Chapter Twenty-Four
They spoke with villagers, farmers, and merchantsin their attempt to find Sage, but darkness began its descent over the lands, bringing their search to a halt. No one had seen Sage. One farmer complained about a soldier’s abuse, saying the soldier was searching for a woman. That was the closest they came to any information about Sage.
Willow stood on the street outside of Les Labadous, holding the reins of her horse and staring down the road. Sage must be out there somewhere. Alone. Her heart twisted at the thought of her sister secluded.
Christian walked up beside her, with his steed’s reins. He took her hand into his, squeezing it in comfort.
As Willow regarded the horizon, she became more and more confident that Sage would never abandon the book, her most prized possession. Not willingly. There was only one place left to go. Her father had always said if they got separated to meet there. “Sybil’s farm.”
Christian looked at her and nodded in agreement. He knew about Sybil’s farm from the time he had spent with them.
“She has to be there,” Willow whispered in anguish.
Christian put an arm around her shoulders and pulled her close as they began their trip to Sybil’s farm.
As they approached the village of Christian’s old friend, Bea, to return the horse he had borrowed, Willow dusted off her leather armor anxiously. She had mixed feelings about Bea. She was a rival, so of course, there was jealousy. But Christian had chosen Willow. And Willow knew the woman would be devastated. She felt sorry for her.
They entered the village just after the sun rose, and Christian led the way to the farm. An elderly man was chopping wood near the side of the building. He paused and lifted his straw hat to wipe his brow.
Christian dismounted. He rushed up and grasped the farmer’s arm, greeting him. “Milo. It’s good to see you.”
Milo’s wrinkled face beamed with happiness. “And you.” He inspected the horse and, in turn, Willow. “Ya best have taken care of her.”
“Of course, I did. I’m returning her with all my thanks.” He took the axe from Milo’s hands and began cutting the wood. He stopped to introduce Willow. “Milo, this is my betrothed, Willow.”
Confidence surged through Willow at the proclamation, and she sat straighter in the saddle. Betrothed. “It’s nice to meet you,” Willow replied with a smile.
Milo’s face was pinched, but under Willow’s charm, his shoulders sagged, and he relented. “And ya. I hope ya know what you’re getting with this cur.”
“I do indeed,” she confessed.
“Ya can do better.”
Christian stopped chopping the wood to lock gazes with Willow. “She definitely can,” he admitted.
Warmth spread through Willow. “I don’t want better,” she confessed. “I want you.”
Christian lowered the axe to the ground, then lifted his head to her, his blue eyes tender.
She could have sworn she saw a blush across his cheeks, but she couldn’t be sure.
With a sigh, he resumed swinging the axe, splintering the wood.
Betrothed. Willow had to admit she liked that. She wore a grin that would not fade.
Milo leaned back against the house, surveying Willow with keen eyes.
Willow slid from the horse. “Is there something I can help with?”
Christian paused, cutting the wood.
“Ya weren’t the one who borrowed my horse,” Milo said.
“That doesn’t mean I can’t help.”
Christian smiled, straightened the wood, and continued his work.
Milo nodded in agreement. “You can bring my mare into the field.”
