Page 9 of North Queen
His steps slowed, and he swallowed. His own heart suffered the same. Itwashard. The hardest. He pushed down the pain and forced a smile. “Even if youdidremember him, you wouldn’t recognize him. He’s nineteen now, almost twenty, as tall as I am, and training for the guard.”
“How old am I?”
“Twenty-five.”
“And you?” She shifted in the saddle, as if suddenly feeling her questions too prying.
“Twenty-nine,” he answered readily. He would tell her anything of himself, especially given that she knew everything about him already. Or she used to…
She pulled her lip between her teeth, the way she did when she was puzzling something. “Did you really believe I’d come back? After all this time?”
He shot her a look of surprise. “Why would I not?”
“Three years I’ve been gone. I could’ve been dead.”
“But you weren’t. And we didn’t know it would be three years. Each time I searched for you, I thought I’d find you. But the days turned to months, and the months turned to years.”
“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.
