Chapter 40 A Changed Heart?
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I drag the side of my foot across the cool sand. Even though I have no toes, I can feel myself wiggling my big toe deeper into the sand, pushing several sand grains beneath my toenail. A gentle wave rolls in and washes over my feet. The sea's chill shoots up my legs! I shiver and tighten my arms about the warm bear-sized body lying beside me.
"I'm no' leavin'," he says, his words rumbling in his chest and into my ear. I press my ear harder against his bare chest. His heart raps in a steady, powerful rhythm against me.
"We're safe," I whisper. Another gentle wave breaks on our shoreline, barely touching my feet with its chill.
"Aye." He comes over me suddenly, pressing my naked back into the half chilled and half warmed sand where I had laid on my side. My heart beats harder, pushing hot blood throughout my body. It leaves me a tense, burning mass in desperate need of him. Myriads of stars flicker and glow in the clear night sky above him. The moon shines full and bright tonight, casting its ivory light on us. My eyes meet his blue ones. Another wave breaks softly behind him, casting a cooling calm over my fiery need. He looks over my naked form unabashed. Despite my starved shape, my scars, and my mangled heart, arousal darkens his eyes. He finally lifts his eyes to mine, something else burning in them. Acceptance. He knows my true name, all my sins, all my lies, yet he accepts me. He forgave me. He trusts me wholly once more.
"Eric," I utter, the sound of his name touching my heart and bringing a wave of dizzying heat over me. I wrap my arms around his neck as he stoops to me and kisses me. He runs his warm, calloused hand up my leg, leaving behind a trail of buzzing nerves, and brings my thigh to his hip. Something almost hot presses between my legs, slowly opening me with a crushing pleasure—that's him. My stomach tightens. A shaky breath leaves me. He slowly, carefully presses deeper, opening me more to expose all my emptiness, but he quickly shores it up with himself. Finally, his hips touch mine. That wave of pleasure rolls through me, nearly crushing me to death. Here is his goodness that I once craved to feel so deeply, yet this has no end. Here we are on our own island with a vast ocean to safeguard us against the wicked world for eternity. Here I lie beneath him, with him on its sandy shores as we make love over and over again.
He brought me here after he forgave me for all my lies and deceit. He accepts me, trusts me wholly…he loves me. Whispering rolls in with the waves. Something crackles and pops in the distance…like fire. Something thuds loudly! I bolt upright.
I blink my eyes a few times and squint them. There across the fire is Locke. He kneels on the rocky ground, his back to me. Gruff whispers leave his mouth. I lean forward and strain my ears. His whispers sound foreign. Perhaps his native tongue? He raises his hands to the level of his shoulders, his palms facing him. My brows furrow, my scrambled mind trying to make sense of what I am seeing.
"Locke?" I ask, my hoarse voice resonating several times into the inky blackness outside of our fire's light.
He stops dead silent and looks back at me, his dark eyes hard around the edges. "Let me pray in peace, woman," he says, his words echoing about us before fading to the crackling of our fire.
Heat flushes my cheeks. "Sorry," I whisper. I draw my knees to my chest and hug myself tightly, trying to soothe my queasy stomach.
Locke looks down at the palms of his hands and resumes whispering his foreign prayers. He grasps his knees and bows his head low to the floor, his whispering growing to murmurs. I swallow and glance about me. Wessel is snoring soundly on his bedroll, his head propped on his saddle. Torrance's furs and saddle have been disturbed and abandoned. He must have gone to take his watch. My dream comes rushing back to me. My heart picks up and pushes hot desire into my loins, swelling them uncomfortably. I drum my fingers within my gloves. A large set of lungs draw in the chilly air and push it out slowly. He breathes in deeply and lets it go, steady and even. I shouldn't look at him, but…I find myself peeking at him out of the corners of my eyes. There he lies beside me on his back, his long legs stretched out towards the fire. His bear-sized hands rest on his stomach, his left hand atop his right. God, those hard, warm hands…I gulp down my excess spit and force my eyes up his lean body and his muscular neck to his face. He still only has some furs beneath his head, his face still turned towards me.
Last night lights up in my mind like those dwarven stars. I'm not sure how long I stayed in his arms beneath those stars, but I must have dozed off because he gently roused me. He was going to scoop me into his arms to carry me back here, but I stopped him and instead hobbled all the way back here with his helping hand and my crude walking stick. He woke Wessel for his watch while I pretended to sleep, both of us wanting to keep our starry moment a secret between us. Only when he settled down beside me and Wessel's footsteps fell silent did I open my sleepy eyes. Just as I lost myself in those stars, I lost myself in his blue eyes and small smile. How I wanted to close the distance, but because of the present company, we kept the space between us. That's the last I remember.
