Willow shook her head and stepped away.
“There!” Landyn pointed down the river.
Mercy trudged out of the river, her mane hanging limp and her head drooping.
With a small cry of joy and concern, Willow ran toward her. Christian followed her with strong, determined strides. Willow’s foot slipped on the wet grass, and she skidded, falling on one knee. Sage lunged forward, but Christian was faster, wrapping his hands around Willow’s waist and helping her back onto her feet.
The torment on Willow’s face was heart-wrenching. Her eyes were red-rimmed and filled with despair as she stumbled towards her horse. The steed’s nostrils flared as she scented Willow’s distress, and the mare stomped her foot on the ground. Willow’s hands shook as she grabbed the reins and tugged the horse away from the water.
Sage watched in silence, her throat tight with emotion.
Willow pressed her forehead to Mercy’s nose, and her shoulders shook. Christian put an arm around her.
Sage turned away to look right into Marcus’s stare. The guilt inside her was overwhelming. She shook her head and lowered her gaze.
Marcus pulled Sage close, embracing her, and whispered against her hair. “It’s well. Everything is well.”
Sage steeled herself against the emotions whirling within her. Everythingwaswell. It wasn’t her fault Willow had dashed into the river to save the boy. Willow would have done that—even if they were in France. Sage clutched his wet tunic and admitted, “I couldn’t bear it if Will were hurt.”
“She wasn’t,” Marcus assured her, stroking her back.
“This time. What about the next time? Is it worth it?” Her trembling fingers curled into his tunic.
Marcus breathed a sigh against the top of her head. “This had nothing to do with the directions or the book. It’s not your fault the river overflowed.”
Sage pulled back to stare into his beautiful blue eyes. No, she hadn’t caused the rain to overflow the banks of the river; he was right. It wasn’t her fault. A sad smile crossed her lips as she felt a knot of emotion unravel in her chest.
He brushed his lips against hers tenderly, then leaned his forehead against hers. “Your sisters are adults. They make their own decisions.”
Sage nodded but thought back to when they first got the book. No matter what her sisters had said, she was determined to go to le Bezu, either with or without them. They would never abandon her, so they had no choice but to accompany her. The same thing had happened here. Willow had even learned to swim to cross the English Channel. This rain and this incident were not Sage’s fault. But maybe it was a signal from the heavens telling her to stop following the directions.
She smiled into Marcus’s chest. It was lucky she didn’t believe in such things.
“Please come in and rest,” the woman said, hugging the boy. “Dry off your clothing and sit before a warm fire. I will make a meal for you.”
Sage sighed wistfully and glanced at Raven.
“We would love to,” Raven replied.
Marcus stood quietly, leaning against the farmhouse wall and watching Sage with a piercing gaze. Her eyes were unfocused, and she hadn’t even glanced at the parchment. She sat beside Willow; her hands were outstretched before the fire in the hearth as if trying to absorb its warmth. He knew something was wrong.
They had all changed into the dry clothing they carried with them while their armor dried.
Raven and Landyn stood near the doorway, quietly observing.
Christian spoke to the man, John Waterson, at the table behind Willow and Sage as he sipped an ale.
The woman—John’s wife, Mable—moved around the room, handing trenchers of porridge to each of them.
The little boy raced in circles around the room.
At least the child was well, Marcus thought. This could have very easily been a different picture if Willow hadn’t succeeded in saving him. His gaze shifted to Sage again. He wished he could help her, but the worry and sadness in her eyes kept him rooted to the spot, unsure of what to do.
The little boy ran up to Willow and hugged her before bolting around the room again.
At first, she was shocked, but then sighed. As she turned back to the fire, she locked eyes with Sage. Her grin faded, and she picked up a drying lock of Sage’s short brown hair. “I’ll never get used to this.”
Marcus stood close enough to hear their conversation.
