the bite in his voice impossible to ignore.
I want to smile, but my mouth is too heavy. I want to believe him, but how can I when his proclamation of faith is mingled with his anger? God, and perhaps his pain.
He frowns down at me. "Why did ye no' tell me before about yer passion?" he asks, trying and failing to uplift his tone.
"I just didn't think to tell you. It never came up." The lie flows from me. Guilt lashes my heart. Pain appears in his eyes. That cuts me deeper than his lack of faith in me. Fear spikes in my gut. Wait, is he onto me!? "Why do you ask?" I fight to keep myself calm and collected.
He takes his hands from my shoulders. "I know we made that deal back in Vilgard." My brows furrow. We made several deals. Which one is he referring to? His frown lessens. "Not our last deal, but our deal before that one. Remember? I tell ye somethin' about myself and in return ye tell me somethin' about ye."
"Oh, yes, I remember." My gut stirs with more fear. "What does that deal have to do with now?"
His face and his shoulders fall. "Ye didnae think to tell me about yer passion for the bow. Ye said ye had an uneventful childhood, but this seems—eventful! It's two years of yer life that ye…ye didnae think to tell me about," he says, his words growing softer and more pained.
Guilt nearly crushes my heart and pushes my head down. My eyes fix on the tips of my boots pressed in the matted snow. My fear dissipates. He isn't onto my lies. No, instead I hurt him with my silence…my silence that was spurred by my fear. "I'm sorry," I almost mouth, but I hear those two words. "I—" I bite my tongue. I cannot say more. One wrong word, and I lose Eric. One wrong word, and I may doom my people.
He closes the space and takes me in his arms. My body tenses…but feeling his gentle strength and the steady drum of his heart against my brow soothes me. I lean into him and wrap my arms about him. Only three of his breaths come and go before his warmth touches my face and soaks into my vest and shirt. My eyes grow heavy and close. I press my hands into his back. I savor the strength in his back and the rise and fall of his ribs beneath my arms.
"I'm sorry, lass," he says above me. He rubs my back a few times and wraps an arm about my shoulders. "I was hopin' we'd get away from that deal on our own, but…" he sighs against me "...we didnae. I barely know ye."
My heart constricts. I bury my face into his chest, those damn tears welling too much! "I didn't mean to hurt you," I say into his chest, my voice muffled and shaking. How can he put faith in someone he barely knows?
"I know." He strokes my back with his other hand, trying and failing to comfort me. "I just want to know ye. If there's anythin' yer afraid to tell me—"
"There's nothing I'm afraid to tell you," I say smoothly despite my voice shaking. I flinch. How easily that slipped from me.
"Trust me. That's what I'm tryin' to tell ye."
Tears escape down my cheeks. I turn my face from his chest, letting the cold torture my wet cheeks. How many times has he told me this now? A hundred times? Ten hundred? Why does he keep his patience with me!? Why has my lack of trust in him not driven him away yet? If I were him, I would have become too fed up and abandoned myself long ago, but here he stays embracing me and still asking me to trust him…Hell, I am desperate to trust him! I wish to whatever god will hear me that I could trust him! But my fear…it's necessary. My fear could have saved my people!
"I watched ye practice while I was eatin' breakfast," he says.
My nerves buzz and beg me to squirm! Instead, I pull my arm from him and scrub the tears from my face with my coat sleeve. "How much did you see?" I ask slowly, carefully. Something about Eric watching me practice…it's nerve-racking being under his scrutiny.
He grabs my arms and eases himself from me. I don't want to look up at him. He'll see my teary eyes then, but the pull on my eyes…My chin falls back, bringing my eyes to his.
He tries to smile for me. It falters midway, but he manages a brief smile. "I saw a wee bit. I may no' be the best with the bow, but I know an archer's spirit when I see one. Ye have it." He smiles again, this one easier. Truer. "I have never seen ye smile so much as ye did with that bow. It makes ye very happy."
Hearing him say that…he recognizes it. More than that, he is willing to say it even though it goes against his own wishes. A small smile lifts my mouth. "It does. I feel like I have something of my old life back. I…I took back something that was taken from me fourteen years ago." My smile falls. I truly did.
His smile falls halfway, but he manages to keep it. "Ye're a strong lass." He rubs my arms and smirks suddenly. "It's these Taboran muscles!"
Laughter escapes us both. His laugh is so deep and foreign, yet also familiar and happy. My heart swells. There is only one sound more beautiful than the hum of a clean release and the whistle of the arrow—that's his laugh.
His laughter starts to ebb. No, I want to keep his laughter going! "Sure, I have Taboran muscles, scraggly and stringy, but these!" I grab his arms and knead the thick, hard muscles, minding his healing wolfbite. "These are the arms of a bear!" He laughs harder, his smile growing. His laughter spurs my laughter and my heart. "No, not a bear, but a god!" God, I love these muscles! "Perhaps Ursus himself?" I ask with a smile.
His eyes widen with surprise, but he quells his laughter and his surprise in a breath. "That's quite the compliment, but I assure ye that I'm just a lad. A lad named Eric."
My laughter ends, but it leaves behind a sweet smile and a tender heart. "You're a good man." I place my hands on his chest, barely touching him. "That's who you are."
His face softens as he looks down at me, so much filling his eyes. "I'm tryin'."
God, he is a good man. My legs ease as my heart softens too much for him. He has the strength of a bear. Of Ursus. He could leave now to go search for one of those dwarven hearts and no one could stop him, yet here he still is with me. When he learns my true name…Guilt burdens my heart too much. "Eric, it was wrong of me to expect you to put your faith in me. How can you? As you said, you barely know me." That steals the gentle smile from his face. "I'm sorry I asked that of you."
He scowls. "That's nothin' to apologize for! And why do ye doubt me!?" He shakes his head, his eyes hard with reprove. "I should have told ye last night…ah, I should have told ye long before last night!" He casts his eyes down to his boots. That reprove in his eyes is not for me, but for himself.
I frown. "Tell me what?"
He looks up at me and lifts his brows. "That I have faith in ye!"
"Oh, right," I say. Of course, you idiot! How could you not remember what you two were talking about only a moment ago!?
His brows relax, but his eyes fill with pain. "I've had faith in ye all along, lass. I had faith in ye when I saw yer marks on those cell walls. As I said before, I knew I was lookin' at the testament of someone who wanted to live." He grabs the sides of my neck. "I knew I was lookin' at the testament of someone who is strong."
