Anette rose and picked up the stale bread off the dirty floor. She dusted it off on her dress before returning to her seat. “Are you hungry?”
Octavia made a face. “I think I would rather starve for now.”
“The feeling is mutual,” Anette remarked as she placed the bread down next to her.
“It has been hours since I arrived. I wonder if my father has realized that I have been abducted,” Octavia said. “He has been so preoccupied with my mother that I fear he notices little else, including me.”
The way her friend spoke those words, Anette knew that she was suffering in silence. There was no worse feeling than believing you are all alone.
Anette offered Octavia a weak smile. “What you are going through is hard. It is all right to mourn the life you used to have with your mother.”
“I shouldn’t complain…”
“Yes, you should,” Anette encouraged. “We are friends and that means we share each other’s burdens.”
Octavia’s eyes filled with tears. “My mother isn’t going to get any better. She will only get worse until she eventually dies,” she said. “What if it is me that she forgets next?”
“Your mother loves you and that will never change.”
“I know this, yet I still can’t come to terms with it,” Octavia admitted as she wiped a tear that started rolling down her cheek. “Why did this have to happen to my mother?”
“I can’t answer that, but I do know that you are strong enough to overcome this.”
In a soft voice, Octavia said, “I don’t think I am. It is just too hard.”
“Life is hard. It’s even harder if you refuse to accept that.” Anette embraced her friend. “But you are not alone in this.”
“Sometimes I feel like I lost both of my parents when my mother started getting sick,” Octavia shared. “My father and I hardly speak anymore unless we are talking about my mother.”
Leaning back, Anette asked, “Have you told him this?”
Octavia lowered her gaze. “No, but what is the point?” she asked. “It would be incredibly selfish to make this about me.”
“You are many things, but being selfish is not one of them,” Anette said.
Blinking back her tears, Octavia admitted, “I haven’t truly cried in ages, at least not to anyone besides Roswell.”
“There is nothing wrong with a good cry every so often.”
“Perhaps, but it has not helped with our situation.”
Anette glanced at the window and saw that it was becoming increasingly dark outside. Would Roswell and Caleb find them tonight or would they have to sleep here? What if they didn’t find them?
As the doubt started creeping in, Anette realized if she died then Roswell would never know how she truly felt about him. And that thought was the most terrifying of all.
Roswell peered in through the dirty window of The Drunken Bear and counted eight men in the hall. Eight burly men. They were all sitting around tables and appeared to be in their cups. A serving wench went around with a tray, serving drinks, and collecting empty tankards.
A loud cheer went around the room as someone started chugging a tankard. These men did not appear to be seasoned mercenaries that he had expected but rather rowdy drunks. This did bode well for them. If they caught them by surprise, these men might not be able to put up much of a defense.
The odds were not in their favor, though. Eight men against three. But now was not the time to doubt his abilities. He had fought his way out of tough situations before and now he had an even greater reason to fight. He refused to leave Octavia and Anette to the mercy of these men.
Roswell departed from the alleyway and met up with Caleb and Mr. Barnard further down the pavement.
Caleb was waiting for him and asked, “What did you discover?”
“I counted eight men and one serving wench,” Roswell replied. “Based upon their drunkenly behavior, I do not think they are expecting trouble this evening.”
Mr. Barnard’s look was one of exasperation. “This is madness. You just want to walk into the tavern and rescue the ladies?”
