Gale's Gift

Chapter Three

After a day of walking, Morghram reconsidered; traveling would not be the easiest part.

Eona didn't complain, but by midday, she winced and whimpered and limped along behind him. He expected sore feet, though not so early in their trip, and her pace only slowed further as her energy ran out. By dusk it was clear she could go no farther and he decided to halt near a copse. There weren't many trees in the rolling plains, but clusters marked lines between fields belonging to different farmers.

"Shouldn't we see if we can sleep at one of the houses up ahead?" It was the first time Eona questioned any of his choices, though he didn't doubt it would be the first of many.

Morghram squinted at the dim lights of farmhouse windows a mile up the road and grunted, shaking his head. "I don't think you want to walk that far, and I don't think I can carry you that far, either." It was half jest, but the frown she wore made him uncertain if she realized it. "We'll rest here for tonight and fill our water skins at their well come morning. Don't want to take too much hospitality from strangers when we can camp all right here."

"Very well." She wasn't pleased, but she still sank to the ground and sighed in relief when she took off her shoes. They were little more than silk slippers, something she'd kept from her finery. With the soles as thin as they were, he wondered how she tolerated walking at all. "How much farther is it to the mountains?"

"A good ten days, I'd say." Longer, if her feet blistered. He kept that thought to himself and put down his canvas bag of tools and the bundle of blankets he'd brought to use as bedrolls. Then he trudged between the trees, inspecting the fallen branches beneath them. He'd brought oilcloth to make a tent, but the sky was clear and he didn't want to bother cutting saplings if it didn't look like rain. Not that there were any saplings worth cutting here. He returned to Eona and sat beside her, reaching for the basket of food.

Pushing it toward him, she said nothing.

He drew his belt knife, cutting pieces from a loaf of bread. "It's a long trip, but even if he's hired a wagon, your Dolbin won't make it there any faster."

"Don't call him that," she snapped.

Morghram glanced up as he passed her bread and a sliver of cheese. "He's still your husband, isn't he?"

Her shoulders slumped. "I wish he wasn't. I wish I hadn't met him at all."

He put away the rest of the food, cleaning his knife. As an afterthought, he unfastened a strap of his lamellar and relaxed when it loosened. He wasn't fat, exactly, but he was softer around the middle than he'd once been, and it was rather snug. "If you don't mind me asking," he started cautiously, laying his bit of cheese between two pieces of bread, "how did the two of you end up married?"

"Ah," Eona smiled, turning away. "He was a good pretender. Convinced my family he was someone important, convinced me that he loved me. My parents hoped I would marry well and he seemed to suit what they were looking for. I was all they had, my two elder brothers lost at sea."

"So it was arranged by your parents?"

"No. I pushed for it, truth be told. My family was hesitant at first, since we were never able to meet any of his relations, but they became more agreeable after they fell ill. The first of Dolbin's crimes." Her tone turned bitter and she scowled at the earth.

"I'm sorry," Morghram said between bites, "but I don't understand what that has to do with him."

"Poison," she replied simply.

Startled, he lowered his food.

"I knew it was odd. My father had never been ill a day in his life. But I didn't suspect Dolbin until it was too late, and I didn't find the arsenic until after we'd married and my parents had passed." Shrugging, she made herself eat. "It was part of why I went to speak to my aunt to begin with. I never expected to come home to find everything gone."