A Warrior’s Heart by Misty M. Beller

15

Yesterday had been one of the best Brielle could remember. In fact, she couldn’t seem to stop recalling every moment now, as she marched through the fresh snow on snowshoes.

She’d spent most of the day sitting with Evan. For hours, they went through each item in his pack, and he told stories of how he’d obtained them. The mercantile owner who’d sold him the leather-bound journal. The mouth harp given to him by one of their neighbors back in Scotland just before he left for America. And the graphite pencil . . . She’d never heard of such a thing, but it worked like a piece of coal from the fire. Only it was surrounded by wood to keep the charcoal from blackening the writer’s hands, and the coal seemed to last forever, barely wearing down when he wrote.

He’d allowed her to write in the book of blank pages, and she was able to form tiny letters that didn’t smudge or blur. For the first time, she had a peek into what her people might be missing by living so secluded from the rest of the world. There was probably a great deal more than what she’d learned. Was keeping their village hidden from danger really worth missing out on such wonders?

He’d also sketched out the cookstove, and with the details he shared about air flow and cooking heat, she could see why the contraption would make preparing food easier. He’d said he would work on more sketches of detailed areas, like the ventilation and warming oven.

But what she enjoyed most about the day was the insight into his life. He didn’t seem to have roots grounded anywhere, moving as his work required. When she’d asked where he lived, he shrugged and mentioned he rented quarters when he needed them in a place called Washington. But a bitterness had tinged his tone with the words. Did he wish for a permanent home? Who wouldn’t want such?

He’d mentioned his deceased wife a couple times, both in passing. A glimmer of sadness had dimmed his eyes when he spoke of her, but not so much that he still seemed shrouded in grief.

She still didn’t have a good understanding of what their marriage had been like. For that matter, she hadn’t come to terms with how she wanted it to have been.

But that was selfish. Of course, she wanted him to have been happy. Something was growing between the two of them, but she couldn’t be so naïve and selfish as to think it was anything close to what he’d had with the woman he’d loved enough to marry.

She had to stop thinking about such things, or it would drive her mad. She’d come out of the village walls this morning to regain the clarity that hiking through the mountains always brought, but every thought seemed to lead back to Evan.

She focused on her surroundings, on the scrawny trees growing along the hillside she was traversing. She strained to hear the cry of a falcon or the throaty call of a grouse.

Where were all the animals?

She froze, then moved closer to a tree as she searched the landscape around her. Something wasn’t right, but she had to find out if the threat was animal or man.

Then, over the distant horizon, a form shifted. She squinted to pierce the haze of sun on snow.

Two figures moved, then rose steadily until she could make out the shapes of people treading around the side of the mountain. When they came fully into view, she finally released her breath. Those red feathers were the trademark of Itchka, the leader of the tribe to the west. They were one of the Dinee tribes that lived near enough to come occasionally for trading.

They’d always been friendly, and even now, the approaching figures wore packs on their backs that rose as high as their heads. They must have come to trade one last time before the force of winter made travel impossible.

She stepped away from the tree and raised a hand in peaceful greeting, then waited for them to approach. No need to go to them if she was going to turn around and walk with them back to Laurent.

Itchka greeted her with his usual solemn nod of respect, and she called up the words she’d learned in their tongue. “You come to trade?”

He nodded. “Candles and torches and parchment.”

She returned his nod, then shifted and fell into step with them as they retraced her snowshoe tracks. Her people had long ago taught the tribes to make wax candles from animal fat, pitch-covered torches, and the parchment that was so hard to press. Laurent consumed so much of these that it was easier to gain part of their supplies by trading the herbal remedies some of the women made.

When she came within calling distance of the courtyard, Brielle sounded the signal that she was entering with outsiders who approached in peace.

An answering call came from Andre. His was a higher-pitched sound than the signals made by the grown men, but he’d worked hard to perfect the call in every other way. Hopefully, some of the men had also heard her, or at least Andre might go alert one of them.

Another call sounded in her uncle’s tone. Good.

The visitors followed her through the gate, and within minutes, women approached from many of the apartments.

After handing over the natives to her father so he could oversee the trading, she headed to their chamber to see what food Charlotte had left warming by the fire for her.

A chunk of roasted caribou sat on the rock where Charlotte left Brielle’s meals when she wasn’t there to eat with the family, and a basket of dried berries perched beside it. The usual fare, but the sight of it gave her a craving for one of Audrey’s rolls. She scooped up the meat and a handful of berries, then ate them as she made her way down the corridor.

Perhaps she could stop at Audrey’s on her way to the storage room. She hadn’t been able to talk with her friend since the ordeal with Gerald the day before. Had Audrey heard any rumors about what the man said about her? Papa had refused to tell Brielle what heinous thing he’d spoken, but it must have been bad.

She tapped on the rear door to the quarters where Audrey and her father lived. Her friend’s mother had died giving birth to her, so it had always been only the two of them living in this little apartment.

At Audrey’s soft “Enter,” Brielle pulled the latch string and pushed open the door. The muffled snore sounding from the corner told her Audrey’s father’s location even before she slid her gaze around the room. He must still be sleeping from his drink the night before.

Audrey was kneeling beside the fire on the opposite wall, laying out dough on the metal rack Papa had built for her baking. She sent a bright smile as Brielle stepped into the room. “Come in. I have tea steeping, and these will be ready soon.”

