The Nun and King

Chapter 12

Another warm droplet falls onto my forearm and—like the others—I pretend to not notice. Saying goodbye to some of the women that she's shared years of her life with was difficult for Claire this morning, rightfully so I'd say. Ever since this morning, she's been unusually quiet. From dressing the men's wounds—mine included—to whispering her farewells in the nun's ears. Father Anthony assured her that they would see each other again one day, and after giving him a final hug she turned on her heels and made her way to the horses to care for them.

Sensing that she wanted to be alone, I took my time cleaning up camp and breaking down my tent until it was my turn to bid our departing guests farewell. Shaking Father Anthony's hand, I slipped him a small coin purse that he was reluctant to take. "Please," I insisted, "For any troubles we've caused you and to make sure you can stay somewhere during your travels."

He gives me a sigh before nodding and places the pouch into one of the pockets in his robe. "You're a good man, Thomas, and I don't doubt that one day you'll make a fine king for your lands. God be with you," he says, bowing slightly. I press my lips into a thin line and move down to Darla who refuses to meet my gaze. She stands with her arms folded in her torn abbey and I can only assume that she has given away her new clothing.

The urge to be as stubborn as she is makes me want to waste the energy it would take to say goodbye, but I decide to at least try to leave things with her on a good note. "It was a pleasure traveling with you Darla, I wish you well."

She gives me a snort. "I wish I could say the same," she huffs, quickly glancing at me with her pale eyes. My head automatically tilts back and I give it a shake, moving on to the next. Shortly after, when we've all said our goodbyes and have lent them a few horses, we mount our own and continue south—skipping breakfast all together.

Another teardrop falls, this time onto my wrist and I look down at Claire who sits in front of me on my horse. She wipes her nose with the back of her sleeve and lets out a small sigh. From last night's conversation I assumed that for the most part she was content with her decision about staying with our party. Does she regret her decision? Believe she has made the wrong choice?

Pursing my lips, I lean to my left which causes my chest to press against her and I mutter an apology. Digging into my saddle bag, I pull out the fine cloth I use to clean my sword and hand it to her. She takes it without a word.

Eventually some of the men begin to sing songs but I refrain—partially from the lingering headache of last night's drinks but really, I'm just in a bad mood. I'm not sure why if I'm being honest with myself, perhaps it's because I've allowed Darla's reluctance this morning to get to me, Claire's sullenness, or the weight of the deaths from last night have begun to sink in.

"All three," I answer myself.

Having led the front of our convoy for the majority of the morning, I turn to Warren who has flanked my left for the last hour. "What do you say? Time for a break?" I ask hopefully.

Warren gives me a chuckle and slicks back a piece of hair that clings to his forehead. "Sometimes I think you forget that you're our forthcoming king, Tom," he says lightly. "We can stop any time you wish."

I give a small smile and nod, pushing back my own hair that has dampened with perspiration. "Right," I reply. Through the thicket of the woods, a breeze makes its way through the air carrying the pungent smell of mud, peat, and decay and I know that the murky swamp waters are near. "Getting closer," I say. "Are we placing bets?"

Warren flashes a grin and gives me a nod, "I'll go with five this time. You?"

Pursing my lips, I think back on our last trek through the murky waters and remembering counting four. "I think three for me—let's hope that it's not more. Same amount as before?"