Fearless Warrior: Isaacson Trilogy Book Two

19

Esmund blinked as the vision subsided, surprised to find they'd made it back to Buffalo Gulch, and he now sat in front of Scott Bernstorff's sprawling log home. Father helped Piper down, and Ulric spoke softly with Lucy and Scott on the front porch.

How long had they been here, and why didn't he remember the last few hours of their journey? Had he blacked out?

He wracked his brain, trying to think of what had just happened. The last thing he remembered with any clarity was holding Elsie after the attack and wanting more than anything to kiss her, but that was earlier this morning...wasn't it? He looked at everyone else as panic began to claw its way forward and set his heart to racing.

People were speaking, but it sounded like muffled gibberish; nothing made sense; it was just noise. What was wrong with him? The past few days, he'd thought he was going insane—had it finally happened?

His chest was tight and heavy, making it difficult to draw breath. Sweat dampened his brow, his skin was suddenly too small for his body, and his limbs were weak.

Elsie touched his left cheek, snapping him back to himself and quieting his inner distress...and suddenly, it all came back to him. He held her hand against his face and closed his eyes, willing her touch to cleanse him of any lingering effects of the vision and the torture he'd been witness to. His heart slowed to a calmer pace, and strength infused his limbs.

When his mind was finally clear, Esmund opened his eyes to find himself face to face with the worry, hope, shame, and fear in Elsie's gaze. He offered her a reassuring smile and took a deep breath before saying the first thing that came to mind. "You know, the problem with life is that there's never any background music."

She frowned and touched his forehead, "Are you all right?"

No, he wasn't, but there was no need to worry her further. "Am I the only one to wish music would play during certain situations?"

Elsie lowered her hand to her lap as a smile tugged at the corners of her lips. "You mean like they do in theatrical melodramas, so you know when the villain has arrived?"

A pleased grin split his face, "Exactly!"

"Is that why I've heard you humming now and then the past few days?"

He scoffed and winked. "I don't hum."

"My mistake. It must have been the wind." A mischievous grin lifted the right corner of her lips and tugged at his heart. "When my parents were still alive, my mother taught me to play the piano; I was rather good at it, too, for my age, but I fear if I were to sit at a piano now, I'd be lucky if I was able to find middle C."

Esmund dismounted, "Unfortunately for me, humming is the only thing I'm good at when it comes to music."

A soft smile bent her lips as a far-off gleam entered her eyes, "My father and mother were both marvelous singers...we'd often sing together before they'd put me to bed." Tears gathered in her eyes and fell down her cheeks as she blinked and met his gaze, "I'm sorry, I've grown maudlin." She grabbed her skirt and wiped her face dry, "I don't know why I'm crying when it's a good memory."

Esmund rested a hand on her knee to gain her attention, "Even good memories need to be cried over sometimes, especially when they involve people we cared for who are gone." He tilted his head to the side, "What happened to them?"

She knuckled away a stray tear, "Mother had been sick, and Father was desperate for a cure. Our town doctor convinced him the only way to save her was by going to the healing springs at Clover Hill. The night they arrived was the night of the massacre."

His stomach dropped, "I'm sorry, Elsie, I didn't mean to—" he snapped his mouth shut with a curse and closed his eyes. "I shouldn't have asked...it was rude of me; you have every right to be mad at me."