My dream…how he looked at me with such acceptance and trust and arousal and…my skin starts crawling and my nerves buzz more. I rock back and forth and side to side, trying to push out that awkward, squeamish sense. If only I could be honest with him about every single lie without fear of him leaving me, without him hating me…I recall the day well that Ravenna and I spent strolling along the beach. The sands were cool beneath my feet and the salty water that lapped at them was chilly. We kept our eyes open for seashells and more importantly, crustaceans.
"I loved my mother," I told her. I brushed the tip of my great toe across a polished white rock as we passed it. I couldn't raise my shameful eyes to Ravenna. "But what she kept from us…from me…I felt…" I clutched at my wounded heart, fearing that wicked word.
Ravenna hummed softly. "Hate is often born from love, especially when the one you love betrays you."
My mouth flew open, ready to refute her, to deny any hate in my heart for my mother…It frightened me so dearly that I hated my mother for what she did…it shook me to my core.
I tear my eyes from Eric and stare at the fire…at the flames of hell. I want the love he has for Sara. I am wickedly envious of it. The center of my stomach twists suddenly. God, how shameful, how evil of me…but Ravenna was right. I…I hated my mother at one point. I hated her with every fiber of my being because she betrayed papa and me. I love her now, though this love feels so different to what it once was. It was such a fight to even get to this point. For a good twelve years, I tried to recall the few precious memories I have of her, especially the one where she embraced me and thanked the Maker for me. I tried to forget the moment I realized her betrayal when she was too sick for anyone to help her. I tried to forget that and that bitter night she finally died.
I dare a quick glance about the fire, barely casting my eyes on Eric's face. Eric and Wessel still sleep soundly. Locke has laid himself prostrate on the rocky floor, muttering his futile prayers. I lie down and pull my deer pelt over my head. I let my mind loose, too tired to keep it back anymore. The warmth of the pelt soon stings my face like many tiny, cruel needles.
A knock sounded at my bedchamber door. I bolted upright and halted at the sight. There she stood at the threshold, nothing but sickly grey skin and bone. Terror gripped my being. Did she finally die!? Did her ghost come to haunt me!?
"My–my daughter," she croaked, tears shaking her voice. She barely had the strength to raise her skeletal hand to me as she took a step into my room.
"Don't!" I yelled. She halted where she was, her eyes wide and glistening. I threw off my silk sheets and scrambled to the foot of my bed on all fours, feeling like some wounded, cornered animal. "Don't come in here, you bitch!" My eyes burned unlike anything I had felt and blurred my sight of her and that damn white nightdress she kept wearing. "You said you felt fine! You refused to let the healers see you! You lied! You betrayed us all! The healers could have saved you, but you said you were fine! You lied!"
She started shaking her head. "Snow—"
"SHUT UP! Shut your lying mouth! You hate us!"
"No!—"
"I HATE YOU!" my cruel words rang throughout my bedchamber. "GET OUT! GET OUT! I cannot look at you! I can't!" My heart beat so hard with hate. I couldn't look at her anymore. I buried my face into my bed sheets. Tears streamed down my cheeks and stung my tongue with their salt.
"Snow, please—"
"GET OUT!" I screamed into my bed. I'm not sure how long she lingered, or if she hobbled out in her emaciated state as soon as I told her to. I'm not sure how long I screamed and wept into my bedsheets.
A woman's blood curdling scream sounded out in the corridor. It barely jolted me. "HELP! PLEASE SOMEONE HELP! FETCH THE HEALERS! FETCH THE KING!"
I still wept violently into my sheets. It wasn't until I later heard the rumors at court that the Queen had been found dead outside my bedchamber slumped against the wall. When I heard that, a sickening satisfaction soothed me. That feeling struck fear in me like the flames of her pyre. That fear of myself turned to hate for myself. For twelve long years, I fought it and Maacthis' evil. I feared—still fear being consumed by it like Maacthis said Ravenna had been. So often Maacthis whispered those final bitter memories into my ears. For twelve years I fought them and tried to recall the sweet ones. I fought so hard and I grew so weary. That's when I strung up the noose and prepared to put it around my neck, but then Sara was thrown into the cell across from mine. Instead of the noose about my throat, it was her ring that ended up hanging around my neck.
My eyes sting with tears. They well up so much that they trickle down the sides of my face. Locke's whispered prayers are just audible over the crackling fire. I bite the inside of my lip. I bite it so hard that a sharp sting shoots through my gums. The tang of warm, liquid iron touches my tongue. Forgive me, mama. Forgive me, please. My hate for you was so intense, so wicked…because I loved you so dearly before. Eric—terror like I felt when I reazlied that I hated mama strikes me again. He hates lies. He said it with such rage, such hatred in that dark forest. He hates lies. He will never forgive such lies as I am hiding. I crave his love like a whore, yet if he loves me even to the smallest degree, he will hate me. He will hate me as I hated my mother. Perhaps more so. I squeeze my eyes shut and clamp my hand over my mouth, muffling my sobs to the silence of death.
