Stolen by the Laird (Conquered Bride Series Book 4) by Eliza Knight

Author:Eliza Knight [Knight, Eliza]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Knight Media
Published: 2016-06-29T18:30:00+00:00

Chapter Thirteen

“How long has it been?” Elinor sat down beside Guinevere at the trestle table where she’d been sorting dried herbs and flowers to be mixed with the rushes.

Pretending nonchalance, Guinevere shrugged, “Since when?”

Elinor picked up a sprig of rosemary to smell it, raising a brow. “I’ve known you practically my whole life. I can tell when you’re off. And you’re definitely off, so no use in denying it. So, how long has it been?”

Guinevere plucked the rosemary sprig back from her friend and ran her nails down the side of the stem, removing the needles and adding them to her mixture. The question of how long it had been could be answered in any number of ways. How long had it been since they’d left England? How long had it been since she’d witnessed the baron murder monks and clergymen? How long had it been since she’d last let de Ros “lie” with her? How long had it been since Brody had set her free, only to grasp her for himself? And how long had it been since he’d kissed her? Or since he’d left?

Depending on how she answered, her clever lady’s maid and friend would be able to garner just what had her moping these past few weeks since Brody had ridden off with his cousin, Noah, to conquer her countrymen.

The days were growing colder. And even if the Scots somehow miraculously won their battles, would he be able to travel in the dead of winter back to Dunnottar, or would he be stuck in England, giving his enemies a chance at revenge? The past winter had been brutal, and there had been several men from her husband’s regiment who died of cold or lost limbs due to frostbite. Many of her own nights, she’d spent laying awake shivering in the dark. ’Twas one of the reasons she’d been so adamant about making blankets for the children of Dunnottar. If grown men were freezing, wouldn’t they be?

So while her forethought was that she’d have to wait until spring to escape, else she get stuck, the question and worry that niggled the back of her mind now was, she prayed Brody made it safely back, if he made it off the battlefield with breath left in his body. Because she didn’t want him to die.

Why did she worry over him? Och, but that was a question she refused to answer. Leave it simply to compassion.

They’d left each other on a bad note. But she still saw his image riding through the tunneled gates. The way he’d stopped on the hilltop beyond and turned around. She’d been watching. He’d raised his hand, and she’d raised hers in turn, hoping he saw her. Praying the raised hand was to her and not someone below.

When she’d looked down there had been no one there, leaving her to believe he had been, indeed, waving goodbye to her.

A truce?

Perhaps.

A safe answer to Elinor would be just how long they’d been in Scotland. “One year and two months, now.

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