Total pages in book: 44
Estimated words: 41044 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 205(@200wpm)___ 164(@250wpm)___ 137(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 41044 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 205(@200wpm)___ 164(@250wpm)___ 137(@300wpm)
He adjusted his stride, rolling his shoulders back as he approached, controlled and unshaken. His gaze locked on the mounted men first, then shifted to the one speaking with Ingrid. He studied them as he closed the distance, his muscles still taut, his body still damp with sweat from work. If they meant trouble, he wanted them to see him coming and think twice.
Only they didn’t.
They ignored him entirely.
Not a glance in his direction. Not the flicker of recognition that men usually gave when another warrior approached. He may as well have been nothing more than a wisp of wind moving through the village.
His steps slowed. It wasn’t the first time this had happened. Beyond this village, people treated him as though he barely existed, barely noticed him. But why?
Why was this place different?
The question gnawed at him as he finally reached Ingrid’s side. She barely glanced at him, too focused on the warrior before her. Though the warrior’s eyes rounded suddenly noticing him as if he had magically appeared. Was it because he stood next to Ingrid that made the difference?
“We’ve worked hard for what we have,” she continued, her voice steady despite the tension in her stance. “You expect us to hand over the very things we need to survive winter?”
The warrior sneered. “That is not my concern.”
A cold anger stirred in Raff’s chest. He clenched his fists at his sides, waiting, watching. If these men thought to take what they wanted, they would find resistance.
He just needed to be ready for when the moment came.
Ingrid slowly stepped aside, knowing the futility of any further discussion. The other women, their gazes filled with worry, followed her lead. With a slight tilt of her head, she motioned toward the weaving cottage, silently granting them entrance.
The warriors wasted no time. Two dismounted, pushing open the cottage door as the others followed behind, their boots heavy against the wooden floor. Inside, the woven plaids and blankets lay folded, the result of weeks of careful labor.
The warriors grabbed the finished goods, bundling them under their arms and carrying them out to their waiting horses. The villagers stood still, watching in silence as their work was taken from them, helpless to stop it.
Raff’s muscles coiled, his hands clenching into tighter fists. He wanted to intervene, to strike out against the injustice of it, but he knew as well as Ingrid did that such a move would bring nothing but greater trouble upon them.
When the warriors had taken all they could carry, they mounted their horses once more. Without another word, they rode off, dust rising behind them. Only once they had disappeared beyond the trees did the villagers seem to breathe again.
Ingrid turned to the other weavers, her voice low but firm. “From now on, for every two items we complete, one will be added to our hidden reserve.”
The women exchanged glances, some nodding in agreement, others still shaken by the confrontation, barely able to nod.
Raff frowned. “You expected this?”
Ingrid met his gaze, a fire still burning in her eyes. “I feared it. So, we prepared.”
She motioned toward the cottage. “We’ve been hiding some of our work in a place where Chafton’s men won’t find it. When the time comes, we take those goods to market and sell them. It helps make up for what he steals from us and keeps us from starving.”
Raff studied her, admiration curling in his chest. She was clever. Resilient. She didn’t just accept her fate… she fought it in her own way.
Edith, still watching the trail of dust left by the departing warriors, let out a breath. “If we’re to take more to market, we’ll need to be careful.” She glanced at Ingrid, then at Raff. A slow smile spread across her lips. “Raff should go with you next time… to keep you safe.”
Ingrid blinked. “I don’t—”
“Unless he’s one of them who’s come to spy on us,” Agnes accused, still leery of the newcomer.
“For heaven’s sake, Agnes,” Edith admonished.
“We don’t know him well. Why should we trust him?” Agnes argued.
“She has a good point,” Raff said. “And while I can assure you that I am no spy, it doesn’t prove I’m not. I can give you my word and prove myself by working alongside everyone and doing what I can to keep your village safe from Laird Chafton’s men. If one thing, I am a highly skilled warrior and I can be of great help to you if ever needed.”
Agnes considered it. “I suppose with Chafton’s men sniffing around and not knowing what they’ll do next, it would be wise to have a skilled warrior amongst us and to accompany Ingrid to market.”
Raff crossed his arms, watching Ingrid’s reaction. She looked at him, searching his face, perhaps trying to decide, like Agnes, if she could trust him.
Ingrid let out a breath she didn’t realize she held and nodded. “Fine. But only if he keeps to himself and lets me do the trading.”