Hate is often born from love, especially when the one you love betrays you. Ravenna's wicked words ring through my head. So wicked, yet so true.
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My world is black. There is faint shuffling of feet and brushing of leather against leather. The flames crackle louder.
"We should head out," one man says. Wessel.
"Yes, let's! Someone should wake the lady," another says. Torrance.
"Lass?" he says softly. Eric. The deer pelt lifts from my warm face. The chilly air touches me, stinging my warm flesh. I hum and squeeze my eyes tighter and roll away from him onto my side. My body is still so heavy, so drained. The black void calls to me, promising to cradle me without judgement against me nor tender care for me. Without love or hate. Just...an empty place that promises me rest—"Wake up," the hunter says as he rubs my arm gently, dragging me away from the only thing I can fully trust.
I peel my eyes apart and look back at him, my head as heavy as a boulder.
Eric's mouth starts parting, a sympathetic smile shaping his lips, but he freezes. His face falls as his eyes flit back and forth in mine. He leans towards me, keeping his voice quiet enough for my ears. "Were ye cryin'?"
My heart stutters with its next beat. How can he tell!? "No," I say, my damn shaky voice betraying me! I shake my head fiercely. "You're looking at exhausted eyes, not eyes that have shed tears. I just want to sleep longer," I manage to say with a more even voice, but it trembles enough.
His face grows heavier while his eyes harden. He knows I just lied. Only my last six words were truthful. "Ye were cryin'. I've seen ye cry enough to know what it looks like. What's troublin' y—"
"I was crying over those stars!" I bolt upright, much more awake now. He flinches back, his eyes widening with surprise. A terrible pang enters my heart. My eyes prickle. How easily lies spill from me. How I wish to be honest with him, for him to forgive me, to accept me, to trust me wholly, to…to love me…but how much greater his hate will be for me then.
It's quiet. Very quiet save for the dying crackles of our campfire. Every eyeball is on us. Even the damn horses'! I tear my teary eyes from the hunter and roll onto my hands and knees and snatch my walking stick off the ground. Something new, something bitter stirs in my heart as I brace my stick on the ground and bring my foot under me. For him to be so caring of me now only for him to hate me later…it's fickle. I start pushing myself up.
"Here," Eric says, extending his hand to me in my periphery. "Let me help—"
"I can get myself up," I say, an edge sneaking into my bitter words. Another terrible pang runs my heart through as I manage to get myself to my feet and balance on my heels and my walking stick. I keep my chin low. I cannot bring myself to look at Eric now. I dare not scrub the tears from my eyes. I can only imagine the look on his face. That was cruel and unfair to him, but for a man to not forgive himself for his past sins…if a man cannot forgive himself, how can he forgive others? He may have a compassionate heart, but mercy and compassion are two very different things. Even the wicked have compassion toward their friends.
"How do your feet feel?" Torrance asks, breaking the silence. Wessel and Locke shuffle about again, packing up their belongings.
"Much better." I lift my eyes to Torrance as he approaches me, relief and guilt stirring in a near nauseating mix. Eric's boots scuff across the rocky ground as he turns from me and goes about his business—packing up camp, most likely.
"You got yourself to your feet with ease!" Torrance gestures to my wrapped feet, grinning proudly. He drops his hand to his side as his smile softens. "May I take a look at them, my dear? I want to put some lamia balm on the stitches and dress your feet in fresh linen."
"Of course. May I borrow your hand?" I ask and extend my hand to him.
His smile lessens, but he takes my hand in his and helps lower me back to the ground. I try to ignore Eric as he goes about the camp with Locke and Wessel, saddling up and packing their bedrolls and furs onto their horses. I keep catching Eric looking my way in my periphery, but I keep my eyes from him.
"All done!" Torrance says as he finishes rewrapping my feet in the leather to keep them dry. He gathers up his supplies and stands abruptly. He turns and heads to his buckskin stallion, leaving me sitting on the cold rocky ground by myself. I frown and go to roll onto my hands and knees, but Eric turns from Ylva and strides towards me, his eyes catching mine before I can avert them.
He stops at my wrapped stumps for feet, his eyes hard and his mouth tense. I cannot help but shrink beneath him like a wilting flower in the scorching, arid desert.
He suddenly drops before me, crouching so low like a nightcat ready to pounce on me! "Did I do somethin' to get yer cold shoulder!?" he hisses.
My heart aches and grows so heavy. I look down at my bound stumps. "No," I say. Not yet. It is what you will do. "I'm sorry," I whisper. "I'm just very tired. I awoke cranky this morning, that's all. Can we go now please?" I force my gaze up to him, fighting the pressing tears in my eyes.
His face softens some, but not entirely. "This is the first time I've seen a lack of sleep make ye – cranky," he says that word as if for the first time. Perhaps it is. I frown. Does he know I lied again!? He offers me his hand, waiting for mine with demanding silence. I sigh and take his hand. He helps me to my feet, though his usual gentle strength is stronger. He walks with me while I hobble to Ylva's side. He lets go of my hand, grips my waist, and lifts me onto his saddle.
