A Warrior’s Heart by Misty M. Beller
17
“I think we can trust him, Papa.” Brielle stood with her father in the corner of the courtyard.
She didn’t like having a private discussion in the open where others could watch their expressions, but speaking inside presented too much risk that their voices would echo off the stone walls. And besides, the women were back in their homes preparing food for the feast, and most of the men were talking with the visitors, speaking of events from the summer and expectations for the coming winter months.
Leonard had taken Evan back to the storage room, so this was her chance to plead his case with her father.
“What has he told you? How did he know of our village?” Papa wore his Chief of Laurent expression, the one that pondered every aspect before making a decision. He knew whatever command he gave would impact the hundred or so people in his care.
“He says he’d never heard of Laurent before he stumbled upon our wall. I believe that might be true, although I can’t be certain. He was born in Scotland but moved to the new states of America after his parents and brother died.” She’d told her father before about the changes Evan told of in the East. “He was in the American army for a while, which must be why he had that paper with their insignia marked on it. But after his wife died, he became an explorer. I think he blames himself and regrets not being there for her death and needed to do something different. He went west for a short time, then turned northwest and eventually arrived at our gate.”
The lines across her father’s forehead bunched as he took in her words, and he clasped his hands in front of him, his thumbs moving back and forth over themselves in the way they always did when he was deep in thought. “For which company does he explore? Who sent him out?”
She shook her head. “None. He merely loaded his saddle packs and set out on his own. He seems very interested in new animals and plants and landmarks that aren’t found in his land. I truly think he can be trusted.”
Her father pondered for several moments longer, pursing his lips as he continued flipping his thumbs back and forth, one over the other. “It seems irresponsible to leave family and friends and country during a time of war, just to set out on a lark. Surely he’s come for a reason, maybe to report back to someone what he finds.”
She raised her brows. “A lark you call it? He’s traveled for three months, eating only what he can find or kill. Sleeping out in the cold.” Yet her father’s insight didn’t sit well in her chest. Was Evan truly as selfish as Father made him sound? If Laurent were being attacked by enemies, she would stay and fight to the death. Nothing would induce her to abandon her friends and family when they needed her most.
But Evan’s family had all died. First his parents and brother in Scotland, then his wife from a fever she likely caught caring for injured soldiers. Perhaps he felt he had nothing left to fight for in America.
She met her father’s gaze. “I believe he was deep in his grief for his wife when he left their army. I can well imagine he sought to escape into God’s creation and the desire to see new lands.” Papa could understand that grief, having lived through it himself.
And indeed, her father’s gaze softened. “Perhaps you’re right. I trust your judgment, but the council will want to hear several opinions before making a decision. They’d like to vote in three days. I’ll come and speak with him myself on the morrow.”
She nodded. He would see for himself. Evan’s honesty would shine through, she had no doubt.
“In the meantime,” Brielle continued, “I would like to bring him under guard to the feast. That way everyone can attend. None of the guards will be forced to stay with him in the storage room. He’s not attempted escape even once. Quite the opposite, as you well know.”
Papa raised his brows. “Gerald doesn’t speak well of Evan. I don’t put much stock in what he says, for Gerald seems to have let bitterness poison his thoughts. But you should be aware of his animosity.”
She nodded. The council had decided Gerald’s punishment should be extra work duty. The people would be watching him. Laurent protected their own. They didn’t usually have one of their own turn on another, though.
Lifting her gaze to her father again, she returned his focus to their previous discussion. “So, what of Evan and the feast? It would be good for the people to see him more often. Maybe then they’ll feel more comfortable around him.”
He studied her a moment longer, and she did her best not to cower under his stare. Papa could see through any mask she tried to construct. She schooled her expression to make sure no hint of soft emotion tugged at her mouth or eagerness showed in her eyes.
“Before you bring him to the assembly room, bind his hands securely and make sure he has nothing on his person that can be used as a weapon.”
Pleasure sprung up in her chest. He was agreeing. And his requirements were more than reasonable.
For any man other than Evan, that was. She hated the thought of parading him before the entire village with his hands bound like a criminal’s. Maybe Evan’s only crime was stumbling upon the walls of Laurent. In truth, if she’d not seen him first, he might not be in this predicament at all.
This was the situation they had to deal with, though, and she was fairly certain he would submit willingly to the requirement. He’d proven himself far more forgiving than most men would be in his position.
Evan paused in his exercises when the outer bar on the door clanged. He’d finished the additional sketches of the inner workings of a cookstove, then attempted to wear off energy while he waited for news about the feast. With the exertion, he’d not heard Brielle’s steps in the hallway.
The door opened, and Brielle stepped inside, her regal beauty sending a surge through him. She had the ability to capture his breath with just the sight of her.
He had to wait for her gaze to do its usual sweep around the room before she really looked at him. He tipped his head in a nod, then she turned her focus on the guard and closed the final steps to reach Philip.
“The chief is permitting me to bring our prisoner to the feast as long as he’s bound. So, no one will need to miss the festivities.” Her warrior expression softened as she looked at her fellow guard. “Go, attend with your family. Your wife will need help with the little ones.”
Philip’s solemn expression brightened with her words. He gave one of the first grins Evan had ever seen from him. “Thank you.”
With a nod to Evan—which Evan returned—the man strode to the door and slipped out. He was moving so fast, Evan was half surprised he stopped to shut the door.
Brielle finally turned to him and raised her brows. “Looks like you’ll get to meet everyone at last.” Her mouth tipped in the workings of what might have been a grin.
His heart lurched, maybe from the sparkle in her eyes, or maybe from the thought of seeing the entire village. He’d watched from a distance each day when he was allowed time outside. He’d seen the children playing, the women cooking outdoors when the sun shone, the men stretching hides or skinning game. They’d become real to him, this tight-knit community.
But he’d not had the chance to speak with anyone except his guards. He’d been held at a distance from them all. Would the feast be any different?
He moved a hand up to brush the coarse hair covering his jaw. Too bad they would see an unkempt version of himself.
“What’s wrong?” Brielle’s voice brought his focus to her. She was watching him with twin lines marring her brow.
He stroked the beard again. “I don’t usually let myself get this long.” He’d showed her his razor and strap when they were going through his saddle packs, but he hadn’t asked if he could use them. Allowing him use of the blade would likely violate the orders she’d been given.
She glanced toward his packs that had been placed against the wall where the guards usually sat. “Would you . . . like to shave?”
His breathing stilled. “Are you certain?”
She looked back at him, her gaze saying she wasn’t sure at all. Maybe a bit of levity would help clear the worry from her eyes. “I’ll let you do the honors if you’d rather not let me hold the blade.” He was only jesting, of course. Mostly.
She shook her head, the certainty clearing all other emotion from her eyes. “You can do it.”
A smile spread through him. This offer showed more than anything the trust she was beginning to place in him.
He met her gaze, letting her see his earnestness. He would make himself worthy of her trust. No matter what that required.
Yet how could he prove trustworthy while keeping such a critical secret? Did he dare tell Brielle about the mineral he’d been sent to discover? If anything were to grow between them, he had to be honest with her.
But he couldn’t break the secrecy required of his mission. Even for Brielle.