“You’ve searched for me this entire time?”
Alexander glanced back at her again. “Of course I have.”
Their eyes caught, and he couldn’t look away this time. Her mouth parted slightly, and she drew in a breath.
His heart beat faster. Did she remember something?
But she broke the hold and looked across the hills. “Why did my father take me away? You said we were at war?”
He didn’t answer immediately. He’d tell her anything, but he feared some of it might be too much, too soon. “I know you have a lot of questions,” he said over his shoulder. “But I should leave some of these answers to your grandmother. She’ll want to share them with you herself.” And it was better that way. Some things he didn’t want to talk about—tried not to even think about.
It was near dark by the time they reached the homestead.
“It’s no place for a princess,” he admitted, “but it’s shelter. We’ll continue on at first light.”
He brought the horse in front of the small stacked-stone house and turned to Norah, offering his hand. She accepted it and slid to the ground. He stared at her hand in his for a moment, holding it. The pause felt too long, but he couldn’t let her go. Her fingers trembled, and he realized she was shivering. He needed to get her warmed.
He pulled her toward the house. “Let’s get you inside.”
The homestead was quaint, open, and bare beyond the necessary amenities. Alexander worked quickly to build a fire in the hearth on the far wall and motioned her closer. “Here. Come by the fire.”
She neared, flexing her fingers that were still stained with blood. She’d said it wasn’t hers. What had happened to her? He wanted to ask again, but he stopped himself. He’d let her settle more.
“I need to see to my horse,” he said. “I’ll be back in a moment.” He didn’t want to leave her, but the animal needed care. There was a small outbuilding behind the house that would provide shelter.
Alexander made quick work of it, putting the destrier in a stall and blanketing it with a cover that hung near the door. He broke the top layer of ice that had formed in the water barrel and tossed into the stall a half bale of hay that had been stacked in the corner. He’d leave some coins for the kind soul who kept the homestead stocked for travelers.
He returned to the house with his leather packs and a bucket of snow. When he entered, the sight of her stopped him in his tracks all over again. Norah sat by the fire, holding her hands out to catch its warmth. She glanced back at him. Her blue eyes danced with the light of the flame.
Alexander caught himself staring and pulled away, finally closing the door against the cold. He held up the bucket. “We can melt this,” he told her. “It’s not exactly a washbasin, but you can clean off your hands.”
She gave him a small appreciative smile and worked on melting the snow while he put more wood on the fire. She didn’t wait for it to warm before she plunged her hands in, rubbing them harshly to scrape off the blood and dirt.
Alexander watched her. “Where did you get that dagger?” he asked. Now able to see it better, he noted it wasn’t a high-quality blade.
She scrubbed the last of the blood from her skin. “I took it from someone.” She cut him a look that told him he’d be sorely mistaken if he expected her to give it up. He almost chuckled. He would never.
“A drifter?” he asked.
Her brow quirked in confusion.
“There are men who have no home,” he explained, “but venture about, harassing people they run into and causing chaos. Their numbers have grown over the years. They’ve become quite a problem.”
“Sounds about right,” she mumbled.
“Is that where you were all this time?” he asked. “With drifters?”
She frowned. “Do I look like I’ve been with drifters?”
Was she offended? He shook his head quickly. “No. You look beau—not like you’ve been… No. No, you don’t.” It was a weird stumble of words, and heat rushed to his cheeks. She watched him as he watched her.
She flexed her fingers again against the heat of the flame. He was desperate to ask her more, but he didn’t want to push her. Fortunately, he didn’t have to.
“I came across a man, much like you described,” she said. “He and three others chased me into the forest.”
Alexander shifted his weight, and a fever of anger rippled over his skin. He couldn’t help himself, and he asked, “What happened?”
She shook her head. “I’m not entirely sure. Two… um…” She struggled with the words as she clutched her hands together, and his heart lurched. What she must have gone through…
She rocked forward a little, then back. “Two, uh… they… killed themselves.”
Killed themselves. In front of her. And she was still obviously shaken. He wanted to move closer, to take her hand, to comfort her, but he couldn’t. He was a stranger to her—the best thing he could do right now was give her space.
“The other two ran off,” she continued. “I can’t explain it, but it was horrific. The most terrifying part was that… they didn’t want to kill themselves, but it was like they had no control. One of them kept screaming that I was a witch.”
She swallowed, shifting under his eye. “But I’m not a witch,” she added quickly. Her voice dipped, betraying her lack of confidence in those words. She shook her head with an unsure shrug. “I don’t know what happened. And I thought whatever killed them would come for me, too, but it didn’t. So, I took the dagger because I had nothing else, and I was following a fox through the woods when you found me.”
His brows drew together. “You were following a fox?”
“I’m not mad,” she insisted.
“No, you’re not mad,” he assured her. “And I know you’re not a witch. The Wild is home to the faeries, or spirits, whatever they are. It’s said that they protect it with a kind of power, one that lets them take over the mind of anyone who enters, make them do things, harm themselves or others. Everyone knows the stories like the one you tell now.”
“And you still came?” Her blue eyes stared back at him.
He was caught in the snare of her gaze again. “There’s nowhere I wouldn’t go for you, Norah,” he said softly.
Her lips parted slightly, and her breath caught. He couldn’t look away. Finally, she pulled back and broke the spell. “The fact we’re talking about faeries at all is utter madness,” she said.
He gave a small smile. “Then maybe you are a witch.”
But his joke fell flat, and she only blinked.
“Forgive me,” he said. “That was meant in jest.”
“And it was funny. I’m just…” She let out a breath.
“You’re tired, and you’ve been through a lot. You should eat.” He reached over to his pack and pulled out some salted meat and bread, along with a wineskin, and handed them to her.
They sat on the floor by the burning logs, soaking in the warmth of the flames. He adjusted another log with his sword. “I’ll hunt for us in the morning.”