“I am lame, but I’m all they have.”
Silence hardened the distance between them. He placed a hand gently on her shoulder.
“I see no reason for ye to explain yerself to me, Mr. Smith. I will soon travel to my mother’s kingdom where I am a princess and rightful heir to the throne.” A slight tremor in her voice the only hint of what she must be feeling.
“Beti—”
She twisted to capture his gaze, mist pooling in her beautiful blue-green eyes.
“And so your family are the only ones allowed to love ye? The only ones permitted to stand by ye as ye walk this life? That be yer own choice to make, Zechariah Smith.” Shaking with conviction, she felt a tear slipped down her cheek. “But do not ye ever place yer lameness at my feet as an excuse for why ye choose not to be my man.”
She swiped at the wetness and turned her back to him once more. He drew her back against his chest. She wrenched herself forward. Soon the tremors subsided.
In the foothills, the landscape closed in on the little party. Slabs of rock walls hovered on their left with steep drop-offs on the right. The valleys deepened as though God had scooped out big troughs of dirt and left sprigs of growth which had since sprouted into the forests below.
A surprised sigh escaped Beti as an abandoned cabin peeked into view.
“This is it.”
She slid down before he could offer his hand.
Picking her steps carefully, Beti made her way over ruts and roots to the overgrown log structure. The door hung crookedly on its leather straps. The mud-caked chimney was more crumbly than when she’d seen it last. No windows graced the walls of the little home she’d shared with her parents. She peered through the large crack in the door frame into a room much smaller than she remembered.
The room moldered under tall oaks and pines lit only by waning sunlight striping across the planked floor through cracks in the chinking. A string bed stood in the far corner, and a central table and two chairs remained where they’d left them. Little debris cluttered the floor. A good sweeping and a scrub and it would almost be livable again…except for the smears of blood that remained on the planking near the bedstead.
The memory was muffled as though she’d stuffed her ears with wool. Tears dripped onto the rag her father used to wipe up the mess. Mama lay still on the bed. He’d been so quiet. Perhaps she hadn’t heard him over the wailing of her own heart. Standing looking into the small space she couldn’t quite remember. But she could still see his tears drip one at a time into the cloth.
“Tonight we stay here,” Hagbard announced.
No! Beti’s heart rebelled. Papa had been right to leave this place. The house he’d built them by the sea had windows in every wall looking in every direction. They filled the house with the sound of the waves and a fresh briny smell. Light was dim only when clouds blocked the sun. This place with light filtered through a winter-gray canopy resembled a living dungeon in comparison. She could almost hear her mother call in the crinkling leaves. Laughter over meals made over the warm fire. Life had never been the same.
Her parents had made this small moldy box a home. The thought of a home in the cold north sent a shudder down to her toes. Perhaps Rosalee was right. Perhaps she should go back home to the Campbells.
She thought she’d found a relationship that would blossom as her parents had done. Beti wrapped her arms around her waist. She took deep breath. Plenty of time for reflection later. Right now? She glanced back at her rescuers. Fatigue deepened the lines of Hagbard’s face. Zeke concealed pain in the hollows under his eyes. Had they slept last night? Right now they needed a fire.
Beti scraped the door open. Next to the hearth stood the broom. A trifle more fragile than when they’d left it but still serviceable. Any floor would be better than the cold ground.
Within an hour, the floor and walls had been swept clean. The hearth blazed warmth into the small room.
“Will they hang Agmund?” Beti asked as she stirred a thick stew she’d made from the two small rabbits Zeke managed to trap. The Lord had commanded them to forgive hadn’t He?
“I do not know,” Hagbard answered.
“Forgiveness does not mean lack of consequences,” Zeke spoke quietly over her shoulder while dumping a couple thick logs onto the fire.
Had she spoken her concerns aloud?
“I know ye,” Zeke answered her look.
If he did then why didn’t he understand that she didn’t care that he was lame. She loved him, God help her. With all her heart she loved him, and it didn’t matter that he couldn’t walk. If she had his love, she knew they could fly.
She turned back to the stew.
Here in the old cabin, it was all the more obvious. Her father had declared plainly in front of all and sundry that Sigrid was his beloved wife. The queen of his heart. Zechariah Smith had kissed Beti in plain sight of an entire wagon train and then told them she wasn’t good enough to be his wife. Heat flamed her cheeks. No doubt about it, she needed to move on and find the person who would love her the way her father had loved his mother, without regard to who knew it.
“That stew smells like God Himself cooked it up.” Hagbard handed her his cup.
Beti filled it to the brim.
Zeke passed his cup. “Ye first.”
“Thank ye for sharing ye cup, but ye must eat first.”
“I insist,” Zeke pushed a flat hand toward the cup. “Come sit.” He scraped the chair from the table.
Surprised she sank onto the chair. She swirled the stew with his spoon to cool it down.
“How much farther must we go to retrieve this treasure?” Zeke focused his question to Hagbard.
The big man rested back in his chair cup to his mouth. “Naught but a few feet.”
Beti started. “It’s here?”
“Aye, and once we’ve eaten, I suggest we retrieve it.”
Beti scanned the room. Small with barest necessities in the four corners. Papa had left it all, choosing to rebuild in their new home. A tall narrow shelf next to the hearth, now bare, once held her mother’s cooking things. No cabinets, no holes, no secret corners. Pinewood planking had held up fairly well considering how long the place lay fallow. Even the tripping board lay intact. Just to the right of the hearth a plank bowed a bit, but it always had. Beti remembered tripping over it as a girl carrying an empty wash pot.
