DARKHAVEN | "Three Sisters" Book One

Chapter Thirty-Eight

Roslin

The party journeyed for most of the first day along muddy tracks and the knotted roots of the forest floor. When at last the day grew cold and the shadows lengthened, a decision was made to stop, water the horses, and make camp for the evening. The plan was to rise before dawn and continue the journey with the first light.

"No inn on this stretch of road," Lucien had explained as he reined up near the sisters. "I do hope you ladies are comfortable in a camp."

"Yes," said Blodwyn, who was not only accustomed to camping but actively enjoyed it, "but it seems this trip has been remarkably planned. The first night and already we are to sleep on the ground."

"To go to an inn would be to deviate too far from our path tonight," Aleksander interrupted by way of ending the conversation in passing.

Though unseen, Roslin glared at him for putting a stop to Blodwyn's fun. The sisters found so little joy lately—now more than ever—that Blodwyn should be permitted her battle of wits (verbal beration) with Lucien if so she desired.

They'd spend the night in a small creekside clearing. It was a good spot, spacious enough for their camp, yet mostly concealed by the dense forest. Sheltered and private. Roslin lowered the reins and let out a sigh of relief. The rush of the previous night's events was finally wearing off, and with it came a deep ache. She started to dismount but was stopped short.

"Allow me, Lady Adair."

It was Mercer, his arms open, looking up at her with an easy half-smile.

Her gaze darted toward Jon, who had also just come to a stop a few feet away, clearly intending to offer her the same courtesy. Novak, too, had paused mid-turn alongside his courser to monitor the interaction.

"That's very kind, ser," Roslin answered. He helped her down and made not one single ungentlemanly touch. His hands nor eyes lingered too long, and he kept the distance between them safe.

Still, his touch was fire to Roslin, whose eyes couldn't meet his own.

"My lady," he said with a curt nod of his head. Before Roslin could even return the gesture, he was gone again, approaching Blodwyn and extending the same courtesy.

Roslin cocked her head. A man not from Darkhaven—a man who served all, not just the woman of his choosing. Interesting. 

The sisters had each been tangled up in their own, personal, neverending web of interests and romances that she'd forgotten how...normal...other people could be. She glanced at Thalia, who was already helping Malachai remove a kit strapped to his chestnut mare, then to Lothor, who, despite his brusqueness, was asking Edric for direction on where they'd dig a pit for the fire.

It was hard, at times, to remember how normal people behaved. People who lived not in Darkhaven's black shadow.

Blodwyn raised an eyebrow at the white-haired knight, plainly fighting to suppress a smirk as she gracefully dismounted her own horse. She left him standing there with his hand extended.

Boots firmly on the ground, Blodwyn stretched and yawned, her joints popping audibly. "Ros, are you happy to tend to the horses?" she asked, ignoring the others entirely and focusing only on her sisters.

Roslin nodded, and Jon stepped forward to join her. "I can assist you if so you'd like, my lady," he offered with a polite nod of his head.

"Of course," said Roslin, and easily as that, the matter of caring for the horses was settled.

Meanwhile, Gia slipped down from her horse, unclasped her cloak, and tossed it carelessly over the saddle. She kicked off her shoes, wanting only the feeling of the soft, cool earth beneath her feet.