I cannot stop my frown from deepening. Strong? God, if I was strong, I would tell him my true name now regardless of the consequences to myself and to my people. If I was strong, I would trust him as he begs me to. But my fear, my cowardice—to tell him now would doom my people! He would abandon us then! Though, when we reach Hammond's, he will learn the truth. When we reach Hammond's, I've no doubt his heart will have grown fonder and fonder of this Greta. This lie. If I don't tell him now, how much more likely will he be to abandon my people when he learns the truth!? I swallow. How much greater will his hate be for me then?
He returns my frown, his face heavy with pain. "I see it in yer pretty face. Ye dinnae believe me."
"No, I do! I do!" I cling to his wrists, his coat sleeves cold to touch. "It's just that I…" Tell him! Tell him now! "I'm not…" To tell him now…to lose him at this very moment…My fingers loosen and slip from his wrists. Tears sting my eyes. You coward, Snow. You damn coward!
"Please believe me," he says. He smiles gently and takes my hands in his. "Yer strong. Have faith in yerself. I have faith in ye. Have faith in me when I say all this! I mean what I say. Every word." A frown overtakes him. "Ye know this!" He shakes my hands, pleading.
That strikes a cord in my heart. He means what he says. So…God, so if he means everything he says—but he hates lies more than anyone and anything else. And God, he owes me nothing! He owes my people nothing. Still, I cannot ignore the hope that sparks in my heart like a lightning strike in the middle of a bone-dry forest. "You do?" I shouldn't be asking this, but the words are already out of me.
He forces his smile higher despite the pain etched into his face. "Aye, I do." He cradles the sides of my neck once more and smiles down at me. Pain and sadness still weigh on him, but there is a light in his blue eyes that wasn't there before. "Everythin' ye've done for others, for me, the promises ye've made and kept and vow to keep…," words leave him as he slowly shakes his head, so much coming to burn in his eyes that I cannot discern it all. There is disbelief, yet also belief. There is admiration and…God, dare I think it!? Reverence. Reverence that should be solely for his god. His smile pushes into his cheeks, looking so tender that surely it hurts him. Fear grips my heart. When he learns my true name—"I'm alive because of ye." He stoops to me and takes my bottom lip between the warmth of his.
My heart crumbles. My knees go weak. I clutch his arms, saving myself from collapsing to the earth. He doesn't break our kiss as he wraps one arm around my waist and holds me to him. My right hand goes to his heart. It's in his kiss. It's in his embrace. He wants to uphold me. God. When he learns my true name—"Lovebirds!" Locke calls across the clearing. Eric breaks our kiss with a groan and glares at Locke. I force my head to the right. Locke and Torrance stand on the other side of the small clearing, both grinning like silly boys. "Daylight is wasting! We must go!" Locke says, his silly grin staying.
Torrance pats Locke's shoulder, getting his attention. "Go easy on them! Their love for each other is a beautiful thing!" Torrance says and holds his hand out to Eric and me.
My heart aches and sinks. Eric may love me, but I do not love him. I wish I did!
Locke looks at Torrance, still grinning. "Those two will have plenty of time for their affections at the cabin. You will make certain of that!"
My eyes widen. Heat rushes to my cheeks and between my legs. I intend to touch and kiss every inch of yer body. The world disappears. There Eric and I are in a small bedroom, just us. His hands are on me. His mouth is on me. He steadily drops to his knees before me as he does to me what he intended to do. My hands grip his hair. My nails scrape along his scalp.
Torrance laughs, bringing back the grey wintery world. "I sure will! Now come on, you two!" He waves for us to follow as he and Locke turn and start the day's journey, leading Abasi and Sundance by their reins. Wessel waits for them a small ways in the twisted trees with Phoebe, his head turned to Eric and me. Our gazes meet. His eyes are dim and his mouth is heavy with a frown. A pang runs my heart through. Guilt and shame stiffen my body in Eric's arms and turn the desire between my legs cold. There's no need to guess my brother's thoughts. They're etched into his face.
"Hey, Wessel," Torrance calls him as he and Locke near him.
Wessel tears his eyes from me and looks back at Torrance. "Yes?"
"Do you still have that old bow at the cabin? The hunting one?" Torrance asks as he and Locke join Wessel's side.
"Yes, I do," Wessel says and trods through the snow with the two men and their horses.
"Ye alright?" Eric asks. My eyes shift to him, meeting those blue ones. Concern is deepening the wrinkles in his brow and in the corners of his eyes. "What's wrong now?" he asks, a hint of impatience putting that edge in his voice.
I bite the inside of my lip. Everything, Eric. Everything is wrong, but to tell you that…I cannot. And has your patience finally started to run thin with me? "Nothing. I should pack. Then we should go." The lie flows from me smoothly as I step back out of his arms and pass him to head to camp—I halt. There is nothing left at camp save Ylva! Even our campfire is gone, no doubt buried by Eric.
"I packed yer thin's," he says. I look back at him, meeting his frown. "Let's go." He passes me by on his way to Ylva. I try to move, but my feet stay rooted where they are. A pain enters my heart like never before. The way he said those two words, the way he just passed me by…his patience has run thin with me. From the beginning I was wondering when his patience would run thin with me, but to see it…My hands come together and wring each other. I suppose part of me hoped he would never give up on me. Part of me hoped that…I expected too much of him. He owes me nothing. Not one damn thing.
Ylva trots through the snow to him, meeting him halfway.
"It's another walk today, lass," Eric tells her and strokes her muzzle and her neck. She nickers and bumps her snout against his shoulder. His hands slow and still on his horse. He turns halfway and looks back at me. His mouth parts with his intake of breath, but he stills as he looks down at my wringing hands. I yank my hands from each other and force my feet to shuffle through the dense, heavy snow. God, it's like wading against a rushing river!
Somehow, I reach Eric and Ylva. I barely manage to look at his face. It's easier to look at the belt about his hips. My eyes go to his axe hanging at his right side. Would he ever draw it against me? Would he ever strike me down in his anger? In his rage? In his hate? Another pain like never before shoots through my heart. I cannot help but bring my hand to my heart to shield the little life it has left. Perhaps if he loses his patience with me, his love for me will grow cold, and therefore his hate for me will be far less than what it would have been. That's…
Snow crunches beneath those heavy, familiar boots. His hands come into my sight, coming towards me. I freeze up, but my heart lurches for him. He gently works his fingers between my heart and my hand and takes my hand in one of his. He presses his other hand to my heart, heavy on my chest, making it harder to draw breath.
"I want to make another deal with ye," he says.
That brings my eyes to his, his words lightening the load on me with this strange new direction. "Another deal?" My brows furrow. "What do you mean?"
