Chapter 8
O ur shift melted into a haze of blissful moments. We stole furtive kisses, our laughter muffled by the rustling leaves.
Grandmother knew of his intentions—a realization that soothed my racing heart. Her uncharacteristic silence earlier made sense now; she'd never been one to keep secrets easily.
I couldn't believe that he had felt for me all that I had felt for him. The weight of years spent fearing he'd pledge himself to another lifted from my shoulders.
As dawn approached and our shift neared its end, we made our way toward the merchants' camp.
"Are you sure you want to tie yourself to me?" Ma?l teased, his eyes dancing with mischief. "Just because you're my wife, doesn't mean I'll stop teasing you or ease up on you with training."
A chuckle escaped me as I let go of his hand to give him a little shove. "I wouldn't have it any other way. But I'm not your wife yet, at least not until our ceremony."
"I hear spring is the ideal time," he mused, his voice dropping to a husky whisper, "though I'm not sure my patience will last that long." He pulled me close, wrapping one arm around my lower back, the other caressing my cheek. His breath ghosted across my skin as his lips traced a path of gentle kisses along my neck.
"I think I would prefer the fall time," I said breathlessly.
He pulled back, his eyes narrowed. “That’s even further away.”
Heat crept into my cheeks. "Well, fall would come before spring, but if that's too soon... I just always thought fall was prettier than spring."
A slow smile spread across his face, lighting up his eyes. "This fall sounds perfect, Lor. I'd marry you tomorrow if you'd let me. I've waited twenty-one years to call you mine. I won't wait a day longer than necessary."
I stood on my tiptoes to place a soft kiss on his cheek. "A fall wedding it is."
As we approached the encampment, an eerie silence settled over the woods. The merchant tents emerged from the tree line, but something was wrong—no one was there.
Ma?l's voice echoed through the clearing as he called out, but only silence answered. He knelt by the fire while I approached the nearest tent. "This was put out not too long ago," he said, his voice tight with concern. He noted how unusual it was for the merchants to leave their site completely unattended.
I approached a tent only to find a bedroll inside. I hurriedly looked into a second tent, my hand hovering over my dagger's hilt . As I lifted the flap, my breath caught in my throat. Metal gleamed in the dark. I opened the tent flaps wider to reveal the horrifying contents: an iron cage, cruel shackles, and other sinister implements I'd never seen a merchant carry.
"Ma?l," I called in a hushed whisper, feeling a pit grow in my stomach. He rushed over and looked inside the tent, his hand on the hilt of his sword.
"Gods," he turned toward me, the color draining from his face. "We need to go and alert the village before whoever set up this camp returns."
The truth felt heavy as it sank in—these weren't merchants at all.