Helena met her gaze without hesitation. “Then at least I’ll ken I tried.”
Sophia scoffed. “Foolish girl.”
“And yet here ye are, joinin’ me,” Helena pointed out.
Sophia huffed but said nothing more.
The tension lingered between them until the sound of hooves echoed outside.
Alexander’s voice carried through the hall. “Time to go.”
Outside, the carriage stood waiting, two sturdy horses hitched to the front. Alexander was already sitting on his bay stallion, the reins held loosely in his hands as he watched them approach. His gaze flicked between Helena and Sophia, but he said nothing as the two women climbed inside.
The journey to the village was longer than Helena had expected. Rolling hills stretched as far as the eye could see, golden stalks of wheat swaying in the crisp morning breeze. They passed small farms, where shepherds tended their flocks, the occasional thatched cottage nestled among the greenery.
Sophia remained quiet for most of the ride, staring out at the scenery with a thoughtful expression. It wasn’t until they passed a dense forest, the trees towering like silent sentinels, that she finally spoke.
“I shouldnae have argued with ye this mornin’,” she muttered.
Helena glanced at her, her eyes wide with surprise.
Sophia sighed. “There’s nothin’ to be done now. Ye are with Alexander, and this is the life ye’ve chosen, whether I approve or nae.”
Helena softened. “I ken ye worry, Auntie, but I’ll be fine.”
Sophia shook her head. “Just be careful, lass. Be smart about it.”
Helena nodded. “I will.”
The village was a modest settlement nestled between the hills, its low stone houses blending into the landscape. Moss and ivy crawled up the walls, giving the buildings an ancient, almost forgotten look. Smoke curled lazily from chimneys, and the scent of peat lingered in the air.
At the heart of the village lay a cobblestone square, lined with modest shops, a tavern, and a small inn. Merchants bartered with customers, children ran barefoot along the paths, and women gathered at the well, their voices carrying over the quiet hum of daily life.
At the far end of the square, a chapel stood, its stone walls weathered but strong.
Alexander slowed his horse beside the carriage. “The orphans are inside,” he said.
As they entered, the scent of aged wood and candle wax filled the air. The room was dimly lit by narrow windows, their glass panes warped with age. Within, over a dozen children sat in small clusters, their clothes patched and worn. Some were babes, clinging to their older siblings, while others sat in silence, their eyes hollow with loss.
Helena felt her chest tighten. She had known what to expect, but seeing them here, abandoned because of the war, struck her deeper than she had anticipated.
A young girl no older than six tugged at the sleeve of an elder caretaker. “Who are they?” she asked in a whisper.
Helena knelt beside her, offering a gentle smile. “Friends,” she said.
The girl’s small fingers clutched the fabric of her dress. “Are ye here to help?”
“Aye,” Helena assured her.
Sophia, who had been silent until now, finally spoke. “We brought blankets, fabric, shoes, food—whatever we can spare.”
A caretaker nodded gratefully. “It will help more than ye ken.”
As they distributed supplies, Helena watched the orphans’ faces light up at the sight of warm woolen cloaks and fresh loaves of bread. She knelt beside a young boy, helping him tie new shoes onto his dirt-streaked feet.
She looked up at Sophia, who was watching with an unreadable expression. “Ye see now why it matters, Auntie?”
Sophia exhaled. “Aye, I do.”
