him, but it didn’t. He stood rigid, with his nostrils flaring and his shoulders squared. He looked ready for battle.
“Do you blame me for what happened in some way, just because I am from the village? Do you think I had any knowledge about what was going to happen?” She didn’t understand his darkness. She wanted the kind, patient Varron who’d made love to her last night to return to her.
“No, Meadow, I don’t blame you for anything that happened in the village.” He paused but held her gaze as he took a deep breath, as if bracing himself to deliver some terrible news.
She stared at Varron, waiting for him to confirm her suspicions.
“Your stepfather was among the men who set the fires. He was hanged alongside the other four criminals.”
*****
Did she hate him now? Varron studied her from across the small space of the tent, waiting for her to burst into tears or curse him to the depths of hell. Mr. Lansing hadn’t treated her kindly, but perhaps she had cared for him in some small way, or felt sorry for him. She had a sweet nature, and he very much feared her reaction to the news of her stepfather’s hanging.
“Meadow, say something.”
She glanced at him, a faraway look in her eyes. He saw no sheen of tears, and her lower lip wasn’t trembling. He took it as a good sign, but he still felt anxious as she sat there, unmoving and not uttering a word.
“Meadow,” he tried again.
“I hated him,” she said, her tone as distant as her gaze. “I hated him and often wished him dead myself. I felt guilty about it all the time. A decent person doesn’t wish another person dead.” This time, her lip trembled, and her eyes rapidly filled with tears. She blinked and lowered her head, then wrapped her arms around her center as if she was trying to keep herself from falling apart.
He removed his sword belt and hurried to her, taking her in his arms and bringing her head to rest beneath his chin. Stroking her back, he held her as a tremor racked her body and allowed her to cry against him.
“Meadow, my sweet, your stepfather wasn’t a nice man. He thought nothing of selling you into slavery. You mustn’t be so hard on yourself. You aren’t a bad person for wishing his death. Shh, don’t cry, lass.”
She sniffled and pulled away to peer up at him. “But, I even prayed for his death once.”
“His death would’ve meant your release from the torment he’s inflicted on you all these years, Meadow. You aren’t responsible for his death in any way. He’s responsible for his death. He helped set the fires.” Varron brushed a kiss upon her cheek and tasted the saltiness of her tears. With his thumbs, he wiped the rest of the moisture away. “I feared you would hate me when I told you I had him hanged.”
“I don’t hate you, Varron. Not a bit.” She smiled at him through her tears, and he wiped the newly fallen ones away as well. “I was afraid of you today. You seemed so cold and distant, and so angry. I feared the night to come and worried what would happen when you joined me on the bedroll.”
Keeping her encased in his arms, he rocked her gently until she fell fast asleep. He allowed her to sleep for a little while, but woke her up and made sure she got something to eat and drank enough water. She hadn’t eaten much today when they’d stopped to water the horses, and he wanted to ensure she kept up her strength. Tomorrow they would rise just before the sun peaked over the mountains and ready themselves to ride long into the evening until reaching Himma.
He didn’t claim her that night, but he instead held her and talked to her until she drifted to sleep again. He told her about the capital city and the small house he kept on the outskirts of it, and he told her of his desire to return to Geshema Providence, where they could live a quiet life far away from any potential wars or violence.
What he didn’t tell her was that he needed King Baltus’ permission to retire. If not
“Do you blame me for what happened in some way, just because I am from the village? Do you think I had any knowledge about what was going to happen?” She didn’t understand his darkness. She wanted the kind, patient Varron who’d made love to her last night to return to her.
“No, Meadow, I don’t blame you for anything that happened in the village.” He paused but held her gaze as he took a deep breath, as if bracing himself to deliver some terrible news.
She stared at Varron, waiting for him to confirm her suspicions.
“Your stepfather was among the men who set the fires. He was hanged alongside the other four criminals.”
*****
Did she hate him now? Varron studied her from across the small space of the tent, waiting for her to burst into tears or curse him to the depths of hell. Mr. Lansing hadn’t treated her kindly, but perhaps she had cared for him in some small way, or felt sorry for him. She had a sweet nature, and he very much feared her reaction to the news of her stepfather’s hanging.
“Meadow, say something.”
She glanced at him, a faraway look in her eyes. He saw no sheen of tears, and her lower lip wasn’t trembling. He took it as a good sign, but he still felt anxious as she sat there, unmoving and not uttering a word.
“Meadow,” he tried again.
“I hated him,” she said, her tone as distant as her gaze. “I hated him and often wished him dead myself. I felt guilty about it all the time. A decent person doesn’t wish another person dead.” This time, her lip trembled, and her eyes rapidly filled with tears. She blinked and lowered her head, then wrapped her arms around her center as if she was trying to keep herself from falling apart.
He removed his sword belt and hurried to her, taking her in his arms and bringing her head to rest beneath his chin. Stroking her back, he held her as a tremor racked her body and allowed her to cry against him.
“Meadow, my sweet, your stepfather wasn’t a nice man. He thought nothing of selling you into slavery. You mustn’t be so hard on yourself. You aren’t a bad person for wishing his death. Shh, don’t cry, lass.”
She sniffled and pulled away to peer up at him. “But, I even prayed for his death once.”
“His death would’ve meant your release from the torment he’s inflicted on you all these years, Meadow. You aren’t responsible for his death in any way. He’s responsible for his death. He helped set the fires.” Varron brushed a kiss upon her cheek and tasted the saltiness of her tears. With his thumbs, he wiped the rest of the moisture away. “I feared you would hate me when I told you I had him hanged.”
“I don’t hate you, Varron. Not a bit.” She smiled at him through her tears, and he wiped the newly fallen ones away as well. “I was afraid of you today. You seemed so cold and distant, and so angry. I feared the night to come and worried what would happen when you joined me on the bedroll.”
Keeping her encased in his arms, he rocked her gently until she fell fast asleep. He allowed her to sleep for a little while, but woke her up and made sure she got something to eat and drank enough water. She hadn’t eaten much today when they’d stopped to water the horses, and he wanted to ensure she kept up her strength. Tomorrow they would rise just before the sun peaked over the mountains and ready themselves to ride long into the evening until reaching Himma.
He didn’t claim her that night, but he instead held her and talked to her until she drifted to sleep again. He told her about the capital city and the small house he kept on the outskirts of it, and he told her of his desire to return to Geshema Providence, where they could live a quiet life far away from any potential wars or violence.
What he didn’t tell her was that he needed King Baltus’ permission to retire. If not
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