Daughters Of The Storm by Kim Wilkins Read Free Book Online Page A

to the entrance, her heart jumped at shadows. Finally, she excused herself and went up to Wengest’s table. He was deep in conversation with one of his thanes, but looked up with a smile when he saw Rose approach.
    â€˜What is it, my dear?’
    â€˜Our honourable guest? Heath?’
    â€˜Ah, he caught me outside at sunset. He’s too tired to join us.’
    All bright colours bled out of the world. ‘Oh.’
    â€˜So don’t worry about him.’ He took her hand. ‘Look you. Rowan is having a lovely time.’
    Rose glanced over her shoulder. Rowan was playing a hiding game behind the carved wooden pillars with some of the smaller children. She squealed with laughter, and her face was shiny with excitement.
    â€˜I’ll never get her to sleep tonight,’ Rose muttered. But then, she wouldn’t have to deal with Rowan’s tired tantrums tomorrow, would she? And it mattered little that Heath hadn’t come tonight, because soon they would be alone together for a long time.

    Wengest didn’t demand she come to his bower that night and for that she was glad. She would not have to endure his rough beard on her cheek while holding the image of clean-shaven Heath in her imagination. Rowan was curled against her side, sleeping fast. Rose would miss her; already she ached with thoughts of the separation. But she would be gone a few weeks at most, and she would have Heath’s presence to comfort her. Certainly, at her father’s hall there would be little chance for them to meet unseen, and so all her hopes were pinned on their journey. They would avoid the inns where spies lurked everywhere; they would sleep under the more forgiving stars. She closed her eyes tightly and imagined Heath’s arms around her, the warm, male scent of him. Then other thoughts intruded. Her father, illness, death, sorrow. Sleep was a long time coming.

    The sun did not smile on them. Drizzle oozed through the clouds as Rose and Heath stood in the courtyard waiting for the stable hands to bring them their horses. The leaden sky was in perfect tune with the blanket of gravity under which Rose had woken. Father is dying. This morning the fact was blunt and real.
    Wengest stood under the eaves. Rowan stood next to him, clinging to her nurse’s leg and whining loudly. The goodbye had already been said and Rose wished the nurse would take the child away and distract her somehow. She helped the stable hand adjust the saddle and was about to mount up when she saw the nursepicking her way across the mud with Rowan wriggling in her arms.
    â€˜I’ve already said farewell to the child,’ Rose said irritably.
    â€˜King Wengest said you’re to take her with you.’
    â€˜What?’ She looked sharply at Wengest, who made a dismissive gesture.
    â€˜He said the child belongs with her mother.’
    All Rose’s fantasies fell away, leaving behind the ordinary truth: she was a mother before she was a lover. ‘I see. Well, will you pass her up?’ Rose mounted the horse, pointedly not looking at Heath. She didn’t want to see her disappointment echoed in his eyes. Rowan was her daughter, after all. The separation would have been hard.
    But the freedom would have been sweet.
    Now Rowan wriggled and started crying about wanting to say goodbye to Papa. Rose wrangled her onto the saddle between her legs, pressing her close. ‘Don’t fidget so, Rowan. You’ll fall.’
    â€˜Papa?’ she said, mournfully, reaching chubby hands towards him.
    â€˜Hush, Rowan.’
    â€˜But I want Papa.’
    Rose caught Wengest’s gaze and subtly indicated with a tilt of her head that he should come to give his daughter some kind of affection in parting. He shook his head. Rose was used to this: Wengest believed it wasn’t wise for a king to show affection in public, that people would think him weak. Rose didn’t mind for herself, but Rowan was working up into a