“You are of our Hearth, Leeda,” Orval said softly.“Come home to us when you can.”
“I’ll try,” she whispered back, then with a long breath, she released him and turned toward her horse.
Roth was there, holding the reins, his face grim, but his eyes warm and approving.“Have a care,” he said softly as he secured her pack to the saddle, “how you wield that sword of yours.”
“I will,” she said as she mounted.
Rasfel and the other crossbow men were also mounting their horses.“They’ll see you to the portal,” Jerrold said.
“Not necessary,” Ussin said.
“We think it is,” Rassfel grinned.“Let it not be said the Black Hills stints on courtesy.”
Ussin mounted his horse.“Breed’em hard in the Black Hills.”he said to Jerrold.
“We protect our own,” Jerrold said.“That includes our Lord High Baron.”
“Understood,” Ussin huffed.“I will make sure that is known.Lord High Baron,” he nodded to Orval, then headed out, leading the pack horses.
Halithe urged her horse to follow.The escort fell in behind her.
She forced herself not to look back as they trotted off.Not to take a long last look at what had become her home.But she did look at her wrist, where her bracelet glowed softly.
It was enough.
It had to be.
Chapter Forty-Two
The Farmstead in the Black Hills
Wethe slid off the back of the horse before Yfin brought it to a halt before the manor.Lady of Laughter, she was too old for this, but needs must when the snows threaten.She checked her satchel was still on her hip.She wasn’t as sure about her wits.
Jerrold and Captain Roth were splashing buckets of warm water onto the blood splotches in the courtyard.Steam rose in the cold air.
The boy had said that only Rye was wounded, but there was a lot of blood scattered about.Wethe ducked into the warm kitchen, to find Rosalind and Orval there, both clearly in shock/ Thankfully they had no visible wounds.
“Amari,” Orval started.
“She’s safe, with the babes.”Wethe doffed her cloak as she moved farther into the room.“Mother Bercie and Petro won’t let her leave until the all-clear is sounded.Where is Rye?”
“Thank the SunLord,” Rosalind said.She looked down at the bloody clothes in her lap.“They carried Rye to his room,” she said, jerking her head toward the stairs.“Aramal is with him.”
“Anyone else injured?”Wethe asked.
“No.”Rosalind’s face crumpled.“Wethe, it’s his head.”
Wethe nodded as she headed up the stairs.Yfin had told her as much when he’d burst through her door, words spilling out of the boy even during the wild gallop here.From the amount of blood on that tunic…
Well, no knowing until the doing.She pushed the door open.
“Wethe,” Aramal held a bloody cloth to the wound in one hand; his other held one of Rye’s.She acknowledged him with a nod, but only had eyes for her patient.
“Well, let’s see what we can do,” she said, and set about it.Aramal released Rye’s hand, stood, and stepped slightly to the side.
She pulled back the bandages and started to examine the wound.Aramal was trembling, watching her every move, his tunic and trous stained with blood.Time to give him something to do.“Warm water,” she murmured.“A few more clean rags, if you will.”
“Of course,” Aramal said and slipped out the door.