He smirks. "I mean I want to make another deal with ye," he says gently. Patiently. He stoops down to me, putting his eyes nearly level with mine. "I want to know ye…and I want ye to know me." He swallows as something shapes his face. Hesitant, yet dead set on his decision. Whatever decision that is! Or just was. "I want ye to know everythin' about me, and I want to know everythin' about ye."
Panic grips me. "What!?"
He frowns down at me. "I know there are thin's yer no' tellin' me—"
"That's not true!" I say. The lie of lies pierces my heart.
Anger flashes across his eyes, his patience at the test again. "Really!?"
"Really! Truly! Yes, there are things I have not considered telling you, but that will come with time, no doubt!" That very last part is true. Indeed, my true name will be revealed in time. When we reach Hammond's. When his love for me has been snuffed out.
His anger vanishes when hurt fills his eyes. "Aye…I hope ye consider me more today and tomorrow." He draws in a breath, fighting to keep himself together.
My stomach twists into a painful knot. I hurt him. Again! Damn me! "Eric, I'm sorry. I didn't…I do consider you! Most of my thoughts are consumed with you!" My heart cries for him! I place my hand on his warm one that is shielding my heart. "Eric, that is the truth! Believe me on this! Please."
His gaze shifts from my eyes to my mouth and to my eyes, searching me. A breath comes into him and goes from him. And another. The hurt slowly leaves him. "Aye," he says. "I believe ye."
I let go of my breath and let my eyes fall shut. He means what he says. He believes me. Finally, he believes something about me that is true!
"I still want to make that deal with ye," he says.
That opens my eyes and stiffens my back. "What deal?"
He takes my other hand in his and pulls it from my heart, exposing it. "Ye will tell me the thin's that ye…ye would no' have told me otherwise."
Fear jolts me. "I—"
"And I will tell ye everythin' that I…I have no' told ye yet." That same hesitant, yet determined look shapes his face.
What more is there that he hasn't—Sara. They were married for eight years. They knew each other for ten. A whole decade…that is more than enough time for a child. At least one. What else could he mean by that? My heart wrenches. Eric…he was a father. My mouth parts, but no words leave it. How can I ask it? How do I even say it?
The determination slowly leaves his face as his eyes open a fraction more. It's in the air, silent to the gentle wind breezing across the snow and to the soft rustling of branches above us, but it is as loud as a mountain cracking and crumbling from an earthquake. He sees my question and my revelation. His answer is aye.
He clears his throat and inclines his head to me. "So…do we have a deal?"
"Uh…" God, do we!? Do I even want to know the details of his child? Or children!? How he or she—or they…died? "I…" The light—his hope starts to dim in his eyes. My heart aches and springs for him, but my ribs thwart it. Oh, I want to know him! I want to know everything about him as he wants to know everything about me! Hope sparks in my heart. A highly dangerous hope. I remember the silence my plea for him to forgive himself and his father put him in. I remember the weariness it brought to him. He said he has been considering things that he refused to consider before. He knows he would be better off if he forgave! He means what he says. If he can one day forgive his father and himself…then perhaps he might forgive me…yet he hates lies. The mountain of lies I have created…
My nose burns and my eyes sting. I want to be honest with him! Completely and utterly! One day. I want him to know me. Snow. Snow White. The long thought dead princess with the strangest name her parents could have ever picked for her. I want to trust him. Utterly! And I want him to love me. I want him to love me enough to forgive me one day. Guilt drops on my heart. I shouldn't want this. For his sake, I shouldn't, but I—"Lass?" he asks, his eyes barely alight with that hope now. I hate false hope, yet I…I do not want to see it die in his eyes.
"Eric, I…I need time." I'm not sure what else to say. What else can I say to not kill the last bit of hope in his eyes? What else can I say to not stop him from considering forgiveness?
The hope in his eyes grows and burns brighter. He stands up taller, a weight lifted from him. "Aye. I need time, too."
Seeing the weight lifted off him brings me relief. I let go of the breath I hadn't realized I was holding.
"We should go. We've stood here too long," he says.
"Yes." I peek past him. The men are well ahead of us. They are used to Eric and I falling behind, but they will soon stop and wait for us if we don't leave now and catch up. "Let's go." I look back at him.
He nods at Ylva. "Ye should ride on her, get some sleep." He grabs my waist to lift me!
"Not yet!" I say, halting him.
He raises his brows at me. "Ye got up early this morn! Ye need sleep."
"I know," I grab his hands and take them from my waist, but I don't let him go, "but I want to walk with you. For a bit, at least. I will try to nap on Ylva later today."
A small smile lightens his mouth. "Aye, I want that, too." He takes his right hand from mine and grabs Ylva's reins. He clicks his tongue as he and I start out of the clearing. "C'mon, lass," he tells his horse. She snorts and trods with us through the knee deep snow.
As we enter into the forest, following the others' tracks, the load on me eases. "Thank you for packing my things." I look at him.
He glances down at me and graces me with a small smile. "Yer welcome. Ye were busy this morn. I wanted to help ye in some way." He tries to force a bigger smile for me.
I manage to give him a sad smile. He does not want me along for this raid, but he is not stopping me. That's…selfless of him. "Well, still, thank you." My mouth lightens and a yearning fills my heart. I want to talk with him. To know him better. "Eric, tell me more about your childhood."
He looks at me with surprise, his small smile verging on a hesitant hope. "Ye want to know more about my childhood!?" Why the surprise?
My heart grows heavy. He wants to believe me—yet he hesitates…and I cannot blame him for his hesitation. "Of course I do," I say and force a smile. My heavy heart crawls towards him and tries to escape between the gaps of my ribs, but the spaces are too small. I grab our joined hands with my left hand, desperate for him. "I want to know you, Eric." The surprise lessens in his blue eyes, brightening and brimming more and more with that hesitant hope. He's almost convinced. I lean towards him. "I really do. That's the truth. Believe me, please."
His smile gives into that hesitant hope and grows. "Aye, I believe ye." He gives my right hand a gentle squeeze and lifts his gaze to the sky, his brows knitting. "Hmm, what should I tell ye first?" He looks down at me, his smile staying. "Where, er what should I start with?"
I chuckle. "How about friends?" I shrug and fold his bear-sized hand in both of mine. "Surely you had some growing up."
He bobs his head. "I might've had one or two or three growin' up."
I raise my brows at him and laugh. "What does that mean?"
He laughs. "Ah, there was Eivor, Luke," my stomach wrenches, "and me." Keep your smile! Don't let his name shake you! "We shared the same friends." He looks down at me, nodding with his small, knowing smile.
"Makes sense!" I spit out and force my smile bigger. "Go on."
