Knight Of The Blood by Kenneth W. Barber

Author:Kenneth W. Barber [Barber, Kenneth W.]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Visit his website
Published: 2021-09-19T22:00:00+00:00

Chapter Twenty-Two

“Lily.” Samuel stood at the door to their small cabin. His daughter had been working in their little garden most of the day. She’d be hungry. “Dinner.”

“Coming, Daddy.”

He smiled. Even at fifteen, she still called him daddy. He loved it.

She came walking around the hand-hewn corner of the cabin. Dirt was caked on her knees, smeared on her hands and face.

“Oh, no.” Samuel laughed. “Your dress.”

“We need to harvest what we can.” She shrugged. “Winter came early this year.”

Winter had come early indeed. It was only September, but snow already covered the hard ground. The little river that ran across the back of their land had ice clinging to its banks. It would be a tight winter, even with what their garden had produced. He’d have to hunt frequently, though game could be scarce in the winter.

Lily was a smart girl, so it would be difficult for him to make sure she got most of the food. He’d have to be tricky.

She pecked him on the cheek as she walked through the door. The cold wind had chapped her cheeks, leaving them raw and rosy. Thick hair, the color of the evening sun, was pinned atop her head in a heavy bun. Chocolate eyes looked at him, tiny lines at the corners. Lily was a happy child.

“Smells delicious.” She went to the washbasin and scrubbed her hands and face clean. “Whoo,” she laughed. “Cold.”

“I’ll have to hunt tomorrow,” Samuel said. “This is the last of the venison. I cooked it with some of the potatoes and carrots.”

“That’s not what I smell.” Lily smiled. Her nose twitched as she walked around the single room they shared. Being a girl, Samuel wanted her to have some privacy, so her bed was on a loft overlooking the rest of the room. It wasn’t much privacy, but it was all he could give her. “I smell cake.” She spun around so quickly, her bun came loose; auburn hair cascaded down to frame her angelic face. “Did you bake a cake?”

“You caught me. I confess. I baked a cake.”

“For me?” She clapped her hands in girlish delight.

“Of course, for you. I might not be able to give you much for your fifteenth birthday, but I can bake you a cake.”

She ran to the wood-burning oven and, using the handmade cooking mitten hanging on the wall, opened the door with a squeal of hinges. “Chocolate! Can we have the cake first?”

“How can I say no? I’ll get the plates.”

Later, after everything was cleaned and put away, Samuel listened to Lily sing. She had a beautiful voice, and she sang, not words, but the music of Mozart. They’d attended a concert last year, a rare indulgence, and Lily had seemed to memorize every note. Outside, darkness had fallen. Samuel drowsed as Lily sang, staring out the thick pane glass of the window. Beyond, moonlight flowed, liquid and silver, over the crisp snow. Here, though, the fire crackled, spreading a comforting heat through the room.

“What was that?”

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