This is my current WIP and hasn't been edited so forgive and errors you find.
Chapter 4
As Edward stepped through the door he noticed the soft silvery moonlight coming in from the window opposite him. he couldn’t help but notice the illumination cast an eerie glow over the room, reminding him of a space he’d left not that long ago.
With a glance left his eyes first settled on a long roughhewn table. He wondered how the scars had been made and by whom for he suspected each had their own story to tell. At each end a ladder-backed chair sat, waiting for people to fill them.
Past the table he took in a large fireplace with what appeared to be two ovens on the left side and a cooking grate to the right. From a swivel metal bar several hooks hung for pots or maybe even rounds of beef.
Slowly, his mind started to drift back to a log cabin he’d built in the Appalachian wilderness. From what he’d seen if he didn’t know better he could have been back there. The only difference, this cottage was still standing, not a partially burned hulk which had once been his. This before a band of Indians attacked, raped then killed his wife.
If only he’d not joined Dave Crockett in guiding a group of settlers into the valley and been home it wouldn’t have happened. When he’d first arrived in the area he’d befriended the local tribe and was assured nothing untoward would happen to him or his family.
It was only later that he’d learned the marauding band had come from the north under the guidance of a Baron Norris. When he went to find the man Walker found out an Irishman by the name of Brogan had given him the information.
That’s what had brought him back to England for last he’d heard both traitors were here.
Returning his vision to the table he remembered watching his wife cut a joint of venison then season it with salt, the last meal they shared. She’d then set it on one of the hooks to cook to perfection.
A soft touch on his shoulder startled him and before he knew what happened he spun around, left hand clinched in a fist. In his other a long bladed knife. Where it came from he didn’t know but it was now pressed against the neck of someone he vaguely recognized.
He felt a hand touch his face, not cold from death but warm from love.
A soft voice seeped slowly into his mind, “Edward, tis I. Dawne. You’re home in England. Nothing can hurt you for I’ll help to keep you safe. Please trust me.”
The hand left his cheek joining the one holding the blade and felt it draw away from the flesh, leaving he noticed no mark.
“Take a breath Edward. It’ll help relax you,” the soft voice female said.
Lips touched his helping to awaken him from the nightmare.
He forced himself to shake his head, scattering the horrid memories to the wind, then his eyes focused on the woman before him, Dawne.
“Forgive me, but seeing this place reminded me of one I had not that long ago.”
“There’s nothing to forgive. From the expression on your face moments ago you must have experienced something no man, nay woman, should have had to.”
With hooded lids Edward glanced down and gave Dawne comforting smile. “Did I hurt you?”
“No, but I was frightened when I saw the knife materialize. Where did you hide it?”
“Under my shirt. It’s a habit to always have one from when I was in the colonies.”
“Interesting. Shall we get a few candles lit then I’ll make us some tea. I’m sure Mrs. Sullivan must also brought some biscuits when she came earlier.”