His smile grows, blissfully unaware of my inner terror. "Tyr and his wee brother, Dellingr, were good friends of ours right up til Luke and I left home." He looks down at his feet. Thank God! I look down at my own boots, watching where I place my next steps in the uneven snow. "Tyr was close to comin' with Luke and me, but his ma was ill and he couldnae leave his wee brother, so he stayed. Then there was Brynhild…," he trails off. Why?
My eyes peek up at him against my will, cutting my relief short. He looks up at me, a strange look in his eyes that I…I cannot read. My smile lessens. I try to keep it up, but it falls. What, did he and this Brynhild have a falling out as he and Jerome had…whatever that falling out was. "Brynhild?" I try to say his name. "What about him?"
Eric lifts his brows at me. "Him!? Nae, her!"
"Brynhild is a girl!?" God, it sounded like a man's name!
Eric laughs. "More like a woman now, but aye, Brynhild is a lass' name! No' a lad's." His smile softens. "Though I can see how to yer ears it would sound like a lad's name."
"Yes." I force a smile, though I cannot help that knowing gathering in my heart. She's a woman now. "Yes, it did." I try to fight it, but that knowing clumps together into an envious knot. "So, Brynhild was your friend?" I ask, trying to feign curiosity free of jealousy, though the edge stings my ears. "For how long?"
"Gods!" He looks ahead as he scours his memories. Of her. "She's been there from when I can first remember!" He looks down at me, grinning. "She met Eivor and me when we were born! Her mother was our mother's, ah, how do ye say it?" He looks down at me for the answer and takes his hand from Ylva's reins.
"She was your mother's midwife?" I offer, uncertain.
"That's it!" He snaps his fingers and points at me with a smile. "Thank ye!" He grabs Ylva's reins again.
"Of course," I say. It's all I can say.
"Her mother was my mother's midwife! Brynhild introduced us to Tyr and Dellingr, and when Luke was born, the six of us became good friends." His smile softens as he goes on. "We went skiin' together, fishin' together, and huntin' together. The six of us learned to fight side by side. Eivor and Brynhild learned to be wives, mothers, and defenders of the hearth while us lads learned how to be warriors, husbands – and fathers." My heart twists. It's in his eyes. His smile nearly falls, but he fights to keep the last of it. We both heard the pause in his voice. We both heard the way he said—those last two words.
He clears his throat and forces his smile bigger. "Brynhild has a passion for ice fishin' like ye have for the bow. The two of us went almost everyday to the nearby lakes to fish. There was one lake that she really liked to go to." He says some word, or words, in his native tongue, his smile growing lighter and truer, reminding me of the envy in my heart. It is both relieving and not. "That's Twin Souls Lake," he says.
Envy spikes in my heart. "Oh, that's what you said." I can't keep the edge out of my voice. Something suspicious creeps into his gaze, slowly turning his smile into a smug one. They shared, or share, a love for ice fishing. A pang enters my heart. Eric and I do not share that.
"Aye," he says slowly, as if…testing the word in his mouth. "It was Brynhild's favorite lake. There was a cave nearby that had hot springs in it. We'd go swimmin' together in the hot springs after a good long day of fishin'..."
"Oh." I force a smile, bearing my clenched teeth to him—almost like a snarling animal ready to defend what is hers. Did he purposefully leave that sentence unfinished?
He chuckles, making his smile as smug as can be. "As ye can imagine, we didnae want to get our clothes wet, so…"
"You swam in your underclothes?" I ask, praying, hoping that's the truth.
He chuckles again, this one heartier but quieter than the last. "Any wet clothes draws the cold like fire draws ye, and it's always cold where I'm from. We swam naked."
That wipes the smile from my face. What!? He just grins more, so close to bursting into laughter. He was doing it on purpose!
"You were children!" I snap.
Eric bursts out laughing. My cheeks burn. Oh God, here I am acting like some lovesick girl! "I wish ye could see yer pretty face right now!" What!? He quells his laughter as he says, "Aye, we were innocent children once, but there comes a time when that innocence dies to the maturin' body. Back at Jerome and Annabelle's, ye claimed to know this."
"Yes, I remember!" I yank my hands from Eric's, surprising him, and force my glare down to the trail of bootprints and hoofprints in the snow. "Why are you saying this!? What's your point!?" My chest burns with ire! I move faster, getting ahead of him. I need my hands and my eyes to keep my balance in the deep snow, anyways! "Why the teasing!?" God, I'm lying to myself! I don't need my hands for balance. He sees right through this facade. Through me. Hell, I am being absurd! I shouldn't feel this way! Yet the thought of him sharing something with another woman that he does not share with me…more than Brynhild and Eric's shared passion for ice fishing, Sara and he—they still share a pure, unadulterated love for each other. Still…
The snow crunches beneath my boots and his boots and beneath Ylva's hooves. I glance up at the path of bootprints and hoofprints ahead, following them a good four stones' throws to the backs of the three men and the rumps and tails of their horses. Their conversation with each other reaches my ears as murmurs. They are unaware of what happened behind them—and of the silence that has overtaken us.
That gruff inhale of his breaks the silence. "Why my teasin'? Cause it was fun," he says, a smile shaping his words, though his words are too heavy for it. They're so heavy that they tug on my heart and stop my feet where they are buried in the snow. He keeps moving, drawing closer to me, the snow crunching beneath his slower steps. "My point? I wanted to see how far I could push ye." My brows furrow. Push me? Fire wells in my chest. Push me to what!? I frown, snuffing the fire out. Acting like a child? The snow stops crunching beneath his steps. He's right behind me, looming over me. "Why did I say it?" He comes over my shoulder, putting his mouth right beside my ear. A shaky breath escapes me, billowing out of my mouth as that white mist. "It's the same reason I took ye out onto Delaney Lake…" Each word of his strikes my cheek like a hot slap to my face. To see if I care about him…more than just as my friend…to see if I might love him.
