“My Charlotte.” His voice wavered a little, and his gaze searched her face, then slipped down the length of her, as though checking for injury.
“I’m all right, Papa. And I’m sorry. Have you been searching long?” She slid a glance toward Hugo, who stood back, allowing them a private moment. She offered what she hoped would pass as a smile of greeting, then turned her focus back to her father.
“Brielle went after you the day you left.” His eyes took on a bit of reproof, and she fought the urge to duck her head under the weight of his disappointment that she’d worked so hard all her life to avoid. “When she caught up with the Dinee party and learned you weren’t with them, we found your tracks coming this way. We lost them at the base of this mountain, though.” Then his gaze turned sad, a soul-deep disappointment that made tears burn her eyes. “Why did you lie? What did you need to do so badly that you couldn’t have told me?”
She swallowed the knot in her throat so she could speak. “I’m sorry. I had to get to the fort, and I knew you’d worry if I told you where I was going. I meant only to protect you.” Yet she’d done the very opposite. And the new lines carving his face showed just how much he’d suffered during her absence.
She gripped his arms more securely. “I’ll tell you everythingwhen we get back home. Just know I’m so sorry I worried you. Are others out searching?”
Papa nodded. “Your Uncle Carter and Levi took a route farther south. Brielle and Evan are to the north.”
Her insides tightened. Three groups looking for her. The people she cared most about—well, them and Hugo.
She turned to that man. “Is there a way to let them know you found me?”
His face took on a troubled expression. “We set up a whistle to alert one another. They might be too far away, but I’ll try it.”
He loosed a piercing whistle, one nearly as familiar as her father’s form had been. The signal that someone approached the gates of Laurent in peace—the indication that all was well.
The meaning of the sound raised a sting in her throat. She needed this reminder of her people, of home. That she was still a part of the whole.
They all stood motionless, listening for the response that the guards always gave, signaling they heard and understood. After a few heartbeats, that sound drifted up from the south.
Her mouth curled into a smile. Uncle Carter had a lusty whistle, one full of body and vigor.
No answer came from the north, though, so Hugo cupped his hands around his mouth and faced that direction as he sounded the call again.
Twice more he whistled, and she was preparing to set out in that direction when the return signal finally sounded.
She pressed a thankful hand to her chest. “They’ll come this way, then?”
Papa nodded. “We agreed the whistle would be a call, so they should come find us. Let’s find a place to sit, then you have time to tell us exactly what you’ve been up to.”
At last, Gulliver seemed to be healing. A full day had passed since Charlotte set out—a full day Damien had worried and paced and done everything he could think of to keep himself busy instead of setting off after her.
When he’d checked the mule last night, the animal seemed to be walking a little better. He tried not to let himself hope too much.
But now, the lessening of the limp was clear. Each step no longer looked like torture. Would it be acceptable to start out with him healed this much? Or would walking at this point simply make the mule worse again right away?
As much as he wanted to leave, though, he couldn’t risk another setback. He’d promised Charlotte he would come as soon as Gulliver could travel, and that’s what he would do. Perhaps giving her a bit of time to explain his presence to her people would be better for them all.
That familiar pressure tightened his chest. Would her family be angry with him for keeping her away? He’d actually been doing the opposite, trying to return her. But would they understand that, or would they simply see a man who traveled with Charlotte alone for a week? Their Charlotte.
Yet in his mind, she’d becomehisCharlotte, too.
He fed the mule an extra ration at noon, then tested his stride again to see if he could spot more improvement.
Yes. Gulliver’s gait was stiff, but nothing like the excruciatinglimp from yesterday. He patted the animal’s neck. “Good boy. Well done. Think we’re ready to catch up to Charlotte?”
The mule nudged his arm in the same way he did with Charlotte, almost like a hug.
“Fine, then. Let’s pack up and set off.”
He disassembled camp faster than he’d ever done, strapping only the saddle onto Gulliver. The packs he would carry himself, even the impossibly heavy bear skin. If it came down to it, he could shed the furs, maybe tuck them in a tree where he could come back and retrieve them later. The six dollars he could get in trade for that grizzly hide seemed like pittance compared to reaching Charlotte.
They moved far slower than Damien would’ve liked, both because of Gulliver’s stilted gait and his own weakness under the load of the packs and furs. If he were the only one slowing them down, he would’ve pushed harder or unloaded some weight. But he couldn’t risk Gulliver worsening.
At this rate, there was no way they would come near the lake until several hours after dark. If Gulliver could manage it, they would reach the water before resting a few hours.
