Chapter 6 #2
She didn’t know if she would be able to accept help from him even in the unlikely event he offered it. It might actually kill her to do it.
“Rowan,” her mother said softly, a world of patient rebuke in that tone.
She dropped the cloth into the bowl and then held out her hand.
“Here, help me up. It’s time for bed, I think.
Are you sure you don’t want to sleep with me?
He’ll be all right for a few hours and you need to rest. You were up all last night. I wish you’d woken me.”
“I’m too big to fit in that bed with you anymore. I’ll be fine in the chair.”
Rowan helped her mother cross the crowded room.
Normally, it wouldn’t be necessary, but the captain’s boots and saddlebags were on the floor along with the washing basin filled with bandages that needed to be cleaned.
It made the floor treacherous. Her mother removed her faded dress, and Rowan hung it up for her on the hook beside the bed and then covered her with the extra blanket she’d found in the witch hunter’s bedroll.
It was wool, and he wouldn’t need it with the fever.
Her mother smiled and patted her hand. “You’re a good daughter. I know you don’t want to hear this, but you did the right thing bringing him here. I’m proud of you.”
Rowan blushed thinking about how close she’d been to leaving him there to die.
Her mother wouldn’t be proud if she knew about that.
Or if she knew her daughter had spent half of last night thinking about smothering him with a pillow.
If she knew half the things Rowan did to keep them alive, she would be horrified.
She covered her embarrassment by fussing with the blanket. “I couldn’t leave him there.”
No matter how much she’d wanted to.
Her mother rested her head against the pillow. “I think that the captain was placed in your path again for a reason.”
“Because God hates me?”
Her mother frowned. “Don’t say that.”
“I don’t see any other reason God would make me look upon that monster’s face again.”
“What happened in Jarn wasn’t his fault. The mayor orchestrated that trial. The captain attempted to do his job to the best of his ability. If he hadn’t carried out the sentence when he did, the town would have rioted. I would have died.” Her mother’s hand tightened on hers. “You might have died.”
Rowan shook her head. “How can you defend him? He was the king’s representative. It was his job to deliver justice.”
A job he utterly failed.
“His job is to protect the kingdom against evil. It’s the nature of evil to be deceptive. Finding the truth is harder than you make it out to be.”
“He still failed, and we were the ones to suffer for it.” Her mother had been the one to suffer, the kindest, most innocent person Rowan had ever known.
“He was very young, you know,” her mother said, her voice turning distant as if she was seeing him again in her mind’s eye.
“You might not remember that given how young you were at the time. He was a new captain on his first patrol, that’s what one of his men told me. He was barely older than you are now.”
“And yet, you don’t see me going around blinding innocent women, do you?”
“He didn’t mean to blind me. That was God’s will.”
Rowan bit her tongue and tugged her hand free of her mother’s grip. It was an old argument that only pissed her off whenever they spoke of it. Her mother had long since forgiven the captain for his role in the trial. She’d forgiven the townspeople and even the fucking mayor.
“Get some sleep,” she said as she crossed the small room. “I’ll wake you if I need help.”
She wouldn’t wake her mother unless it was dire. She hadn’t been getting enough sleep as it was, and with the storm, no one was likely to rest easy tonight.
Her mother sighed as she rolled onto her side, tucking the blanket up under her chin like a child. “Just grant him some grace, Rowan. You will be glad to have the same extended to you someday.”
“I saved him, didn’t I?”
Her mother laughed softly, but it turned into a cough before it was through.
Rowan plucked some dried leaves off the bundles of herbs hanging from the rafters and placed them in a mug.
Moving back to the fireplace, she poured the still warm water in the kettle and set the tea aside to steep.
She gathered a threadbare blanket from the basket by the fire and settled back in the rocking chair.
As soon as her butt hit the wooden seat, Atten leapt into her lap, digging his nails into her thigh before settling in for the night.
She stroked his yellow fur, and his bent ear, and looked down into his green, unblinking eyes.
“You don’t like this weather either, do you?”
He purred and lowered his head to his paw. She wrapped her cold fingers around the mug of tea and stared at her patient. The witch hunter moved restlessly in his sleep, muttering words she couldn’t make out.
She hated fevers.
They reminded her of the time after Jarn.
Kicked out of the only home she’d ever known, lost on the open road with only the bags she could carry and the brand on her mother’s forehead festering because they were sleeping in a tent made out of sticks and old clothes.
That awful fever. Her mother surviving the fever but losing her sight.
The fever and its aftermath seemed to have made her mother’s memory of that time foggy and indistinct. Even some of the details from the trial were lost to her. Perhaps that was a blessing. Rowan remembered every second of it in horrifying, excruciating detail.
What she remembered most of all was the feeling of being helpless, absolutely powerless and alone.
He made her feel like that. Then and now. Like he was a storm crashing into her life without warning, leaving wreckage behind. She agreed with her mother. She didn’t think it was coincidence that had brought them together again. She just didn’t have faith that it meant anything good.
One thing was for certain. No matter how he’d ended up in her path, she wasn’t letting him destroy their lives again.