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)
Fear rounded eyes, wives gripped tight to their husbands, mothers gathered their bairns close, and no one spoke a word.
“I seek information on two men who have passed through your village.” His gaze swept the crowd, measuring, remembering faces. “And know for certain, I will get what I want one way or another.”
Chapter Twenty-Six
Ancrum
The Villagers Speak
* * *
Dar did not raise his voice, yet it carried as his gaze swept over the gathered villagers. “I seek a wanderer. Short and thick of build. He passed through this village recently.”
Villagers continued to remain silent.
“The other is a stranger who may have passed through Ancrum in the last several days. A man who was curious with questions, but one who did not linger.”
A murmur rippled through the crowd, then stilled.
Dar’s eyes narrowed slightly. “If you know something, you will tell me.”
A woman shifted near the back. A man glanced toward the road leading out of the village. Dar took note of both, but he said nothing more. He had learned long ago that silence often worked faster than threats.
His attention turned briefly to the sky. The sun had slipped lower, shadows lengthening across the village green. Dusk would not be long in coming.
“We will remain here tonight,” he announced. “I require a private cottage for my wife and myself. Rooms for five men as well.”
That, at least, stirred movement.
A village elder stepped forward, stiff-backed and wary. “There is a cottage near the east edge of the village. It has been empty since summer. You are welcome to use it.”
“It will do,” Dar said. “Your name.”
“Leith, sir.”
“Leith, you will show us to your meeting hall. Where your people gather, a place where those who have something to say can talk with me.”
Leith hesitated only a moment before nodding. “There is a common room near the center of the village. It is used for council matters and gatherings.”
“That will do,” Dar replied. “Food and drink will be brought there—for myself, my wife, and my men.”
Again, not a request.
Leith inclined his head and motioned for them to follow.
As they walked through the village, doors closed more firmly than before. Windows darkened. Whispers slipped through the air, low and urgent. Dar noted it all, filing away reactions, silences, glances that lingered too long.
Looks followed Elara, the three women she had just spent time with not taking their eyes off her. Guilt haunted her. She had not lied to them, but she had avoided the truth. Was that not just as bad?
They reached the common hall, and Dar sent two of his men in first to make certain no surprises awaited them.
He pressed his hand to the small of her back. “You are a brave woman, Elara. You did not weep, beg, or submit. I am proud to have you as my wife.”
She looked up at him, speechless. As foolish as it might sound, it felt as if he told her he loved her.
He leaned his head down. “But I will make certain you are never placed in such a precarious position again.”
Protect her, he would always protect her. But what would happen if a time came that he couldn’t? She did not worry so much for herself, but for what it would do to him. Protection was love to him and realizing that, her heart swelled with how much he loved her.
The door to the gathering hall opened and the two Hunters sent inside stepped out and to the sides and with his hand firm at her back, Dar eased his wife forward to enter.
He chose a table near the center of the hall, his back to the wall, the room in full view. Elara settled beside him without hesitation. His men took another table a short distance away, low voices, watchful eyes, while one remained stationed by the door, arms crossed, gaze fixed outward as if daring trouble to try its luck.
Food arrived quickly—stew, coarse bread, a pitcher of ale—set down with careful hands. No one lingered once it was placed before them.
Dar waited until the server had retreated before leaning slightly toward Elara. His arm brushed hers, needing to feel her safe beside him.
“Did you learn anything while you were among them?” he asked quietly.
She moved even closer until her arm pressed against his, wanting to feel his strength and warmth. “I told them I had heard a wanderer speak of fae folk being seen in the woods.” Her mouth tightened at the memory. “They grew upset. One warned me sharply not to repeat such talk.”
Dar’s gaze sharpened. “Upset how?”
“Afraid,” she said after a moment’s thought. “And angry. As if the words themselves were dangerous.”
He considered that, fingers curling around his cup. “Then perhaps it was not fear of rumor—but fear of truth.”
Elara blinked. “I had not thought of it that way.”
“People rarely fear lies,” he said. “They fear what might be uncovered if questions are asked.”