“Shouldn’t we find shelter?” she asked.
“Not much chance of that out here,” Hadrian told her. “There might be a few more inns on the road ahead as we pass near Alburn, but nothing that will help us tonight. Besides, it’s a lovely evening. The ground is dry and it looks like it will be warm.”
“We’re sleeping outside?”
Hadrian turned around to see her face. Her mouth was open slightly, her forehead creased, her eyes wide and looking up at the sky. “We’re still a long way from Dahlgren,” he assured her. She nodded, but held on to him tighter.
They stopped at a clearing near a little creek that flowed over a series of rocks, making a friendly rushing sound. Hadrian helped Thrace down and pulled the saddles and gear off the horses.
“Where’s Royce?” Thrace asked in a whispered panic. She stood with her arms folded across her chest, looking around anxiously.
“It’s okay,” Hadrian told her as he pulled the bridle off Millie’s head. “He always does a bit of scouting whenever we stop for the night. He’ll circle the area making sure we’re alone. Royce hates surprises.”
Thrace nodded but remained huddled, as if standing on a stone amidst a raging river.
“We’ll be sleeping right over there. You might want to clear it some. A single stone can ruin a night’s sleep. I ought to know; it seems whenever I sleep outside I always end up with a stone under the small of my back.”
She walked into the clearing and gingerly bent over, tossing aside branches and rocks, nervously glancing skyward and jumping at the slightest sound. By the time Hadrian had the horses settled Royce had returned. He carried an armload of small branches and a few shattered logs which he used to build a fire.
Thrace stared at him, horrified. “It’s so bright,” she whispered.
Hadrian squeezed her hand and smiled. “You know, I bet you’re a wonderful cook, aren’t you? I could make us dinner, but it would be miserable. All I know how to do is boil potatoes. How about you give it a try? What do you say? There are pots and pans in that sack over there and you’ll find food in the one next to it.”
Thrace nodded silently, and with one last glance upwards, shuffled over to the packs. “What kind of meal would you like?”
“Something edible would be a pleasant surprise,” Royce said, adding more wood.
Hadrian threw a stick at him. The thief caught it and placed it on the fire.
She dug into the packs, going so far as to stick her head inside, and emerged moments later with an armload of items. She borrowed Hadrian’s knife and began cutting vegetables on the bottom of a turned-up pan.
It grew dark quickly, the fire becoming the only source of light in the clearing. The flickering yellow radiance illuminated the canopy of leaves around them, creating the feel of a woodland cave. Hadrian picked out a grassy area upwind from the smoke and laid out sheets of canvas coated in pitch. It blocked the wetness that would otherwise soak in. The treated fabric was something they had come up with after years on the road. But they did not have time to make one for Thrace. He sighed, threw Thrace’s blankets on his canvas and went in search of pine boughs for his own bed.
When dinner was ready, Royce called for Hadrian. He returned to the fire where Thrace was dishing out a thick broth of carrots, potatoes, onions and salted pork. Royce was sitting with a bowl on his lap and a smile on his face.
“You don’t have to be that happy,” he told him.
“Look, Hadrian—food,” Royce taunted.
They ate mostly in silence. Royce made a few comments about things they should pick up when they passed through Alburn such as another length of rope and a new spoon to replace the cracked one. Hadrian mostly watched Thrace who refused to sit near the fire; she ate alone on a rock in the shadows near the horses. When they finished, she stole away to the river to wash the pot and wooden bowls.
“Are you alright?” Hadrian asked, finding her along the stony bank.
Thrace was crouched on a large moss capped rock, her gown tucked tight around her ankles as she washed the pots by scooping up what sand she could find and scrubbing them with her fingers.
“I’m fine, thank you. I’m just not used to being out at night.”
Hadrian settled down beside her and began cleaning his bowl.
“I can do that,” she said.
“So can I. Besides, you’re the customer so you should get your money’s worth.”
She smirked at him. “I’m not a fool, you know. Ten silver won’t even cover the feed for the horses, will it?”
“Well, what you have to understand is Mouse and Millie are very spoiled. They only eat the best grain.” He winked. She could not help but smile back.
Thrace finished the pot and the other bowls and they walked back to camp.
“How much farther is it?” she asked replacing the pots in the sack.
“I’m not sure. I’ve never been to Dahlgren, but we made good time today so maybe only another four days.”
“I hope my father is alright. Mister Haddon said he would try to convince him to wait until I returned before hunting the beast. I hope he did. As I said my father is a very stubborn man and I can’t imagine anyone changing his mind.”
“Well, if anyone can, I suspect that Mister Haddon could,” Royce remarked prodding the coals of the fire with a long stick. “How did you meet him?”
Thrace found the bed Hadrian had laid out for her near the fire and sat down on her blanket. “It was right after my family’s funeral. It was very beautiful. The whole village turned out. Maria and Jessie Caswell hung wreaths of wild salifan on the markers. Mae Drundel and Rose and Verna McDern sang the Fields of Lilies, and Deacon Tomas said a few prayers. Lena and Russell Bothwick held a reception at their house. Lena and my mother were very close.”
“I don’t remember you mentioning your mother, was she—”
“My mother died two years ago.”
“I’m sorry. Sickness?”
Thrace shook her head.
No one spoke for awhile then Hadrian said, “You were telling us how you met Mister Haddon—”