My chest constricts painfully, yet with each beat of my heart, it beats harder and harder for the man standing behind me, deepening that wrongful desire in it. That desire to be rejoined to the life spurring his heart on. That desire to be loved…and to love him. Truely. Honestly. Utterly. I grit my teeth. I can't want this! For his sake, if I love him at all, I will walk onward! If I love him at all, I will…my feet lift, turning me about and about. My chin tilts back and back until my eyes find his blue ones. My feet stop. My chin stills. My heart pounds, burrowing and lurching in the black depths of my chest. Rooting itself in its desire. Attempting its escape. So much stirs in those eyes of his. Those blue eyes that glimpse memories of the blue sky almost too sweet to remember. My breaths become shorter, shallower, heavier. The air thickens between us, ripening. I need…I want…
"Eric," I breathe out his name and reach for him. He opens his arms and folds me in them. I take his face in my hands, his stubble barely poking my chilled, numb and raw fingers. My eyes can't, won't leave his. Nor his mine. The blue storms and burns with…so much. Too much. My eyes sting. If the soul in those eyes could forgive me one day, could accept me one day—could love me one day when all of me is laid bare…He clutches the back of my neck with his hand and stoops to me. Something final in me gives. I collapse into him, our mouths finding each other in the void. Our mouths open on their own, deepening our kiss—bringing our hearts closer to each other than they have ever been. I bring my right hand down to his heart, needing, wanting to be as close as possible to it. It thumps strong, steady and fast beneath my hand. Fast not with illness, but with—love. Tears well and slip past my shut eyes. This love…no, his love, is more than it has ever been at any point in our journey. It has grown. Deepened. Fear grips my heart. God, Maker, Ursus, please! Let his love not be the one that turns to all-consuming hate, but let it turn unconditional. Eric, please. Forgive me. One day.
My tears trickle down my face, getting lost somewhere between the growing warmth and movement of his cheeks against mine. Salt stings the tip of my tongue. I grimace into our kiss. Damn my guilty tears! Surely, he tastes them!
He grunts against me and breaks our kiss! I suck in a desperate, shaky breath and force my eyes open, meeting his concerned gaze. My tears are on his cheeks and his lips, standing out like blood on pure white snow.
"Why're ye cryin'?" he asks me gently and brushes my tears away with his calloused thumbs.
I sniffle back the water trying to drain from my nose. "I'm…" I should not say it. If I love him at all, I will pull back and insist we move on for Greta's sake. But I need…I want… "Eric, will…will you forgive one day?" I ask, my voice shaking.
His brows furrow with confusion. He slows in brushing my tears away and stops. "What?"
"I…" I gulp. "Will you forgive one day? Will you forgive all those who have…and who will hurt you? I…," I lose the words. What more can I say without being too selfish!? At least in this, if he can forgive, he can be better off…and in extension, me. At the very least, if his love for me can turn to apathy—my heart cinches. God, apathy somehow seems worse than hate. So much worse.
His eyes soften. "I…" he licks his lips, mulling over my words "...I know ye want me to." The way he said that…it causes my heart to start sinking. "I know I'd be better off if I did forgive, but…" I search his dimming eyes, my heart sinking closer to the depths of despair. Eric, please. Please, say you will forgive one day! Please…He casts his somber gaze to the snow. His hands fall from my face, down to his sides. He…he will never forgive me. He…he is choosing not to. Even though he does not know my sins yet, he…he has thought over what I begged him to do, and he has chosen to not forgive.
"Tsk," he scoffs suddenly and lifts his eyes to me, so full of scorn. For himself. "Ye know, I earned a name for myself both in my home and here in yer land."
I part my mouth, desperate to speak. Silence is all that leaves me.
Eric frowns at me. "They both called me the Unforgivin'. I got that name twice because that's…that's who I am."
I try to spit out some words. Any words! Damn it, Snow! Speak! Speak! "How?" I manage to spit out, the word barely a whisper. "How…how you've been…the compassion you've shown to Eliza and her babe, to that family in Hymark, to your friends!" I throw my hand back to the men who have surely gotten too far ahead of us. He glances ahead at the men, seeing how far they've gotten. My hand falls. "...To me," I whisper. That pulls his eyes back down to me. Tears well in my eyes again, stinging them, and threaten to spill. "It doesn't make sense!" I sob.
Pain twists his face, pressing his lips together before his mouth parts to speak. Whatever he was going to say catches in his throat. He closes his mouth and swallows audibly. "Aye, yer right. I'm sorry, lass. I let ye down, but what yer people did to my brother, what those delvirs did to Sara, what Finn and his hag sister did to her and to ye! What Stigr let happen to my mother and my sister!" He raises his hands, his anger growing with every word, causing my heart to beat with increasing fear. "Every sin I've committed!" His voice rings through the forest, stinging my ears. I stumble back in the snow, loathing but needing that space between us. God, this space between us! This chasm! My heart hurts dearly. His hands and his anger stills.
Slowly, the pain takes over his face again. He drops his hands, hitting his sides. "I'm sorry," he says. Regret fills his eyes. "I hate seein' that fear in yer eyes." Hate. He hates. "The pain of everythin'..." he slowly shakes his head "...lass, how do I forgive!?" He almost takes a step to me, but he stops himself. He searches my face, desperate for an answer. "How did ye do it?"
I suck in a shaky breath. "I chose to," I say, the words flowing from me as lies do. Yet, it is the truth.
He grows almost still, his chest barely rising and falling with his breath. He blinks once. He looks…stunned. As if…God, I pray as if the answer had been there the whole time.
He blinks again, snapping himself out of his stunned state. "Ye chose to…" He slowly shakes his head, his eyes softening with disbelief—and awe. "That's no' easy to do."
I frown and scrub the tears from my face. "No, it's not." I sniffle and drop my hands. "It was one of the hardest things I've ever had to do…yet, that's all I had to do." My heart wells over for him. "Eric, please! Forgive! One day. Please. I know now that I'm asking a lot of you, but please for your sake alone choose to forgive! Please…" There's…nothing more I can say. There's nothing more I can do. Nothing…It's in his hands now.
Eric takes in a deep breath and forces his eyes past my head. "We need to get movin'." He grabs Ylva's reins. God, she was standing there waiting this whole time. Patient mare. I've no doubt she felt and feels the pain and turmoil Eric is going through.
Eric takes a hesitant step to me and offers me his empty hand. "I know this conversation didnae end bright and cheery, and I know ye need yer rest, but I love yer company. Can I have it for a wee bit longer?"
Love. He loves. I glance down at his empty, bear-sized hand. The fear in my heart still lingers, but seeing that warm, rough hand that possesses such gentle strength…my heart lurches for him, yearning for his company. For him.
I give him the best smile I can muster and place my hand in his. "Yes," I say.
He smiles at me and tightens his hand about mine with his gentle strength, enveloping my hand in his warmth. I turn to the journey ahead and clamber with him and his horse through the snow.
"Tell me more about the dwarves," I say.
He looks at me with surprise, his smile lessening. "Ye want to hear more about them!? Yer no' done with them?" That same hesitant hope touches his mouth.
My eyes widen. "Done with them!? What on earth gave you that impression!?"
He smiles a little more. "Last night ye seemed…" his smile lessens "...well, the situation could no' inspire yer curiosity."
