Total pages in book: 33
Estimated words: 32461 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 162(@200wpm)___ 130(@250wpm)___ 108(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 32461 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 162(@200wpm)___ 130(@250wpm)___ 108(@300wpm)
He wanted this. Not their home or their life. His own family.
He wanted a woman he loved and who loved him in return. He wanted bairns who came running when he returned home. He wanted a place where he belonged and where no one ever wondered how long he intended to stay since he would finally be… home.
“Creagan?”
He looked at Fay.
Her eyes had narrowed. “You're actually thinking about it.”
His familiar grin returned. “I'm thinking you should pour me another ale before you have me wed with six bairns by morning.”
Tate laughed, but Fay shook her head as she reached for the pitcher.
“You make a jest of everything.”
“Life is far more enjoyable that way.”
“Not everything is a jest,” Tate said.
Something in his tone had Creagan looking at him.
Tate lowered his tankard. “Have you heard what's being said about the queen?”
Creagan's amusement faded, though his relaxed posture didn't change. “I've heard mumblings here and there.”
“It's more than mumblings now,” Tate said.
Fay handed Creagan his ale before settling back in her chair. “There are those claiming Queen Eudora has no rightful claim to the throne.”
Creagan's brow creased. He'd heard vague remarks during his travels through Morra Mist, whispers that stopped when a stranger drew too near and complaints about the queen from men who had consumed enough ale to loosen their tongues. He'd paid them little mind. There were always those dissatisfied with whoever wore the crown.
“How many?” Creagan asked.
“Enough that people are beginning to listen,” Tate said.
That troubled Creagan more than the rumors themselves.
“Anyone saying who should be sitting on the throne instead?”
Tate shook his head. “Not that I've heard.”
“Then someone is stirring a pot without telling anyone what he intends to cook.”
Fay frowned. “You would put it that way.”
Creagan took a long drink.
He traveled Morra Mist more than most. From its prosperous villages and crowded ports to isolated farms like Tate's, there were few parts of the kingdom he hadn't visited over the years. He knew its people, shared their tables, slept beneath their roofs, listened to their troubles, and celebrated their good fortune.
Morra Mist was the only place he'd ever truly thought of as home. He simply hadn't chosen one small piece of it for himself. And if he was already hearing mumblings against the queen in his travels, Creagan suspected there was more to them than idle talk.
He found himself listening for something else.
A summons, he suspected would come.
He took another drink of ale.
The only question was… when?
Chapter Eleven
Creagan
“You can't leave!”
Peter and Jennie stared at Creagan as if he'd just announced he intended to abandon them forever.
“I have to.”
“But you just got here,” Peter argued.
“Please, Creagan,” Jennie begged, grabbing his hand with both of her small ones. “Please. Please.”
Creagan crouched in front of them. “I'll stay extra-long next time. Long enough that you'll be begging me to leave.”
“Nay,” Jennie insisted.
Peter shook his head just as firmly. “Never.”
Creagan smiled, though leaving them was proving harder than he'd expected.
Fay caught Tate's eye and gave a slight nod toward the door.
“Come on, you two,” Tate said. “I've work to do in the fields, and I could use some help.”
“I want to stay with Creagan,” Jennie protested.
“So do I,” Peter said.
“And Creagan has things he needs to see to before he leaves,” Tate said and managed to herd them toward the door despite their continued protests.
Jennie twisted around for one last look at Creagan before stepping outside. “You promise?”
Her eyes wet with tears hurt his heart. “I promise, sweetheart. You will see me again.”
Creagan straightened as the door closed.
Fay was staring at him.
He forced a smile. “What?”
“Don't think you can charm me.”
“I wasn't trying to.”
“Then you're losing your touch.” She folded her arms across her chest. “What's going on?”
“Nothing.”
“Creagan.”
He shook his head. There were women he could fool with a smile and a few well-chosen words. Fay had never been one of them.
“Why are you really leaving? And I will have the truth,” she ordered like only a friend could.
The truth wasn’t something Creagan could share with her, but he could make it a partial truth.
He walked to the table and picked up his pack. “What Tate said last night got me thinking. If there truly is trouble brewing for the queen, I know of some men who serve her in just such a situation.”
Fay's brow creased. “What men?”
“Men who know how to deal with such trouble.”
“And you're going to find them?” she asked skeptically.
He nodded. “Aye, I am.”
“To what end?” She all but demanded.
Creagan hesitated. “To join them, if they'll have me.”
Fay stared at him, then laughed.
Creagan frowned. “I'm pleased you find the idea amusing.”
“Any man who wouldn't have you fighting beside him is a fool.”
His smile, that could so easily charm, returned. “I knew eventually you'd say something nice about me.”
Her smile faded. “You're serious about this.”
Creagan glanced toward the window. Peter and Jennie were crossing the yard after Tate, Murph bounding alongside them.