Chapter 14
The storm ended abruptly, just stopped as if someone had turned off a spigot. The gray clouds remained, but they didn’t portend more snow, merely dreary winter days.
Carissa sat sharing the morning meal with Ronan. He had informed her of the change in the weather.
“I’m going to scout the area and see if it’s feasible for us to leave here soon,” he said, finishing the last of his porridge.
She nodded, knowing there was no point in disagreeing with him. And knowing she couldn’t prevent him from forcing her to go with him. She had thought to make her own escape but knew that wasn’t a wise choice, and she had realized just this morning that Bethane would no doubt send word to Dykar of her departure from the safety of the village Black.
Over the years, Dykar and Bethane had become friends, and he would often bring his wounded warriors to her. Once he discovered that she had left and was on her own, he would look for her and, no doubt, Bethane had told him exactly where she could be found. With the weather clear, she knew Dykar would be coming for her. Her only course of action was to try to remain at the cottage until he arrived.
“While I scout, I’ll also see about hunting fresh game for tonight,” he said.
“I could make a fine stew if you’re lucky in your hunt.”
He shook his head. “It still amazes me that you are an exceptional cook.”
She smiled. It pleased her to hear him acknowledge it. She never had the opportunity to prepare meals for anyone. This forced confinement had provided her the chance, and she was grateful for having the opportunity to do something she actually enjoyed. Miraculously, she seemed to have all the ingredients she needed to prepare decent meals, and she had Bethane to thank for that. Evidently, she had made certain the cottage had been stacked with necessary provisions. The older woman probably had envisioned such a scenario as her own, a person stranded by a winter storm and needing shelter, and so she had prepared the cottage. Carissa often wished she had Bethane’s awareness.
“You will miss my cooking?” she finally asked.
“No need for me to,” he said. “You’ll be held at the Sinclare keep, and while awaiting your fate, your hands will prove useful in the kitchen.”
Her smile widened. “I look forward to it.”
Her easy compliance seemed to annoy him, for he bristled and hurried to snatch his cloak off the peg. “I’ll be close by.”
“Afraid I’ll attempt an escape?”
He flung his cloak around his shoulders as he turned to face her. “You wouldn’t get very far. I’d find you in no time.”
“That confident are you?”
“That determined to see you pay,” he said, and was out the door.
Having heard the threat from him all too often, she barely paid heed to it. She knew her situation was precarious and needed no reminders. But ironically, this is where her father’s teachings helped. He had taught her no matter what the circumstance, never panic. Keep a clear head and never doubt yourself, and always keep a forward momentum, never, ever look back.
Her heart disagreed. It continued to hope. It wanted to prove her father wrong about love. Her heart wanted to show that love not only endured, but conquered hate. Her father certainly would have laughed at her, told she was foolish. Furthermore, he would have punished her for believing such nonsense.
But her father wasn’t here. She was free of his tyrannical rule, free to believe as she chose, free to hope.
The thought lightened her burden, and she busied herself clearing the table. She was going to make bread. The whole process provided her with a peaceful calm she cherished. Ula had taught her that baking was an important skill and one born of love. It should be done with pride, for you are providing those you love with sustenance necessary to life. The thought that one day she would be able to do that for a family of her own had always lingered in her mind. And this brief time spent with Ronan had given her a glimpse into that, at least when they shared a meal. He never failed to enjoy any of the meals she prepared, and conversation always remained light when they ate. It allowed her to imagine and, in a sense, that gave her hope.
Carissa got started, and the hours ticked away. It was near noon that she began to worry. Ronan should have returned hours ago. Something was wrong, she could feel it. If he had gotten hurt, he could be lying somewhere in the snow in need of help.
She didn’t waste time with indecision. She grabbed her cloak from the peg and was out the door. The only thing she regretted was not having a weapon with her. Ronan had confiscated the only two she had, and though there was the knife she used for cooking, it wasn’t an adequate weapon.