His words almost steal my smile, but I manage to keep a hint of it. I refuse to get us into another depressed mood! I want to talk with him. I want to watch him get lost in his passion for dwarven history so that I may learn all his little quirks. And frankly, I want to know more about the dwarves themselves. "No, you're right about that, but what happened last night…" The sadness from last night threatens to take hold. No, I won't let it! "It is entirely separate. Tell me more, please."
His smile slowly grows as he looks into my eyes for three breaths of his. "Alright." He looks ahead, his grin parting to show his teeth. "Their Star Rooms are somethin' to see. When I was about twenty-three years old, I found one of their old Star Rooms. I got it goin' and I…" He looks down at me, his smile turning soft. "Lass, I was standin' in the night sky."
My eyes widen as my smile lifts. "Wow!" I can just imagine him standing there upon the black canvas surrounded by countless yellow, red and glittering blue stars. "I can't imagine how beautiful that must have been!"
"Aye, it was beautiful…I'm goin' to find one and show it to ye." He brings my hand to his mouth and kisses the back of it, his lips chapped yet gentle and full of his care. "As soon as we can." He lowers our hands to our sides and threads his fingers with mine.
A painful smile pushes into my eyes. God, his hand is so wonderfully warm against this morning cold. "Thank you, Eric." He means what he says.
Time seems to—vanish as Eric tells me more about the wonders of the old dwarves—their libraries, inventions and inventors, their machinations. Whatever exactly these machinations are. It seems to be a broader term for many of their "inventions," as Eric calls them. I savor every one of his smiles and every beat of his laughter. I try to commit his every smile and his every laugh to memory. I try to forget every single one of my guilts and fears and focus solely on Eric.
"Aye, I've read some of the dwarf, Inventor Seamus' writin's. He wrote about a way to create wee lightnin' and put it in this glass ball." He lets go of Ylva's reins and forms a half ball with his right hand, not willing to take his left hand from mine. "This glass ball with the lightnin' in it, ye could turn it on and it'd light up the whole room!"
My eyes widen! God, they must be bugging out of my head! "You're jesting!"
He smiles down at me with a smile I've never seen before. One with a…tender excitement and pleasure. "Aye, I'm serious. Ye know, for all their inventions, the dwarves were smug arses," he says, his own smile turning smug, yet playful. "Guess what that wee bastard called us topgrounders," he nearly seethes that word, gesturing to us both with his free hand, "for usin' fire and oil to light and warm our cites, our villages, our homes and our camps!"
My brows furrow, my mind scrambled. "Top—" Clarity hits me. "Oh, topgrounders!" A proud smile pushes into my mouth. Eric chuckles down at me as I point at him and me. "We're topgrounders to the dwarves! Just like you're a mountain man," I point to him, "and I'm a lowlander!" I push my finger to my breastbone. His smile falls partway, losing its smugness and playfulness. That steals my smile. Why is he losing his smile? Wait, something's not quite right about what I said. I drop my hand, my other hand squeezing his tighter to help keep my balance in the knee-deep snow. "I mean, to the dwarves we're both topgrounders, but to you, I'm a lowlander and to me, you're a mountain man."
More of his smile falls. "Yer no' a lowlander to me. No' anymore. Yer Greta." He smiles down at me again. That smile rends what's left of my heart. It's too tender a smile that hopes in—and loves a lie. His smile turns apologetic. "Ah, I'm sorry I keep callin' ye lass. It's no' right—"
"No!" His eyes widen with surprise, and his smile lessens. Fear spikes in my gut. Guilt squeezes my heart. God, that lie just came out of me! "No," I say again, fighting to stay calm and collected. His smile falls more. No! I cannot raise his suspicions! My people—I could not live with myself if he abandoned them because of my lies and deceit! I force a smile and a single laugh for him. "No, it's not that at all! I like you calling me lass. It's like a pet name, right? I mean, you call Ylva lass!" I point to his horse, who is still walking beside us despite having free rein. Ylva huffs and turns her strong, heavy head my way—to look at me…as if she understood what I just said. My hand slowly falls. I shouldn't be surprised by her.
Eric hums, pulling my attention to him. "Aye, I do, but—"
"I never cared for my name, anyways." That is true.
He musters two awkward laughs. "Aye, I guess, but I call almost every lass I meet lass! Yer no' just some other woman to me!" he says, almost struggling to say woman with his accent. "And yer no' my horse!"
Ylva snorts and snatches a loose bit of his hair that escaped his tie between her teeth, tugging on it.
"Ow!" Eric grabs his head, stealing his hair back from her, and he looks at her. "What was that for!?"
Ylva snorts again and looks away sharply—as if offended.
Eric huffs and rubs his head. "I meant nae offense, Ylva." He really articulates her name. "It's just a habit I'm stuck in, and in yer opinion, need to break."
Ylva rumbles and only looks ahead, somehow not looking at him even though he is within her sight.
He sighs and grabs Ylva's reins again. "Silly horse," he tells her.
Her dark eye that I can see darts to him before shooting ahead again. She didn't like what he just called her, but—she chose not to retaliate this time. A chuckle escapes me. He shakes his head at her and turns his gaze down to me. A smile turns up his mouth. "What do ye find so amusin'?" he asks me.
I close my mouth, but I still chuckle behind my lips. "I have never seen Ylva act this way! Or any horse, for that matter!" I glance at Ylva, meeting her dark eye that has softened since I saw it five breaths ago. "She struck me as a wise matron type, but she has a…" I shrug and look at Eric. I'm not sure I want to say it aloud.
His smile grows, becoming more smug. "A mean side? Aye."
Ylva grumbles again beside Eric.
"Ah, ye know I'm right!" He shoots a sharp look at Ylva. Ylva—rolls her eyes at him!
My jaw drops. "I've…never dreamed a horse could roll their eyes…" I point at Ylva "...but she just did!"
Eric bursts out laughing. "Aye, right!? I never even thought about it until she did it for the first time! It was years ago when I was still a bairn!"
He laughs some more, and I can only give him a knowing smile. "Something tells me she had a good reason to roll her eyes at you. Were you planning on doing something she thought was dangerous?"
His laughter dies to a sheepish smile. "Ah…aye, I was. I was plannin' on climbin' to the top of the mountain just behind my…" He licks his lips and sighs, seeming to—accept something. "My home when I was a bairn. Where I grew up."
"Oh," I say. What else can I say? At first, he removed himself from his people. He admitted to that! But he regrets it now—because he found me in the dark forest. My heart squeezes painfully. No, not me, but a lie.
