He brought his head to nudge against hers, as much comfort as he could offer when he was already holding her tightly so she did not fall.
“Of the sages?” he asked, more statement than question.
“Yes,” she acknowledged, feeling small at the admission. They had put that fear inside her. Had confused it with respect, demanding rather than earning such a privilege, but it was enough to make her quake even now, feeling just as she had when she was a fledgling, ripped away from yet another minder, instructed not to question, to quell her tears, to rely only on herself for that is all she would have for the whole of her life.
It was cruel. She saw that now. All else had families and community. They were social creatures, thriving only when others were near.
But she was expected to be alone.
And expected to wither quickly, her task complete.
“And I am afraid of the fighting. Of who may be hurt, when...” she glanced back at her husband. “When there are people I love. Who I would like to spend a very long time with.”
He gave her something that he might have intended to be a cheeky grin, but the seriousness of what they faced disallowed it to form completely. “Are you speaking of me, wife?”
She was. And family she had now met, and others she still had yet to know.
She tightened her grip about him, hugging him to her, pressing a kiss to his neck for that was the nearest thing in reach. “I do love you so very much,” she reminded him. “I am sorry if I have neglected you this last day.”
His scoff was resounding, and she pulled back to look at him more fully. “Penryn,” he said sternly. “That is the last complaint you would receive from me at such a time.”
Some buried worry loosened at his reassurance, and she tucked her head beneath his chin. “Still,” she murmured. “You are no less important to me now than you were before.”
And she was so relieved to find that it was true. She had known with the whole of her being that her attachment to him was not merely proximity or convenience. It was far deeper, borne of an admiration for him, not merely her loneliness.
The discovery of a family of her own did not change that.
“You are a silly wife,” Grimult informed her without great complaint. “To worry over such things.”
Maybe she was. Or maybe she was simply overwhelmed with all that she had to be grateful for.
And all that she now had to protect with all the fierceness she could manage.
The thought of that bolstered some of her spirits, and settled some of the nerves plaguing her stomach, making the flight a less tedious experience than it otherwise might have been.
When the sun started pushing through the clouds, revealing how high it had gotten, the group drifted toward the shoreline. She felt a clutch in her belly wondering if they were growing close to their destination, but when she caught sight of a few of their party settling on the beach, Grimult answered her unasked query.
“Food and rest,” he clarified. “If we push hard afterward, we should reach the keep before evening.”
She swallowed at that, hoping that the light would stay with them. The keep was foreboding enough without adding shadows and torchlight to accentuate the imposing figures of the sages themselves.
They were only men, she reminded herself firmly. Ones that lacked wisdom in many things, driven by tradition rather than rational thought.
And she did not have to fear them any longer.
Flasks of fresh water were passed around, salted fish and hunks of bread were pushed into her hands in generous portions, and she was heartened to see that Grimult had been given even more. They did not pepper her with questions, sitting in the sand and looking contemplatively out at the sea, although a few stood, hands on weapons of spears and fishhooks, eyeing their surroundings cautiously.
She did not ask, but knew they must have reached another territory by now. Were relations between the clans so volatile that they had to resort to sentries even over so short a time? “It is the size of our group,” Grimult whispered to her. He was seated nearest to her, Rezen at her other side, content simply to look at her every so often, although there was a tension in him that he had not possessed within his own home. “It is bound to make some uneasy if we linger too long.”
Penryn frowned at that. “Would they really fight?”
Grimult gave a shrug, his eyes drifting from their companions to their surroundings beyond. “Some do. I will not pretend to know the inner-workings of clans that are not my own.”
Penryn glanced at him. “And yours?”
She did not expect his scoff. “A farmer’s life is a hard one, with few hours left in the day for squabbling.”
Penryn toyed with a crumb of her bread. “But there is time enough for a wife, yes?” she murmured, softly enough that it was just for him.
And had to suppress her coy smile at the burn of his eyes upon her. “Aye,” he rumbled out, and she was very aware that he would have liked to tuck her close, to perhaps kiss the impudent turn of her lips.
It was a welcome distraction from what was to come. To focus on something sweet and gentle, if even for a moment.
A small envoy appeared to the side, Harlow approaching with hands outstretched. The leader was a grim-faced man, which only grew all the more furrowed and worn as he and Harlow spoke quietly together, apart from either group.
It was enough to push away the remains of her appetite, although she forced herself to keep nibbling
