He's a battle-hardened knight; she's from the modern world.
He faced the unthinkable; she was sheltered in comfort.
His body and soul bear scars, while she still believes in wonders.
He seeks redemption and peace, and she craves true love.
But in hi...
The dull light of early morning seeped through a small window in Elizabeth's room. She opened her eyes and stretched on the bed, the unsettling conversation from the earlier night still lingering in her mind. Despite this, she had slept soundly on the rough sheets, finding the unexpected comfort she had longed for.
Outside, the rooster's crowing intertwined with strange, repetitive thuds. Elizabeth's curiosity was piqued. She tried to identify the thuds but couldn't.
Meanwhile, Mairéad busied herself with breakfast. When Elizabeth greeted her, the old woman brought her a bowl of water and herbs for washing.
As she wiped her skin with a wet cloth, she spotted a strange mechanism in one corner of the room. "What's that thing with the wheel?" she asked.
Mairéad's eyebrows shot up in surprise. "It's a spinning wheel, my dear."
"Yes, right..." Elizabeth offered the old woman a strained smile. Mairéad now regarded her with a blend of attentiveness and curiosity.
Having finished washing, Elizabeth quickly dressed. Upon entering the living room, she found it empty—the men were probably still sleeping. But the mysterious thuds outside continued unabated.
Elizabeth, wrapped in a shawl, went out of the house. The fog veiled her surroundings thinly, and the chilly air sent shivers down her spine. Strange noises were coming from behind a barn. She turned a corner and stopped dead in her tracks. There was William. Clad in a simple shirt and wielding an axe, he effortlessly split logs on a wooden stump. Each powerful swing made quick work of the wood, building a sizable pile.
His broad chest heaved, sweat shining on his forehead and dampening his dark hair. He worked with precision, occasionally wiping his brow with his sleeve. Standing by the barn, Elizabeth watched him in admiration. She marvelled at his skill in splitting wood, but the muscles rippling under his shirt also didn't go unnoticed. The sight was so mesmerising that she couldn't help but watch.
Sensing her presence, William paused and turned his head. When their eyes locked in surprise, Elizabeth's cheeks flushed. She opened her mouth to say something but quickly retreated to the house.
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A basket of warm, crusty bread awaited on the table, accompanied by a small crock of creamy butter and a jar of homemade jam. Mairéad had also made a plate of scrambled eggs, light and fluffy, seasoned with black pepper and garnished with fresh herbs.
Elizabeth chewed thoughtfully, replaying her recent encounter with William. The memory still stirred embarrassment within her. She hadn't greeted him that morning—not a single word. Her silence had been quite rude.
In one corner of the room, Mairéad sat on a chair, her attention focused on a wooden barrel before her. The barrel had a cover, punctured by a single hole through which a stick protruded. With methodical care, the old woman moved the stick up and down, her movements reflecting her careful and practised hand.
