He was silent for a moment, then said, “Nae.”
Hooves clattered ahead. Riders approaching. Torin lifted his chin. “All hail.”
The men drew up, rough and stinking of sweat and ale. They exchanged words I couldn’t follow. I kept my gaze down, heart thudding. This casual meet on a path in a long ago time felt dire, if I opened my mouth, I was sure I’d ruin everything.
There was a lot of talking and then grunts, and what almost sounded like curses as they turned their horses away. Torin watched them go, and only relaxed once they were well down the path.
As we began walking again,he kept glancing back to make sure they weren’t following. Then finally said, “The men tell me thatthe village ahead daena hae an inn, nor a shelter worth the name.”
I asked, “We have to go farther?”
He shifted in his seat, looking around. “I will ask at this croft.”
He nudged our horses off the path, crossing a field to a squat, low-roofed building and called out, “Hallo!” as he dismounted his horse.
A short, stocky farmer appeared, barely five feet tall, gnomish beside Torin. They spoke in rapid words I couldn’t understand, so I watched body language and other cues. The farmer spoke far more, gestured wildly, seemed to be arguing. Torin’s replies were brief, firm. “Nae.” Then, “Nae,” a third time, “Nae.”
The farmer stalked off, waving his hand in disgust.
Torin turned back to me, placing one hand on the horse’s muzzle, the other steadying its flank, his face close to my waist. He spoke low, his voice a rumble only I could hear. “The man says he’ll only offer us an outbuildin’.” He stroked the horse’s neck. “I pressed him tae give us shelter inside. He agreed, but claims I must work his field, and wants ye in his kitchen.”
My eyes went wide. “What does that mean?”
“It means naethin’, I winna stand for it. He is mistaken.” He stroked down the back of the horse again, then said with a set jaw, “I ought tae check the vessel once more.”
He pulled the reins of the second horse close, wrapped all the reins around his wrist, and pulled the device from his sporran. I placed a hand on his shoulder and waited.
He turned the vessel over in his hand, tried twisting, shook it, and knocked it around. He scowled and shoved it back in his sporran. He raised his gaze to mine. “I hae a question for ye, be truthful, Princess.”
I pulled my hand back from his shoulder and nodded. “I will.”
“How far dost ye think ye can ride? I will avert my eyes, twould be good if ye checked yer… legs.” He held the horse steady and turned his head aside.
I pulled up the bottom of the wool plaid and checked. My thighs were bright red and raw. I dropped the hem and chewed my lip. “How much farther would we need to go?”
“Twill take two more hours tae the village with an inn.”
Torin broke into a wide yawn.
“You need sleep.”
“Aye, twill be difficult tae press on. We will be arrivin’ near dark. But I hae done difficult things afore. I will get us there, if ye can make the journey.”
“What happens if we stay here?”
“I will leave ye in the main house while I go help the farmer in the fields. Twill be tough work, aye. I am against it in principle as I am well above him in station, but I daena hold it against him. He needs the help. What I do hold against him is askin’ in the first place. He ought tae give us the best room, and leave us be tae rest. Ye are a princess. He canna set ye on the rushes with the swine.”
“There are pigs in thehouse?”
“Likely.”
I sighed. “So what you’re saying is that I would spend the afternoon by myself sitting on the floor of a medieval hovel with a pig for company —”
“Ye would nae be alone, ye would hae the farmer’s wife in there with ye,” he smirked, “and likely four tae twenty bairns.”
I looked over at the hovel, low and one room, a thatched roof. I had seen better chicken coops during a backyard-coop tour. “I would be inside there with all ofthat,while you are out, who knows where…? Forhours?”
He nodded quietly. “Aye.”