As I lay my walking stick across my lap, Eric reaches into his bear satchel at his hip and pulls out a large piece of leaven bread and strips of deer jerky. "Eat this," he says, pushing the food into my hand. "If ye want more after yer done, tell me." His eyes linger on me. The harsh wrinkles lessen about his eyes. The meager air between us becomes especially chilly and thick. My dream flashes in my mind. The acceptance in his eyes, the desire, the…the love…how warm he was…
He sighs and grabs hold of Ylva's reins. He turns her about and follows after the men and their horses and their torchlight down the tunnel. Day thirty-five.
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Aside from the occasional murmur and whisper among the men and a gentle nicker and snort from one of the horses, they keep silent. The men's footfalls and the horses' clopping hooves resonate against the stone. All that noise is enough to announce our presence to whatever or whoever is lurking in the gaping darkness ahead of our torchlight. It is one thing to converse openly around a campfire after Eric, Wessel, and Locke have scouted the surrounding area to ensure it's safe. It's another thing venturing into unknown darkness. As Eric said, we may not be the only ones using these tunnels to traverse the valley.
His eyes weigh on me. I swallow and glance down at him, concern distorting his handsome face. I pray my eyes are not puffy anymore from weeping so bitterly this morn. His mouth parts. His breath starts coming out, but it hitches in his throat. He looks ahead at the men, his torchlight in his free hand. He halts in his steps, letting the men get farther ahead of us! My stomach twists. Ylva nickers and stops clopping her hooves against the stone. My heart lurches forward. He wants to speak to me alone! He turns and comes right up to me, my knees and my wrapped stumps brushing his chest and stomach.
"I'm sorry about this morning! Really," I say, stilling his parted mouth that was ready to speak. "Can you not forgive me!?" That cutting edge slips into my words once more, stirring that bitter pang in my heart again.
His eyes widen with horror. "Lass, that's done and forgotten!" Worry floods his eyes like tears flood my eyes. "I'm worried about ye. There's something bother—"
"There's nothing bothering me!—"
"Quiet!" he snaps. His face softens almost immediately. "I'm sorry, but please let me talk!" He takes my free hand in his and squeezes it with his gentle strength. My glove keeps me from feeling his warmth. I want to feel his calloused hand—but I also dread it. "Ye've been through hell for fourteen years. I cannae imagine one moment of that! How ye survived all those years, how ye had the strength to…" He grips my hand tighter, bringing stinging tears to my eyes. "If I was where ye were, I would've hung myself right away."
Terror crushes my heart against my sternum! "Eric!—"
"Ye survived…," he brings my hand closer to him, so close to his heart, "...but ye have scars and open wounds. On yer body, in yer soul. In yer heart. Some of these wounds ye have run much deeper than I can see. I think some of 'em run deeper than yer aware of. I know there's a lot yer no' tellin' me—"
"I have been nothing but honest with you!" I say. How easy it spills from my tongue. Panic grips me. How dearly my heart hurts.
His face grows heavier. He just looks up at me as he lets go of his breath, his strong shoulders slumping. He draws in another breath and parts his mouth. "Honest?" he asks softly. "Is that what this morn was?"
My heart speeds up. "I told you already, I was irritable from exhaustion! I just wanted to sleep and you woke me! I didn't cry!" Tears shake my voice. I grit my teeth. Damn it! "Why are you prying into me!?" I snatch my hand from his. Something flits across his eyes and disappears. "Why can't you be like you were in the dark forest!? Leave me to my nightmares like I have left you to your sorrows!"
He jerks his head back. Something strikes my chest like a flying fist. The tears become too much and pour down my face. Those words are—God, they're so cruel. And they're mine. How did we get here? Was it not just last night that he showed me the night sky that I haven't seen for fourteen long years? To give me a gift so precious…and this is how I repay him. I do not love him. Not in the slightest. I want him for his body. I don't want to feel his goodness. That was a lie I convinced myself of. If he fucked me, he would be gentle and slow, yet I would feel such strength that has protected me. It seems so much nicer compared to being beaten, tortured and then slaughtered like a pig. Finn would probably slice my throat so deeply that he would saw my head off. A sickening pang pierces the center of my stomach. At least if Eric kills me, he will either crush my throat suddenly with those hands I crave so or he will lop off my head in the blink of an eye. It'd be so quick…the thought of him killing me…the thought that his good heart is capable of that…I remember how he killed that tavern keeper. To him, that is the way of the world. To smite down those who betray him, those he hates.
He releases a slow, shaky breath and draws in another breath, his blurry face still looking up at me. The air is so thick, so horrid. I hear him swallow. "I jus' want ye to know that whatever ye fear tellin' me, if ye told me any of it, I willnae leave ye. I gave ye my word and ye'll always have it. Always."