He clears his throat and shifts shoulders beneath his coat. "Aye. It was my home growin' up," he says with soft acceptance. Discomfort fills his face, and he looks away from me.
Guilt crashes into me as a rockslide. He is coming to accept his past with an openness he did not have before! To have such a beautiful thing be sparked by my lies…when he finds out the truth. Panic grips me! "Eric, if you don't want to talk about it, you don't have to." I pat his arm. Guilt buries me beneath the mountain of crumbled boulders. To try to stop him from doing this, to stop him from seeking healing—
"Nae, it's alright. I want to share this with ye." He turns his face to me, almost by force, and gives me a beautiful smile; one of trust, admiration, reverence…and love. I nearly crumple beneath him. How…he will hate me. "I had this ridiculous and immature scheme to go climbin' up the mountain without any proper climbin' gear. To prove my manhood! Tsk!" He scoffs at himself. My stomach twists and roils. For him to discover my deception now! I fight to keep a passive look as he goes on. "It was foolish. Ylva knew it. That's when she rolled her eyes at me. Hell, my ma knew it. She forbade from goin' up the mountain, but I wanted to prove I was a man!"
"Why?" I ask him, my voice barely louder than a whisper, yet my heart is pounding in my ears. My guts are too twisted to be unraveled. God, please, do not let him see my inner terror, my panic—my guilt!
He frowns, sad. "I wanted Stigr to come home." Stigr. His father. "At the time, I missed him. I thought…" he sighs and shakes his head "...I thought if I attempted to climb to the top, whether I made it or not, it would get his attention and he'd have to come home. Either he'd stop me and stay, or when I reached the top and came back down, he'd be proud of me and…want to stay. Tsk!" he scoffs again in reprove of himself. "That reasonin' doesnae make any sense, but in my stupid mind then, it did. So, in the dead of night, I snuck out and attempted to climb to the peak of this mountain. I failed pretty early on. I broke the rock beneath my feet and took a nasty tumble down the mountain face."
"Oh my God!" I cringe. My panic—threw those words out of me!
Eric nods. "Aye. I hit my head so hard that it knocked me out for three days!"
I gasp. Against my will. God, Maker, Ursus, please let him see my panic as worry for him! And not worry for—He gives me a gentle smile and squeezes my hand. "Ye dinnae need to worry about me. I was fine." Guilt tramples down my panic as he winces. "Ah, well, no' fine. I broke four ribs, broke my arm, and cracked my skull in three places." He points to his hairline, the top of his head, and at the back of his head. "That swelled my brain, but my ma kept me outside in the cold to keep the swellin' down." He grabs Ylva's reins again.
I cringe. Good God! How he survived that!—He's meant to be here. "I recovered, though." He smiles bigger—with a knowing one. "Obviously," he says that word, both amused and hopeful…hopeful that I recall when he said that before.
How selfish can I be? To pray that he sees my worry for myself as worry only for him…I…I force a lying smile and do my best to recall that memory at the tree well. "Obviously," I say.
His smile grows with joy. Joy that I recalled the memory and responded. I…I wish my panic and worry were solely for him. I wish… "God, how you survived that…" My selfishness matters naught. Not in the plans of the higher powers. Whatever they maybe. "You are meant to be here." There's no refuting that.
His smile turns so tender. Too tender. It hurts my heart dearly. "Aye, maybe yer right." He glances down at our joined hands and brings them up between us. He lifts those icy eyes to mine. "Yer meant to be here, too. Right here, right now." He brings my hand to his mouth, presses a gentle kiss to the back of it, and lowers our hands so that I may see his face fully. "Ye have a future. If I meant for anyone now, it's for ye." My mouth opens, my protest ready—"Please!" He squeezes my hand, his smile waning. His mouth wanes all the way to a frown. "I know what yer gonna say. I'm no' askin' ye to return my feelin's, but just let me say it…please." Pain flashes across his eyes, but he chases it away with his pleading. "Please."
That kills my protest and wounds my heart like never before. How selfish am I? I can only nod for him. I'm…if only I could ease his pain somehow.
He fights his frown and musters a small, sad smile. "I'm gonna give ye that safe and happy future ye crave. I'm goin' to set ye free. Ye have my word on that."
A sting starts and grows in my eyes. I suck in a shaking breath. When he learns the truth…He will loathe ever saying such precious words to me. He will regret sharing his precious story with me. He will hate me. But God, will he abandon my people!? Because of me!?
He fights to keep up his small smile, but it falls. "What's wrong?" he asks me, worried. Solely for me. Because he has nothing to hide. He has been honest in everything with me. Everything.
Not me. "What of your father?"
He stiffens. "Stigr?" he asks me. "What about him?"
I swallow. Eric will learn of my lies. If my people have any hope, he must forgive his father. Someday. "Did your father ever come home for you after your fall?"
His mouth presses into a thin line. "Aye, he did. His face was the first thin' I saw when I awoke." The wrinkles at the corners of his glare start to lessen and smooth. Is he…His glare eases breath by breath, something kinder in his eyes than his years long hate for his father. "He stayed one day. Then two." Hope sparks in me and lightens my mouth. "Then three." A smile tugs on the corners of my mouth. "Then four days. I couldnae believe it. I started to hope that he'd never leave us for the drink again." He scowls suddenly—more than before. That kills the small smile and the hope I had and replaces it with a primal fear. "On the fifth day, he had some bad shakes. We all begged him to stay. We begged him to fight through the shakes and cravin's. We begged him on our knees, we clung to his legs…," his scowl smoothes a fraction, "...but by that night, his cravin' for drink won over his love for us, so he left and we'd go weeks at a time without seein' him." As he speaks, his scowl softens bit by bit—to recognition.
I watch him closely, barely paying heed to the high steps I take in the snow. Breath by breath, his scowl lessens and lessens while that recognition grows. He closes his eyes and sighs in defeat. "I'm a hypocrite."
"Eric, you're not a hypocrite!" I say. God, I'm the hypocrite!
He opens his eyes and looks at me, somber and sober. "Nae, I am!" He scowls again. "I hate Stigr for abandonin' us to go drink when we needed him most, but I did the same thin' to Sara when she needed me most!" He loses Ylva's reins once more and jabs his chest.
My eyes almost widen, but his words addle my mind beyond the shock. He means he was drowning his sorrows when Sara was taken by Finn and the black glass knights. But…why? What sorrows?—He…He was a father.
He frowns down at me and grabs Ylva's reins. "I am a hypocrite. There's nothin' ye can say to change that."
