Warrior's Last Gift by Melissa Mayhue Read Free Book Online Page B

assist Jeanne down from the big animal. She fell against him, groaning as her feet hit the ground. Clearly, her tumble over the cliff yesterday had taken its toll.
    He swept her from her feet and carried her to the cave’s entrance, setting her down inside the opening.
    They’d gotten lucky for a change. The cave was just large enough for the two of them, the horse, and a fire. It was crowded, but certainly better than sleeping out in this weather.
    Once he had the fire built, Jeanne pushed up from where she sat to gather her pot and what little food they had left.
    “You rest,” he told her, taking the pot from her hands. “I can do this.”
    She didn’t argue, confirming his suspicion that she was exhausted and in pain.
    He filled the pot with snow and set it over the fire to melt. When the water bubbled, he dumped in the last of their oats, along with a few pieces of meat left from last night’s rabbit.
    “You must remember to stir,” Jeanne cautioned without opening her eyes.
    As if he weren’t perfectly capable of cooking his own food.
    When it was ready, he carried the pot over to where she sat, placing it on the ground between them.
    “This is the last of our bread,” he said, breaking the piece in half to share. “We’ll need to keep a sharp eye out for any sign of game tomorrow.”
    He scooped a bite of the porridge and wrinkled his nose. The tasteless lumps in his mouth had nothing to do with the bits of meat he’d added.
    Across from him, Jeanne coughed and grabbed for the flask of ale.
    “It seems to lack the flavor of yers,” he admitted. “And mayhap it has a few more lumps.”
    “I warned you to stir,” she said, keeping her gaze fixed on the food in front of her.
    They passed the remainder of their meal in silence, and when they finished, he again filled the pot with snow and set it near the fire. The melt would help to clean the pot in the morning.
    By the time he finished, Jean had curled into her blankets, her back turned to him.
    Though he didn’t doubt she was tired, he suspected she wanted to avoid any attempt on his part to push for the answers she’d refused him last night.
    Though her comment had eaten away at his thoughts all day, he wouldn’t try to force her to answer his questions. It made little difference now anyway. What was done was done. He would simply put it from his mind. There was nothing to be gained from opening old wounds. And yet . . .
    “Are you awake, Jeanne?”
    An audible sigh wafted from the blanket where she huddled. “I am.”
    “I ken you’ve no stomach for talk of this, but it preys mightily upon my thoughts. If you dinna love Eymer, why did you take him for yer husband?”
    Hadn’t she told him that she’d rather spend her days in an empty house than live the lie of a loveless marriage as her mother and father had? And now she’d admitted to marrying a man she hadn’t loved. Could it be that he was somehow responsible for what she’d done?
    He had to know.
    “I need sleep, Eric. I canna speak of this now. I canna even bear to think upon it.”
    “For a year and a half we’ve avoided speaking of it. I’d have your answers now, Jeanne.” Eric moved to sit beside her. “The day you wed Eymer Horvesson was the worst of my life. After what we shared, you owe me honesty. At the very least, you owe me an explanation as to why you did it.”
    “ Owe you?” Jeanne sat up, tossing her blanket aside, her eyes flashing with anger. “I owe you nothing! You claim that as the worst day of yer life? I’m so sorry I forced you into finding another foolish maid to take to yer bed. Worst day? Ha! I could tell you a thing or two about what a worst day truly looks like.”
    Her anger sparked his, as their emotions had always built upon each other’s.
    “Truly? I’d imagine a worst day for you might have something to do with falsely proclaiming yer love for one man while planning to wed another. One you now claim you held no love for, even after all