That bitterness stirs in my heart again. Would he really be saying all these pretty words if he knew the blood of his brother's murderer flows through my veins? Would he still find my black eyes beautiful? Would he really be giving me his lasting word if he knew what I did to his beloved's corpse!?
I scoff at him. "Why?"
His brows furrow with confusion. "Why?" he echoes.
"Why will you always keep your word to me?" I sniffle back the spit starting to drain from my nose and scrub my eyes on the back of my coat sleeve, the oxen leather stiff and cold as hell.
"Because I…," he trails off. I drop my arm in my lap and look down at him. His eyes flit all about my face, his torchlight catching in them. He lets go of another shaky breath and draws in the icy air of the tunnel. My heart goes to the edge. Love. If he says that word no matter how he phrases it…no, he cannot love me. For his sake, he cannot.
"Yer matter to me so much," he says, his voice shaking some. That sends a stake through my mangled heart. He is doing far better holding back his tears than I am. He starts nodding his head, each nod growing more certain. "That's why." His voice is much more even.
"That's it?" I ask him. The way he said it…I must push him away to a safer spot. "Eric, you're my friend and I..." In your days ahead, I ask that you consider Eric's heart. Be gentle and kind with it. He is a good man who wants a good thing, but that good thing will cost much. Only you can weigh what is worth saving…and what is worth sacrificing. Sara's last favor rings in my mind and in my heart. What Eric had with Sara—he wants that again. He bellowed as much at Finn in that dark forest. Either Eric wants me as a substitute for Sara—or he wants with me what I want with him. Wanting to share one's love with another is itself a good thing, but what Eric possibly wants comes at the cost of his heart. Is that what Sara meant? Is it worth sacrificing Eric's heart for less than a year of love that's built on deceit and lies? If I push him back, that will be sparing his heart. It would be the kindest, gentlest way I could treat his heart.
"You're my friend," I say. Another pang shoots through my stomach at what I'm about to say. "You matter to me as a friend. That's it." I press my hand to my heart, but I end up clutching it to keep it from falling apart. "So long as I matter to you as a friend and that's it, then that's what I want. I don't want to fool your heart into believing a falsehood. I cannot help but feel that you…you might be on the path to such falsehood." My tears build and flow again with abandon, mercifully blurring his face just before whatever he is feeling twists it—"HEY!" I jump in the saddle and look down the tunnel, the men's torchlights three distant, minute golden bubbles. The last echoes of Torrance's call dies to the darkness.
"Did Ylva break a leg!? What's taking you two!?" Torrance shouts.
"Shut up!" Eric hisses back down the tunnel. He turns from me and snatches Ylva's reins and strides down the tunnel with such large, quick steps that Ylva almost has to trot to keep up. The men cannot see my tears! The last thing I need is Torrance blaming Eric for making me cry again. I scrub away my stinging eyes as best I can.
We reach the waiting trio in just a moment. Torrance stands in the dead center of the tunnel scowling, his torch in one hand and his horse's reins in his other hand. He taps his foot repeatedly, ready to spring back to the journey. My eyes go to Wessel despite that voice inside me telling me not to. His dark eyes are so heavy and weary.
Eric marches right up to Torrance, almost getting in his face. "Watch yer mouth! We dinnae know who else is in these tunnels!" he hisses. Fear spikes in my gut, but it is only a small annoyance. More than Torrance, Locke, and Eric know, Wessel sees how my guilt and shame are twisting me…how it is changing my heart for the worse.
"I'm sorry, but we don't know the way ahead," Torrance says much more softly. "We need you up front."
"I am sure there will be other times to discuss your matters with her in private," Locke speaks up, keeping his voice low. Heat comes over me like intense steam. My head spins. My insides churn about themselves. Hell, Eric said he likes his privacy, but for the others to be this aware of our matters…we must be pretty damn obvious.
"Tsk!" Eric scoffs at Locke and marches past Torrance and Wessel, stepping with larger, harsher steps. "Mind yer own business," he tells Locke as he passes him by. I catch Locke's frown as Eric takes the lead. The louder, quicker clopping of horses' hooves sounds all about us. I look down at the back of Eric's head and shoulders. His shoulders are so tense, his back unusually stiff. The air about him could be set afire if it was possible. Is his anger for me or for Torrance because he interrupted? I glance back at the others. The men fall a small stone's throw behind—to give Eric space. They manage to keep the distance there and pace well after us.
"What about Vilgard?" Eric whispers suddenly. My ears barely pick it up.
I look down at him, my brows furrowing. "What do you mean?"
He barely glances at me before fixing his gaze ahead, showing me a glimpse of a glimmer in his soft eyes. He is not mad. He is…he is fighting to keep himself together. "Ye said ye want me in yer life, to–to spend the rest of it with me," he says, his voice almost breaking. "But ye…ye want nothin' more than my friendship? I dinnae understand! How can ye say that ye want to spend yer last days with me but also say ye want nothin' more than my friendship? Those two cannae be together. Do ye understand?"
