Warrior's Last Gift(19)

            And neither of those was an outcome she wanted.





Chapter Seven



When the first raindrops began to pepper down, Eric wasn’t surprised. The sky had been heavy and gray when they had awakened, and the temperature had dropped steadily as they traveled. Late in the day, the rain gradually turned to snow.

            The heavens themselves seemed determined to keep them from reaching the coast. He’d hoped to make it out of the mountains before they made camp, but that was not to be. At least here there were caves that would provide them shelter from the snow.

            “We’ll make camp here for the night,” he called over his shoulder as he reined his horse to a stop.

            He dismounted and held out his arms to assist Jeanne down from the big animal. She fell against him, groaning as her feet hit the ground. Clearly, her tumble over the cliff yesterday had taken its toll.

            He swept her from her feet and carried her to the cave’s entrance, setting her down inside the opening.

            They’d gotten lucky for a change. The cave was just large enough for the two of them, the horse, and a fire. It was crowded, but certainly better than sleeping out in this weather.

            Once he had the fire built, Jeanne pushed up from where she sat to gather her pot and what little food they had left.

            “You rest,” he told her, taking the pot from her hands. “I can do this.”

            She didn’t argue, confirming his suspicion that she was exhausted and in pain.

            He filled the pot with snow and set it over the fire to melt. When the water bubbled, he dumped in the last of their oats, along with a few pieces of meat left from last night’s rabbit.

            “You must remember to stir,” Jeanne cautioned without opening her eyes.

            As if he weren’t perfectly capable of cooking his own food.

            When it was ready, he carried the pot over to where she sat, placing it on the ground between them.

            “This is the last of our bread,” he said, breaking the piece in half to share. “We’ll need to keep a sharp eye out for any sign of game tomorrow.”

            He scooped a bite of the porridge and wrinkled his nose. The tasteless lumps in his mouth had nothing to do with the bits of meat he’d added.

            Across from him, Jeanne coughed and grabbed for the flask of ale.

            “It seems to lack the flavor of yers,” he admitted. “And mayhap it has a few more lumps.”

            “I warned you to stir,” she said, keeping her gaze fixed on the food in front of her.

            They passed the remainder of their meal in silence, and when they finished, he again filled the pot with snow and set it near the fire. The melt would help to clean the pot in the morning.

            By the time he finished, Jean had curled into her blankets, her back turned to him.

            Though he didn’t doubt she was tired, he suspected she wanted to avoid any attempt on his part to push for the answers she’d refused him last night.

            Though her comment had eaten away at his thoughts all day, he wouldn’t try to force her to answer his questions. It made little difference now anyway. What was done was done. He would simply put it from his mind. There was nothing to be gained from opening old wounds. And yet . . .

            “Are you awake, Jeanne?”

            An audible sigh wafted from the blanket where she huddled. “I am.”

            “I ken you’ve no stomach for talk of this, but it preys mightily upon my thoughts. If you dinna love Eymer, why did you take him for yer husband?”