Page 31
I turn back just as Aiken swerves us away from a hanging branch. This road, less traveled according to my guide, will at times be overgrown and seem more perilous.
As I did last eve when I lay on the pillow, I consider my own future. Of course I still worry for the threats to Cettina’s reign and the kingdom. But my own husband was the most pressing threat these past months, and that, at least, is behind us. But what of me?
“You are unusually quiet.”
I smile at the wide-open fields ahead of us. Tis beautiful, a small pond not far away, its glistening water inviting. The sun has fully risen now, and as we travel southwest, tis just slightly warmer. Each day I imagine it will be more so.
“You seem to enjoy the quiet,” I respond.
When silence is his answer, I laugh aloud.
“See? You’ve nothing to say to that even.”
He shifts in the saddle, and I move my backside forward to accommodate him. With Aiken’s arms around my waist so as to grip the reins, I continually do not know where to lay my hands. So they rest together on the saddle horn in front of me. But many times, as we stumble or gallop, especially downhill, I’ve reached for the reins as well—and then immediately pulled back, my hands touching his now-ungloved ones.
“I was thinking,” I say to fill the silence, “of what will happen when I return home.”
Once again, I turn toward him, but Aiken does not answer.
“I will return home, will I not?”
Aiken slows us to a stop. Somehow our position seems less intimate when we are moving. But now, as his mount dances beneath us, the massive warhorse the largest I’ve ever ridden, our position seems . . . improper.
More so than sleeping in the same chamber with him without any clothing?
“You will return home, Hilla. I vow it on my life.”
Shivering despite the sun’s warmth, I’m unable to look away. He stares at my lips, and I want, despite everything, for him to kiss me. If he did, I’d likely fall off the horse in horror. But that does not stop me from wanting it.
“I was thinking,” I finish, swallowing, “of what it will mean to be wedded to a man arrested for plotting against my sister.”
Rarely can I read Aiken’s expression. But this time, his eyes clearly say what my mind has already reconciled.
Aiken confirms it.
“You are likely to be a widow before long, Hilla. Mayhap even before you arrive at Breywood.”
Before I can stop them, tears spring to my eyes. I’d not let the thought form fully in my mind before now.
I turn before he can see me fully. Wiping my eyes with my fingers, I will them to stop. But they will not.
He leans down into my ear.
“Why do you cry for a man such as him?”
I shake my head, unable to say the words. And still, the tears come.
Please stop.
But they will not listen.
“Hilla?”
I bow my head, remembering he is, after all, an Elderman.
“Forgive me,” I choke out between tears. “Forgive me,” I repeat.
His hands are now on my shoulders. Squeezing gently, reassuringly.