More tears escape down my chilled cheeks. I watch the back of his head waiting for him to look back…he doesn't look back at me.
"Ye understand!?" he asks me a little louder, a little quicker. It feels as though a tidal wave sweeps over me, pushing me to the edge of the abyss. I could lose him. I could very well lose him now. I—God, I never had him! But the thought of losing his touch, his mouth, his warmth, his tender care…I break down into bitter weeping. I clamp my hand over my mouth, trying to muffle my sobbing. My muffled cries resonate about us as sniffles. Whether my sounds are reaching Torrance, Locke, and Wessel's ears, I'm not sure. I pray not. They sure as hell can see us!
"Ye want somethin' that's shallow and fleetin'. Why? Are ye afraid of me? Is it because I was married before?" He finally looks back at me. "Death breaks those bonds, lass. Sara is part of my past. She isnae my present nor my future. Ye…I told ye already I want to give ye better than what I tried and failed to give Sara. Let's say if ye had a hundred more years to live. Let's say ye did. Would ye still want to spend the rest of yer days with me?—"
"Yes," I croak, no hesitation. It is the truth. It is also a lie. Everything he is saying he wants is what I am crying for inside. Honesty, love, trust—everything. But hate is born from love. Still I…I cannot let him go.
"Alright," he says slowly, his voice tainted with that sickening false hope. He almost turns to me, but his right foot catches his left, nearly tripping him!
"Eric!" My hand shoots out to catch him, but he catches himself and keeps walking straight. "Watch your feet!" I say.
"Aye, sorry." He half laughs, half cries at himself, his need to weep finally escaping him. He keeps laughing until his voice grows steadier. "I'm a drunkard, a widower, and a bastard, lass. My life was a pile of shite until I met Sara. Then she died and my life became that same pile of shite. Then I found ye in the dark forest. I dinnae want to live that life again. Ye have endured an unimaginable hell for fourteen years! I dinnae want ye to live one more moment of that. The life we both know now is shite, but we can have better! We can have more. We can have all that together. Let me try to give ye that." He almost reaches for me, but he remembers the reins in his right hand and his torch in his left hand and the men trailing behind us no doubt staring at us. "Let me try," he whispers. "Please dinnae cut off yer heart from me. I understand now that I'm askin' a lot from ye." He gives me one strong nod. His fingers flex about the wood of his torch and tighten about Ylva's reins. If his hands weren't full, both my hands would be in his. A sudden, quivering smirk turns up his mouth. "Last night, ye said I'm still winnin' ye over. Will ye let me keep tryin'?"
My heart grows so heavy. Did I not tell him he is nothing more than my friend? Why won't he hear that? I suck in breath, ready to remind him of that…but no words leave me this time.
His hesitant smirk falls. "I'm no' tryin' to force yer affections or yer feelin's. Nothin' is truer than one's free choice…if yer done with me—"
"I'm not done with you!" I whimper, my heart slamming into my brittle sternum. Can we not be done with this already!? I can look at my selfish face in the mirror and say with utter confidence that yes, I don't love Eric. I want him to—fuck me. Just once. I want him to experience pleasure and his heart be left intact. I want to cling to him until he throws me off him in disgust. If he calls me a whore, a liar, a selfish bitch, a coward…he'd be right.
His face falls so much, his eyes glistening more. "Lass—"
"What about Vilgard?" I ask him.
His brows furrow. He asked me that, after all. "What?"
"I thought we agreed to take each day as it comes together just as we have been doing since the dark forest. Eric, I want to speak no more of this. I want this behind us!" I throw my hand out to the three men trailing behind us with their horses, though I mean not them, but left in the obscure darkness of the tunnel never to see any light again. "I told you how I feel," I spit out and drop my hand on the thick wool and long furs of Eric's wrapped bedroll that's strapped to Ylva's rump. "I don't want to hurt you, but I also don't want to lose your hands, your kisses, your warmth…your care. That…that's the truth, Eric." My God, I told him the truth. I…I told him. "That's the truth," I whisper more to myself than to him. "When I begged you to take each day with me as it comes, I was asking you to live for now. Torrance lives that way and he leads a life that's true! That's what I meant. Whatever happens tomorrow to us, let it happen and we'll get through it. Is that…" A pang enters my heart. I don't love him, but I care for him. That question would be crueler. "If that is not good enough for you, then…then…," words fail me. Even for his sake, I cannot turn him away.
"I am livin' for now," he says, resolute. His resolution goes out like a flame snuffed. "I dinnae want to lose ye, but I'll ne'er force anythin' on ye. I'm no' gonna stop this—whether this is friendship or—" He tightens his mouth and lifts his head higher. "I think we can agree on that?"
