Total pages in book: 109
Estimated words: 103333 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 517(@200wpm)___ 413(@250wpm)___ 344(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 103333 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 517(@200wpm)___ 413(@250wpm)___ 344(@300wpm)
They descended the slope into Wedderlie, the hum of village life growing louder with each step. The scent of fresh bread and wild herbs drifted through the air, mingling with smoke from the many hearths. The sound of laughter, light and carefree, spilled from the market square where women bartered cheerfully for wares that seemed far too plentiful.
Children darted past them, their faces clean, their clothes new. One boy carried a basket brimming with berries though Elara had seen no berry brambles on the way in.
“This doesn’t make sense,” she murmured.
Dar gave no answer. His hand hovered near the dagger at his belt, eyes sweeping the square, weighing every motion.
Relief was not something she expected to feel when his other hand reached out and took hold of hers, closing warm and firm around it. She gave it a squeeze, a silent response to let him know his presence was appreciated. Or was it more than that? Had she come to rely on him without realizing it? Had she trusted him that easily? And should she? They were thoughts that had to wait and she pushed them away, turning her focus on the village.
She noticed when the villagers looked their way, it wasn’t with suspicion… it was with welcome, smiles wide and unguarded. It should have eased her, yet it didn’t.
An older man stepped toward them as they approached the heart of the village. His back was straight despite the years etched into his face, and his white hair was neatly bound with a strip of leather.
“Welcome,” he greeted warmly, though his eyes were sharp. “Welcome to Wedderlie. I am Adelar, elder of Wedderlie and official welcomer.”
Dar inclined his head slightly. “We thank you, good sir, for the hospitable welcome.”
The man’s gaze shifted between them, lingering on Elara’s hand hooked with Dar’s. “Husband and wife, then. You’ll find welcome enough at the inn. Bella keeps clean beds and hearty meals.”
Elara hesitated, then asked, “Do you have a healer in your village?”
The man’s brow rose, his eyes suddenly filled with concern. “Are you ill? I can summon Dea to the inn right fast.”
“Nay. Nay.” Elara was quick to assure him. “I am an herb-scribe and would enjoy speaking with her.”
Concern replaced a wide smile. “Dea will be thrilled to speak with you. Her cottage sits just beyond the mill stream, on the rise where the rowans grow. You’ll know it by the pleasant scent. Always something brewing there.”
“Thank you,” she said. “I would speak with her when time allows.”
Adelar nodded, his smile remaining broad. “Dea is a kind, giving woman as are all healers. But you’d best see to yourselves first. You’ve the look of those who’ve walked long roads.” He gestured toward a timbered building at the edge of the square. “There’s the inn. Tell Bella I sent you. She’ll see you right.”
They thanked him and crossed the square, the scent of stew and baked bread wafting in the air as they got closer to the inn.
As they walked, Elara leaned closer, her hand hugging his just a bit more firmly, and whispered, “They welcome strangers so easily.”
Dar’s gaze never stopped moving. “That’s what troubles me.”
At the inn, a plump woman with red cheeks and bright eyes bustled to greet them before they even reached the threshold. “Travelers! May the gods bless you both, we’ve not had a new face in weeks. Come in, come in.”
Elara started to explain that they had little to offer in payment, but a quick tug to her hand had her holding her tongue.
“Don’t fret, wife,” he murmured for her ears alone. “My charming tongue will see it done.”
She didn’t doubt he would. After all, wanderers were known for their ability to find lodging and food without sparing a coin.
Within moments they were seated at a small corner table near the hearth, the warmth chasing away the chill of the forest. Elara glanced around. Villagers filled the room, talking easily, laughing freely. Not a gloomy face among them. It was as if no fear had ever crossed this threshold.
Dar thanked their hostess with practiced ease, his words smooth and unhurried. Bella laughed at something he said and promised to fetch food and drink.
Elara leaned closer, whispering, “You’re far too good at that.”
He met her eyes with a faint, crooked smile. “A useful skill. You’d be surprised how much a man can earn with words.”
She meant to press him, find out more about the stranger she had come to trust, far too quickly, but the smell of stew reached her then—rich, savory, thick with herbs. Her empty stomach betrayed her with a low growl.
He smiled again, the kind that made a woman take notice of his fine features like the few women in the room did. And she found herself doing the oddest thing. She moved closer to him, as if letting them know he belonged to her.