I gulp down some spit. "Then…you are." God, I want him to forgive one day! This time, solely for his benefit. "And you're right. There's nothing I can say to change that fact, but you can change that. One day." Gingerly, I place my hand on his arm, drawing his somber gaze down to my hand. "When you're ready."
He lifts his eyes to mine. Something sparks in them. "Ye really think so?" he asks me, hope in his voice.
My heart falters. It's as if we come to the edge. One more wrong step, and we'll both tumble down to our dooms. Yet if we both step to the right, we will come before a sturdy bridge to the other side. What I say next…it carries with it the weight of finality. "Yes. I do," I say.
His eyes brighten, and he smiles down at me. "Thank ye, lass. I'm no' sure…," he shakes his head at me, searching for the words, "...Gods!" He laughs and gives me a smile that I do not deserve. "There I go, callin' ye lass again! Yer not just some other lass to me. Yer—"
"Please, Eric, I love it when you call me lass!" I force a sweet and tender smile for him. "You have a way of calling me lass that makes me feel like…I love it, alright?" Guilt wraps tightly about my heart, causing it intense pain. Lies, lies, lies. God knows I wish he knew me as Snow White. But for him to learn my true name now, especially after this moment, the strides he has made to possibly forgive his father one day…
He tries to smile more, but there is something weighing on his mouth. That's…doubt. Doubt in my words. "Are ye sure? I'd love to call ye by yer name."
"I'm sure," I say quickly. I swallow. Perhaps too quickly.
His smile lessens. "Aye, alright. As ye say."
An uncomfortable and tense silence comes between us save for the snow crunching beneath our boots and Ylva's hooves. My stomach knots. I make a show of looking down at my boots, lying to us both that I need my eyes to see where I am walking. Why did he never call me Greta from the start? Why lass? I sigh to myself. Perhaps it's his habit. Perhaps…my stomach twists. He said he barely knows me. That…that is probably why. He barely knows me…yet it seems a hypocrite knows a hypocrite when she sees one.
He clears his throat, shattering the silence. "So, I was sayin', guess what that wee, pompous bastard called us!" he says with a grin.
The sound of his grin and his lighter words begs my eyes to turn up to his. They do and find his icy blue ones, his smile pushing into the bottoms of his eyes.
I shrug and manage a small smile. "I don't know, Eric." It hits me like a punch to the chest. I said his name, no problem. He—cannot even say mine. "Stupid? Dumb? Ignorant?" My smile almost abandons me. I fight to keep it.
He smiles a little more. "Along those lines. I believe his exact words were primitive, backwards, savages."
"Oh, really!?" I say, a real chuckle managing its way out of me.
He chuckles, too. "Aye, he did! I have few choice words for him, that's for sure."
My chuckle grows and turns to mild laughter. "I think you have more than a few choice words for old Seamus."
His chuckling turns to laughter, too. "Aye, right! Think my primitive boot up his arse would teach him some much needed humility?" He pulls his right boot out of the knee-deep snow as we walk and throws it up in a mock kick!
"Eric!" I try—and fail scolding him. He laughs as he drops his right boot into the snow in stride. His laughter catches me like fire does dry grass. "I," I try to speak past my bouts of laughter, "I suppose," I laugh more, "actions speak louder than words." I laugh some more and quell it enough. "Though I have to ask…" I tug on his arm and lean towards him. He curbs his laughter and stoops his ear to me. The words I want to tell him are for his ears alone. "How can you put your boot up a dead dwarf's arse?" I ask quietly.
Eric peeks down at me and grins smugly. "Nae words will do it justice. Ye'll have to see it! When we find a dwarven city, I'll show ye how ye put yer boot up the dead dwarf's arse." He winks down at me.
"God, Eric!" I whisper, and we snicker together, side by side.
Too soon, we catch up with the other men.
Torrance looks back at us, grinning. "There you two are! Giggling together like starstruck adolescents!"
Locke looks back at us and laughs. "Lovebirds!" he says. Wessel turns his head, pulling my eyes to him against my will. The look on his face steals my smile and kills my laughter.
He keeps a passive look, but I see the heaviness on his mouth and the sadness in his eyes. I know what he's thinking. My lies to Eric. How his love is growing—for a lie.
Wessel parts his mouth. "You should get some rest, milady."
Eric sighs beside me, no smile shaping his exhale. "Aye, he's right." He reluctantly slows and stops with Ylva, forcing me to stop in the snow. "It's midday," he tells me.
I can barely bring myself to look at him. I look up at the sky instead. Indeed, the dismal grey clouds are several shades brighter with midday. "Yes, you're both right."
"Com'ere." Eric grabs my waist. I can do nothing but clutch his arms when he picks me up out of the snow. I cannot stop my eyes from crossing his as he turns us half about and seats me with all his care and gentleness on his saddle. He stills, his hands gripping my waist tighter as worry shapes his face. "Ye alright?"
Guilt strangles my heart. He loves a lie. "Yes, I'm fine. Just tired," I lie, yet my body pushes a yawn out of my mouth. Hell, even my flesh is starting to believe my lying mouth!
He frowns, but he nods. "Try to sleep." He takes his right hand from my hip and grabs the back of my neck, guiding my willing, lying mouth to his. If I loved him at all, I wouldn't kiss him back. I wouldn't…yet my eyes close of their own accord—he pulls back, letting the winter torture my mouth. I force my eyes open and grumble against him. He only chuckles at me as he gives my right hip a lingering squeeze and grabs Ylva's reins with his free hand.
He turns to the journey ahead and clicks his tongue, stealing his hand from my hip. No. Ylva snorts and starts with Eric through the snow. I grab the horn of Eric's saddle. I miss Eric's hand on my hip, but I must sleep now. For Locke and Torrance's sakes, and for Wessel's, and for Eric, I must sleep…I find my eyes fixing on the back of Eric's head and his broad shoulders. I wonder if I ever ran my fingers across his scalp, would I feel the three places where he cracked his skull?
My breath leaves me, squashing me like a grape beneath the maiden's foot in the vat. If he could bring himself to forgive one day…My heart squeezes painfully, nearly splitting it open at all its healing wounds and scars. If I loved Eric to any degree, I would want him to forgive me not for my sake, but for his alone. What happens to me, what and who I lose, no matter when I die, it should not matter to me if I loved him. No, if I loved him…God, I want to love him! I want to love him as I love my people. If not, more. If I loved him, I would throw all my dedication to my people. I would choose my people before him. I would…my people…I love…The weight of the world comes down on me. Do I even love my people when I will ultimately abandon them to Duke Tobias and Duke Hammond—and to whoever has taken control of House Augustus? My father's house…my house…