"Yes!" I say. I heave a sigh of relief. Finally, he understands! Finally he is close enough to my fire to warm himself against the chill, but he is not nearly close enough to burn himself. Why did it have to be so hard to get here!—
"If ye have a change of heart about me, tell me," he says suddenly.
My brows furrow, my tears still drying. "What?"
He peeks ahead to check his footing before he looks back at me and raises his brows. "Is that too much to ask?" he asks, frustration starting to creep into his voice.
"No." I shake my head. My heart aches terribly, but I must know. "What if it never changes?" I whisper. Another prickling sensation starts behind my eyes.
A shadow passes over his face, but he quickly banishes it and steels himself, almost appearing stoic. "Then it ne'er changes." He looks ahead, hiding his face from me. "Nae one can force another's heart to have what isnae there," he says so softly, caught somewhere between a whisper and a mutterance.
My aching heart sinks. The relief I felt is almost gone. Here I thought I succeeded in pushing him away enough to not lose him, but…perhaps with time he will harden his heart just enough to me. Perhaps now I will get a night with him that is pleasure and his gentle strength and nothing more. He will awaken in the morning with his heart untouched. He said he will take me when he is sure of the next best thing. Whatever that next best thing for him was, I'm not sure, but he must be sure of where we stand now. We have cleared the muddy waters between us at last…how big of a hole that leaves in my heart, but this is the way it must be. If I even care for Eric with my smallest bone, then I must be content with this. I think I achieved what I wanted. Now it is only a matter of waiting for that right moment when we find ourselves alone again. My stomach tightens. It could be tonight.
'''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''
Eric finds a deep niche in the tunnel to set up camp in. Torrance, Wessel, and Locke lead their horses towards the wall.
"Look at this!" Torrance says as he leads his stallion to the rockwall. I look as Eric brings Ylva closer to him. Torrance points at many stone loops set low in the rockwall. I lean closer to see them. There are deep impressions in the loops of stone. Purposeful impressions. Designs that have been worn down with the years.
"Those are dwarven hitchin' posts," Eric says and nods at them. "I figured this would be a good spot to make camp for the horses. Ye can hitch Sundance here."
Torrance grins. "Good thinking."
My heart grows weary. Those were hitching posts for the dwarves' mounts back when their civilization…back when it was alive.
"Sundance?" I ask while Torrance tethers his horse to the ancient hitching post.
Torrance glances back at me, still grinning as Eric begins untying his packs from his saddle. "That's his name," Torrance says. He pats his horse's shoulder and points at Ylva. "You already know her name, but did you know that's Phoebe?" He points at the chestnut while Wessel unloads his mare.
My eyes widen. "No!" I look back at Torrance. "I thought his horse was a stallion."
"She's no stallion, milady," Wessel says. "She is as gentle as a lamb."
A smile spreads my mouth for the first time today. That…is something to frown over.
"Locke, how do you say your horse's name again!?" Torrance unties his bedroll from the back of his saddle and folds it under his arm.
"His name is Abasi," Locke says. I turn my head to the easterner as he unloads his stallion, meeting his dark eyes. "He was one of the first horses my father trained for war when we came here. He is old, but he is like tempered steel. He does not let his fear control him, especially on the battlefield."
He does not let his fear control him. My eyes drift to Wessel against my will. He returns my gaze, his mouth twitching with a frown, but he keeps a passive look. I see it in his eyes. How we both would love it if my irrational fear was not necessary. Another ache enters my heart. What happened today…Eric deserves so much more than me. That is why I must spare his heart. I wish to God I could be honest with him about everything and that he would forgive me and accept me, but he never could. How could he?
The men go about setting up camp while Eric comes around Ylva to my side. His eyes cross mine. He stills for a breath, two breaths, so much stirring in his eyes that has been quashed. That hole in my heart grows. Despite how close he is to me, the distance between us has grown exponentially.
"Ye want to stand on yer feet?" He offers me his hands, but he does not grab my waist.
I nod meekly. "Please."
He clutches my waist and lifts me off Ylva. With his gentle strength and great care, he sets me down on my feet.
I brace my walking stick on the ground and find purchase on my heels, the fire so dull in my cut feet that it barely hurts. "You can let go. I can stand on my own."
His chest slowly sinks with his exhale, his hands lingering on my waist a fraction too long. "Aye," he murmurs. He slowly takes his hands from me, keeping contact with my wool dress and leather belt right to his fingertips.
I tear my eyes from Eric and look at the beginnings of camp. Eric lingers before me for a breath longer, his eyes weighing on the top of my head. The thought of him seeing my cut hair—possibly tonight!? Will that be enough to repulse him? Eric turns his heavy feet from me and joins the men in setting up camp.
