Katharine Eliska Kimbriel by Kindred Rites

Author:Kindred Rites [Rites, Kindred]
Language: eng
Format: epub, mobi
Published: 2011-12-23T12:16:52+00:00

When my eyes opened, I was fully awake, like being startled out of a dream. It had been years since I’d slept like that—not since I had an ague as a child and slept an entire day and night after the fever finally broke. The dark room where I lay smelled strongly of hay and molasses.

There was no odor of herbs. Wherever I was, I had never been there before. As this thought came to me, I realized I was wearing my coat, hat, and gloves. While sleeping? But the room was cold—I could hear the wind howling outside—and Mrs. Forrest would have removed my coat, and brought quilts….

It was a storage area. Somewhere in an adjoining room I heard voices—at least two men, talking softly. I could see the flicker of firelight through a warped board beside the door frame. The building wasn’t constructed well—there was a mighty draft across the floor.

I did not recognize the voices, and a knot slowly formed in my stomach. Where was I? Where was Erik Hudson? Had we been attacked by thieves? It had been years since any French had tried to take settlers back to Quebec for ransom….

Carefully I felt myself over while I tried to figure out where I had been. I remembered saying goodbye to Idelia and Shaw…. I remembered the trapline…. I remembered walking to Forrest’s, and Erik’s giving me a ride. That was the end of memory.

A hole in your thoughts was a terrible thing to consider.

I didn’t think anyone had been taking liberties; my hip pouch and knife were still strapped on underneath my coat and skirt. Thieves would not have left me that knife, for it was a good one. I could tell my boots were still on, too…. That might be a good thing.

The room actually had an oilcloth window, which let in that paler darkness that tells you it’s night outside. I kept my gaze away from it, trying to get a feel for the room without moving around. There were hogsheads stacked under the window, and hay bales all along one wall… maybe the north wall, I didn’t carry a compass in my head.

As I strained for any sound, I realized I could make out some of the conversation in the next room. What with the stamping of feet and moving of furniture, I suspected that one fellow had just arrived.

“When’s young Hudson coming back for her?” said a low, gravelly voice.

“Not until morning,” was the response. That one sounded younger, maybe a light tenor—or maybe a little scared.

“Did he figure out what went wrong?”

“If he did, do you think he’d bother to tell me? I think he went to talk with the Keeper of Souls about it.” That was definitely a scared man… or boy.

“God save us all, then, ” the older man whispered. “And God save that poor boy, too, if this child dies from whatever poison he gave her. The Keeper don’t care for failure.”

“He said to let her sleep, so I’m letting her sleep.

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