Chapter Twelve
They weren’t far behind Boucher.The squadron didn’t move as fast as two people on horseback could. Tension knotted Landyn’s shoulders at the thought. He felt the stirring of old anger and hatred; Landyn still wanted Boucher to pay for what he’d done to Viola. Landyn had thought he let all his rage and focus go, but apparently, it had festered inside of him. He needed to find something else to hold onto rather than vengeance. He cast a glance at Raven as she rode beside him.
He could tell she had reworked her hair into the braid because the locks that had caressed her cheeks yesterday were now gone. Something was different after their kiss. No matter how much he didn’t want to admit it, he sensed her presence now like a warm breeze. He saw her, not as a friend’s daughter, but as a woman. And that was trouble. He needed to stay focused on the mission. While John had asked Landyn to care for her, his upcoming oath to the Templar Knights loomed. Landyn was conflicted. There was a war inside of him. So many reasons to stay away from her and guard his feelings.
He peered slyly at her. Her back was straight, her black braid trailing down to the saddle and swinging gently from side to side. Her fingers gripped the reins confidently.
An admiring grin slid over his lips. She was like a sweet piece of chocolate. An irresistible temptation.
“Look,” Raven said and pointed to the rise of a hilltop.
His eyes followed her gesture, and he noticed a wooden cottage at the top of the hill. Fields of harvested farmland stretched around it.
She studied the ground. “It seems like some of the squad broke off and went there,” she added.
Landyn looked at the road and confirmed there were horses’ hoofprints heading up the hill. “For provisions, most likely,” he said, and tingles raced along his spine as he observed the building. “We’ll check if the farmers are well.”
Raven glanced at him.
His stare centered on the wooden home. He didn’t like the apprehensive feeling sweeping over him. He wasn’t certain if the unease was because it reminded him so much of Viola and his home or if it was something else.
He urged his horse forward cautiously. His gaze traversed the landscape as he and Raven rode up. Then he peered back at the cottage. The fields were empty, and there was no sign of anything amiss. Still, he had this feeling in the pit of his stomach that something wasn’t right. He just couldn’t place what it was.
“No animals,” Raven observed.
That was it. No horses in the back, no oxen. Not even a dog. He slowed his horse to a stop outside the cottage and dismounted, his hand moving to the pommel of his sword. A cool breeze blew by him, ruffling his hair. A browned leaf tumbled past. The door creaked open.
Landyn heard Raven dismount as he approached the door. He didn’t want to frighten the farmer, but he didn’t think it wise to call out. As he neared the door, something caught his attention around the side of the cottage. It looked like red on the ground, mixed with the brown soil. He approached cautiously; his hand tightened over the handle of his weapon.
He studied the red stain on the ground, and it seemed to be coming from…
He turned the corner and stopped. A shaggy mongrel dog lay on its side, its tongue hanging from his mouth. Blood pooled around the animal from a wound at his side.
Landyn raised his gaze, scanning the horizon. No other men were in sight across the fields. Boucher must have gotten what he wanted and left.
He turned to Raven. Boucher’s presence didn’t bode well for the farmers, as it hadn’t for him. He returned to the door. “I don’t think they’re here any longer.”
“Are they alive?” she asked, indicating the blood.
Landyn shook his head. “It was a dog.”
“They killed a dog?” Raven asked in horrified disgust. She reached for the handle of the door. “Where are the farmers?”
Landyn caught her wrist, his jaw clenching. He slid his sword from its sheath. “Remember what I told you. Boucher has no morals. He takes what he wants and leaves death in his wake.”
Raven peered at him, troubled.
His lips thinned as he looked at the door. He reached for the wooden panels and slowly eased the door open. It took a moment before his eyes adjusted to the darkness. In his mind, he saw a different home. His body tensed as the memories came flooding back. He saw feet hidden by the wooden frame of the door. He crept into the room. His booted foot stepped into something slick and made a sloshing sound as he pulled away. Blood.
A man slouched at the side of the door. Landyn perused his body to find a sword wound in the center of the man’s torso.
Landyn’s tense body relaxed. It was a man. A farmer. Not a woman. Not Viola. He walked by the unmoving man. Flies buzzed eagerly around the home.
Three mugs were on the table next to full bowls of porridge.
Landyn swung his gaze around the room. Behind the wooden table, he saw a skirt on the floor. He froze as memories of Viola flooded his mind. He’d thought he had rid himself of the beast of those memories. The horror, the sorrow. But everything came rushing back. Every emotion. He blinked, thinking he imagined the familiar scene. He stiffly rounded the table. The woman lay on her back, her eyes open and staring at him. “Landyn,” she called in his mind. He stumbled away.
Then he realized it was not Viola. The grief overwhelmed him. He feared he was losing his mind.