Like most every night before, the four men follow their routine of spreading out their furs and bedrolls and unsaddling their horses. Wessel carries several chopped logs, branches and kindling from his horse. I glance at the horses. Set beside a lone boulder nearest to Phoebe is a small pile of wood—all we have left. We might have enough for another fire tomorrow, but then we'll have to get more wood…from somewhere.
Wood knocks against each other, pulling my eyes to Wessel and Locke. Wessel sets down the bundle of wood. Locke kneels down on the ground while Wessel sets a pile of thatch before Locke. Locke nods his silent thanks and lowers his flaming torch to the thatch, setting fire to it. He sets his torch aside on the ground while Wessel starts arranging the crooked branches and chopped logs atop the burning kindling.
"Let me help," I say. I hobble over to the men. They both look up at me with their dark eyes.
Wessel shakes his head. "We appreciate your offer, but it would be better for you to rest—"
"Wessel, please, I'm going to go crazy if all I keep doing is lounging around and eating while you all break your backs for me."
Eric chuckles. "We're no' breakin' our backs." His gruff voice resonates into the inky blackness pressing in around us. I turn my head to him. He sits cross legged on the ground rummaging through the rucksack he had gotten in Polliard.
I frown at him. "I want to help."
"You can help with the food, woman," Locke says. "Cook us some porridge. I am tired of bread and dried meat and his sugar milk!" He points at Wessel.
Wessel frowns. "I call it nog."
"Interesting," Locke says dismissively.
"I'll gladly cook some porridge for you!" I hobble over to the crackling fire and carefully lower my rump to the stone floor. "Though I've never made porridge."
Locke laughs from his belly as he hands me a small iron cooking pot and a pouch of grain. "All you do is put water and grain in the pot and let it come to a boil. The grain should be soft and the water gone when it is done."
"Sounds simple enough." I set the pot down on the ground with a small clank and pour the teardrop-shaped grain into the pot, the grain knocking against each other and the iron.
"It is simple enough," Locke says.
"Is this barley?" I ask, pouring the last of the grain into the pot.
"Yes, milady," Wessel says. He offers me his waterskin.
"Thank you," I say and accept his waterskin. Wessel smiles and nods.
I manage to cook some decent porridge, though it is so bland. I think the barley is stale. If I had seasonings, I would have seasoned it. Perhaps some cinnamon and a few grains of that red salt. Boiling the barley in some milk would have been even better. Regardless of its taste, the men scarf down the porridge, especially Eric. A small joy touches my heart for the first time today. I made him a meal and he ate it. For once—or the second time, I fed him. I did help prepare dinner at Jerome and Annabelle's farm.
The men share some quiet words, though Eric is rather silent. It's in the air. What happened earlier will not be soon forgotten. I catch Eric's lingering glances at me every now and then. A growing ache enters my heart. I hurt him dearly, but only to spare his heart!
"Well," Torrance lets go of a long yawn, "I'm going to get some sleep," he says as his yawn ebbs. He lies down on his furs and is soon fast asleep. Locke and Wessel lie down on their bedrolls and pull their furs over them while Eric gets up suddenly in my periphery. My ears tingle from his leathers scratching across the stone ground. I stiffen. My heart beats harder as he steps closer to me. Is he going to lead me to a secluded spot somewhere in that darkness to finally take me? I force my eyes to stay on the writhing flames. Terrible heat floods my body and swells my loins, making them throb and hurt. He draws so close, only a step from me! My eyes raise to him against my will—he walks past me, striding for the darkness without looking at me.
I turn my head to keep him in my sight. He's…he's going to take the first watch as he has done every other night. My heart grows heavy, but it beats harder and faster with each step he takes from me. "Goodnight, Eric!" My heart throws the words out of me, praying to stop him.
He stops at the edge of flickering gold light cast by our fire and looks back at me. His face and his shoulders are weighed down with…with pain. He just looks at me with his open, icy eyes for a breath. Two breaths. "Night, lass. Get some sleep." He falters where he stands, wanting to linger, or perhaps longing to stride back to me. He tears his eyes from me and disappears into the darkness. I find my eyes lingering on the last place I saw him in the fire's light. He took no torch with him. Perhaps he is going to light up those dwarven stars again to see.
My heart sinks so low with no hope of rising to its former heights. I would give anything to get what we shared in my dream, but if he discovers just one of my lies, he will hate me. He might even kill me. I cannot die yet. At least not until I reach Hammond's and I can gain his aid to help free Greta. More than anything, I yearn to be honest with Eric, but he will never forgive me. How can he forgive me if he cannot forgive himself? My heart thrums against my sternum, begging me to go find him in that darkness…but what good would that do?
The exhaustion soon creeps into my body. I lie down and pull my deer pelt up to my chin, more against my will than by my free choice. Darkness comes for me and bids me sleep. It promises me no harsh judgement, no forgiveness, no tender care, no love…nothing. Just sleep. I drift to sleep. It is not restful. My heart stirs far too much, the hollow ache in it too vast. I have no one to blame for it but myself.