Total pages in book: 117
Estimated words: 109722 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 549(@200wpm)___ 439(@250wpm)___ 366(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 109722 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 549(@200wpm)___ 439(@250wpm)___ 366(@300wpm)
Oria hoped that was so, but the scowl on her husband’s face warned otherwise.
Oria was impatient to speak with Henry. The weather had delayed their visit for three days, the rain appearing as if it would never end. Concern for Demelza had Wren joining them and Parlan as well.
Oria and her husband were surprised when Trevor greeted them with enthusiasm.
“I’m so glad you’ve come. I was going to send for Wren today since my wife isn’t feeling well,” Trevor said, after rushing down the keep steps upon their arrival.
“I’m feeling fine, Trevor. You worry too much,” Demelza called out from the top of the keep steps.
“Don’t you dare come down those stairs,” Trevor ordered.
Wren hurried up the stairs when it appeared that Demelza wasn’t about to obey her husband and together they entered the keep.
Royden thought it a perfect time to inquire about Firth, seeing Trevor relieved that Wren hadn’t hesitated to go to his wife.
“Where is Firth?” Royden asked, though he was aware it sounded more like a demand.
“Not that it concerns you, but since you generously share your healer with me I’ll tell you he was sent away and he won’t be returning,” Trevor said.
“I’m glad to hear that,” Royden said and saw the relief on his wife’s face.
“I’d like to visit with some of the people while you and my husband talk,” Oria said, seeking permission this time so she didn’t hinder her chance to speak with Henry.
“No one else from this clan leaves here today,” Trevor ordered sharply.
That didn’t sit well with Oria, knowing Henry had wanted to go with her, and she couldn’t hold her tongue. “There is only one person I wish to take with me today and he’s an old man. He has nothing to offer you. He knew my grandfather. He belongs with me.”
“Old Henry,” Trevor said, shaking his head after realizing who she referred to. “My wife has taken a liking to him. He talks with her when others won’t.” He shook his head again. “I can’t let you take him, at least not now. Maybe after the bairn is born.”
Oria was disappointed but she could understand his reasoning.
“Go and talk with him. He is treated well here and does not suffer at my hands, none of your clansmen do,” Trevor said. “I should say they do better since my wife has convinced me they all aren’t meant to be warriors.”
Oria was glad to hear that, but she also heard his annoyance that he had yet to win favor with the clan. She couldn’t feel sorry for him. He had robbed her of her clan, of her family, though she was grateful that her clan hadn’t been mistreated. Still, he was a stranger to them.
“Henry still resides in the cottage that has been his home for as long as I can remember?” Oria asked.
“He does,” Trevor confirmed.
She took hold of Royden’s wrist above where his hand would have been. He would think she did it to show Trevor that his lost limb didn’t disturb her in the least, but that wasn’t so. She often took hold of his arm there, as if she actually was holding his hand and it always pleased him, more so now. Though she hadn’t done it on purpose, he was glad Trevor had seen her do so, glad that he saw that she wasn’t repulsed by it. That the loss of his hand made no difference to her.
“Henry’s cottage sits off by itself some, nearer to the woods than the other cottages. Anyone can point you to it,” she said.
Royden nodded again, pleased that his wife let him know where she’d be and that she wouldn’t be far. He watched her walk off and waited until he saw the direction she went, then he turned to follow Trevor up the steps.
“While we enjoy some fine wine, you can tell me what truly brought you here today,” Trevor said and continued up the steps.
Royden decided then that it would be a good time to confront the man about Oria’s da.
“Mistress Oria, you’re a sight for these old eyes that are glad they can still see a beautiful woman,” Old Henry said as he struggled to get off the bench he’d been sitting on in front of his cottage.
“Sit, Henry, please sit. I’ll join you,” Oria said, rushing to his side and keeping a hand to his arm so he would remain seated, she joined him on the bench.
“How are you doing, Henry?” she asked. His many wrinkles attested to his advanced age, though he had worn those wrinkles for as long as she could remember. He had always worn a smile, just like he did now. He never had a bad word for anyone. He was the most peaceful soul she’d ever known.
He chuckled. “I must be doing good since I’ve lived long, so long that I can’t remember how old I am.” He chuckled again.