Brielle dropped to her haunches by her friend’s side. “I can’t stay. I only stopped to tell you that a couple of the Dinee men have come to trade.”

Audrey flicked a glance toward the corner where her father’s snores still drifted through the bedcurtain. “I’m glad they’ve come. I don’t have need of anything today, though. I traded for our winter supplies the last time they came.” She’d probably calculated everything she would need through the winter to the last detail, then tucked each item in places her father wouldn’t find them.

Audrey had become adept at running their household seamlessly, despite her father’s propensity to overindulge. Strong drink was his main weakness, but when he began to imbibe, he tended to use up other resources, as though each item renewed itself automatically. Audrey had come home more than one afternoon to find a dozen candles lit around their quarters, burnt nearly down to nubs.

After adjusting the twist on a pastry, Audrey reached for a cup hanging from the wall and pulled the kettle from the coals. As she poured the steaming liquid, a rich sweetness wafted through the air. Audrey could tantalize the senses with even a cup of tea.

Brielle took the mug and breathed in the aroma once more, then shifted her focus to her friend while she waited for the drink to cool. How should she ask what Audrey knew of Gerald? A direct question would be easiest, but maybe this was one of those times she needed to find a way to skirt the topic until she’d tested the waters. Audrey’s feelings were worth the effort.

“I . . . um, how are Gerald’s injuries today?”

Audrey shot her a look hard to decipher. “I don’t know. Your father asked Jeanette to tend his injuries.” She straightened and released a sigh. “I gather whatever Gerald said spoke ill of me.”

As she stared into the fire, Brielle scrambled for what to say. Should she rest a hand on Audrey’s shoulder? She finally settled for the truth as best she knew. “Papa wouldn’t tell me what he said, but I gather it wasn’t a blight on your character. More like something no decent person would say of a woman.”

Red crept up Audrey’s ears as she grimaced, then met Brielle’s gaze. Her eyes were wide and searching. “I don’t understand what possesses people to say things like that. I mean, I know Gerald’s had a hard life. Especially since Chrissy . . .” Her words died away, but they both knew what she meant. When Gerald’s fiancée had been killed in the massacre by the Englishmen, the loss had changed him. Hardened him.

Another sigh slipped from Audrey as she turned back to stare into the fire. “I guess I thought maybe I could help him. He seemed to finally be opening himself up. . . .” She pressed her lips together. “I suppose I wasn’t making the difference I’d hoped.”

Brielle slid her arm around her friend’s shoulders, the act feeling perfectly natural with the moment.

Audrey leaned in and patted her arm. “I’m all right, truly I am. I know there’s good inside Gerald. I’ll just be more careful in how I seek it out.”

Brielle could only chuckle as she pulled back to let Audrey stir her stew. “You possess more good than all of us combined. I don’t know how you manage to always focus on the best in people.” But as she sipped the rich tea, the memory of Gerald’s angry expression slipped in. “I wish you’d be a little more careful, though. And stay away from Gerald. You can’t ignore all the vice in looking for the virtue.”

Audrey sent her a serene smile. “That’s why we make a good team, you and I. You press the knife blade until you’ve proven their mettle, then I come in and tend the cut mark.”

Brielle nearly groaned as her friend’s smile turned to a chuckle. She’d not pressed hard enough with Gerald. On the other hand, those words were too close to the mark concerning Evan. She still cringed at the pain she’d caused him, though she’d only been doing her duty to the village.

Audrey touched her arm. “Take some of these to Evan and Leonard while they’re warm, will you? I assume you’re going to check on them? Here’s one for you.”

Brielle nodded. Audrey knew her routine well.

Evan would enjoy coming to the courtyard to watch the trading. Leonard might appreciate a few minutes of break, too.

A knot squeezed in her middle. Was she breaking the council’s command in her actions with Evan? She was walking a fine line; she knew that without a doubt.

She believed in her core that Evan didn’t intend to hurt her people, but his assertion that he’d only come exploring for the sake of exploring still didn’t sit right. As much as she’d learned about him yesterday, he’d remained vague about that particular subject. She’d learned to trust her instincts through the years, and her instincts told her they didn’t know all of Evan’s reasons for coming to this part of the country.

And the council had to know everything before they would release him.

Maybe she could get a few minutes alone with her father to share how much she was coming to trust Evan. Perhaps he would be willing to speak to the others on Evan’s behalf. She’d have to be very careful about how and when she brought it up, though.

For now, as long as one of them stayed with Evan to guard him, allowing him to watch the fun in the courtyard shouldn’t violate the order.

After accepting the plate of rolls from Audrey, she left their chamber and turned right toward the storage room. At the door, she gave a warning knock before removing the bar and pushing the panel open.

After her usual quick scan around the room to make sure all was well, she did her best not to let her expression change as she focused on Evan. His face was flushed like he’d been taking exercise, as he did sometimes on the small confines of his fur pallet. The edges of his hair were dark and stood askew, like he’d pushed sweat up from his brow.

Every bit of him possessed the same appeal as the man she’d sat beside the day before.

She lifted the plate. “Audrey sent these for you both.” Then she forced her focus to Leonard. “Itchka and another man from his camp are here to trade. I’ll take our prisoner for some daylight and to watch the goings-on for a while. You can come with us or take a few minutes to yourself, whichever you prefer.”

Leonard pushed away from the wall. “I’ll walk out with you, then be thankful for a few minutes alone.”

Pleasure slipped through her. She would enjoy a few more moments alone to learn about this man who drew her like no other.