Donovan had made the ride back over to Dragandria to be sure that the town was secure and being cleaned up for his people to move in. The mere thought of this town made him angry but he’d gotten revenge and that was what had comforted him the night past. It bothered him more than he could admit that had he not taken Dragandria that very day, at that very time, Laura would have surely been killed. That could have easily had been him when he was a child, tied to the posts and lit on fire. If it hadn’t been for Argon’s hope to use magic bearers for his own gain, Donovan probably would have been killed. Maybe it had all meant to be. Maybe there was some force other than chance that had led him to Dragandria when he needed to be there to rescue her.
He couldn’t help but wonder about the woman she had become. He wondered if she had married since he’d left her as a child. Though if she had, her husband was surely dead now, and well deserving of it for not protecting her.
Donovan looked around as his men checked the bodies to be sure they were dead and began to pull them into a heap. He supposed that while he was here, and before the homes were cleared for his own people to move into, he would go to Remington’s home and see if there was anything he could use for his cause. Perhaps Remington had kept some of his correspondences with the King which might aid Donovan in the final battle over the country. He hated to admit it but a small part of him wanted to see if Laura still lived in the home. If so, he would know that she was not wed without having asked her. He did not want to ask her.
The Remington home was situated in a hill in the back end of Dragandria. He had been to the home many times as a child but never had gone in.
Thud, thud.
Donovan stood impatiently behind a bush waiting for Little Laura’s brunette head to pop up behind her window. Normally she was already awake and ready to go but today he had stood outside for thirty minutes in the growing heat of day.
The sun had barely peaked by the trees but it’s midsummer intensity was all it took to heat up the earth he stood on and himself. He grabbed another crab apple off the tree and tossed it up lightly to hit her window. Thud.
Her distorted iron colored eyes narrowed at him from behind the window as she pulled her curls into a mass behind her head. For an eight year old, she was tough.
She waved a hand at him and opened her window slowly. The thing creaked as if it were some rusty armor but she soon hung out ready for him to catch her. Donovan opened his arms wide and she looked down at him. They had done this more times than he could count, not that he could count very far, but she was teaching him. She had so far taught him the alphabet and he had practiced it every night since he had remembered them all.
She looked down at him again to make sure he was paying attention and then dropped from the window landing in his outstretched arms. She weighed nothing, thought that was saying nothing for a young girl. She grinned at him. It was nice to feel trusted and for Little Laura to drop out of a two story building backwards into his arms, she trusted him. He put her down and she smoothed down her dress. The numerous layers of fabric had probably weighed more than she did.
“Quit tossing Apples at my window,” she said with folded arms.
“What would you like me to toss? Stones?”
“How about you be patient. I had to tell papa that there was some annoying woodpecker near my room.”
He smiled at her. She was always so resourceful when it came to her father. “What does he think you are doing today?”
“I told him I was going to clean my room and then do my lessons. I asked him not to disturb me.”
He frowned. What are you going to do when you get home and that stuff isn’t done?”
