Fate's Call
Page 11
He held her while she cried, rubbing her back in warm circles until she calmed. Jarek cupped her face when she lifted her head, wiping tears from her cheeks with his thumbs. “I believe the Blessed Spirit will give us a child when the time is right,” he whispered.
Erron tried to have faith and believe that, but it was difficult. Pain clenched her chest. She swallowed past the lump in her throat and forced a nod.
“You know something?” Jarek asked.
“What?”
“I’m yours, Erron. Always.”
She smiled, her heart swelling with the love she had for this man. “And I am yours, Jarek.”
He kissed her and squeezed her against him. “Are you done eating?”
“Aye.”
“Good.”
“Why’s that?” Erron asked, one corner of her mouth lifting.
“I’m not sure my…performance…earlier was the best it could be.”
“Oh.” She tried to keep her tone very serious. “Then perhaps you should try again.”
Jarek grinned and stood, swinging her up into his arms. He seared her mouth with a kiss by way of answer.
Erron clung to him and kissed him back.
Z is for Zethan
The little boy clutched his knee and sobbed. No one was around him, parent, child, or otherwise.
As she got closer, Erron noticed how tattered he was. His breeches had long since lost their hem, and they were at mid-calf, several sizes too short, as if they were too small.
His tunic wasn’t faring much better. It might have been off-white or tan once, but it was black with dirt and other things Erron had no desire to know about. His hair was shaggy, long and dark, and he was painfully thin.
She set her full basket of food down on the ground and squatted in front of him.
Blood ran down his slender shin but the cut wasn’t bad. He shied away from her, his dark eyes wide and locked onto her food supplies from the market.
“Are you all right?” Erron whispered, shifting to block the view of what she’d bought. She wasn’t concerned about him dashing off with anything. He was obviously a street child, and hungry. She’d make sure he was fed, but she wanted to speak with him first.
Those dark eyes darted to her and then away. He looked down, but not before she saw the tracks his tears marked through the dirt on his face.
“Hey,” she whispered. Instinct told her not to touch him.
The lad would lash out in some way.
“He won’t speak,” a voice called.
Erron looked up.
A well rounded older woman swept the area in front of her dress shop. She tsked as she worked, frowning in Erron’s direction.
“Do you know him?”
The woman neared, but the boy started to scoot away, shooting a wary glance in the shopkeeper’s direction. She paused, and he stilled. Had he been the victim of her broom? Or worse?
Erron bit back a scowl.
“He used to live around here.”
“And now?” she asked.
“He’s got no people. They died.”
“And the lad? Who cares for him?” But the answer was obvious. No one. Erron’s chest constricted.
The woman rested her hands to her ample hips and glared. “Am I supposed to feed the lot of them? Street trash, all of them. The little ones never survive.”
Erron gasped. Even in the Province of Dalunas, where she’d moved from with her husband, there were places the homeless could go for a meal. Did Greenwald have none?
“Isn’t there any place for him? Where he can get…charity?” she whispered, more to herself than the woman.
“Aye there are a few, but not for one so tiny. He’s not but four or five turns old. He never makes it in.”
Her vision blurred, and Erron swallowed hard. The matter-of-fact tone made it hard to breathe. Why didn’t the woman help him?
She stared at the child, but he wouldn’t look at her. “Do you know his name?” she asked without looking at the offending dressmaker.
“Nay. He usually runs with some older boys. But I haven’t seen them of late.” She tsked again and moved on, as if she didn’t have time to continue the conversation.
The woman shooed a cat from her porch and continued to tidy it, whistling to herself. Erron bit her lip to keep from calling out an unpleasant name.
“When is the last time you ate anything?” she asked the little lad.
He didn’t acknowledge her.
Erron’s heart ached. She reached into the basket and pulled out an apple. Holding it out to him, she held her breath.
Waited.
Waited some more.
Finally those dark eyes looked up at her, tears still streaming. The lad snatched the fruit and attacked it, taking a bite bigger than she would’ve thought him capable.
Her tears cascaded. She swiped at her cheeks.
The little boy stopped chewing. “Why are you crying?”
Erron jolted. That was the last thing she would’ve imagined their first real conversation to start with. “No worries,” she answered quickly. “Do you want to come home with me?”
Wariness darted across his gaze. Innocence should be what was staring back at her, not automatic mistrust.
Her stomach flipped. “I promise I won’t hurt you. I can clean you up. Get you some new clothes and a decent meal.”
And then what? was written plainly in his expression.
That was a good question. What would happen next? Could she and Jarek keep him? Her heart stuttered. They could raise him. They could have a son. If he had no one…
Erron chided herself. You’re a bit much, aren’t you?
The lad studied her as he continued to eat the apple. “I’ll go.” His whisper was so low she almost missed it.
She smiled at him.
He stared up at her as she stood, clambering to his feet after a moment. Tossing the apple core to the street, the little lad offered her his small dirty hand as if it was the most natural thing in the world.
Erron took it. Rightness settled over her.
They walked through the market, dirty looks being thrown their way from every direction. She ignored them, clutching him to her and continuing on, headed to her husband’s tanning shop.
She heard the slap of his tools against raw hide before she saw him working at the rack. Erron smiled and looked down at the child. “This is Jarek, my husband.”
Jarek looked up from his work, a smile on his handsome face. He stood, his expression becoming concerned when he took in the boy. “Love?” he asked, wiping his hands on a linen scrap and tossing it to the workbench top before coming over to them. “Who’s this?”
“I don’t know his—”
“I’m Zethan,” the lad announced, cutting her off. “I’m five turns old.”
“Hello, Zethan,” Jarek said, grinning and squatting in front of him. He thrust his large hand out. The little lad pulled away from Erron and pushed his hand into Jarek’s.
Her heart hammered and the two males blurred before her. She was looking at her husband and child.
“Oh. She’s crying again.” Zethan cocked his head to one side.
Still holding onto Zethan, Jarek stood and reached for her hand. He leaned in to kiss her cheek.
“Sometimes, it’s okay to cry, Zethan,” Erron explained, clearing her throat.
“I cried when I fell.”
“That’s fine, too. I cry when I get hurt sometimes.” Jarek winked.
Zethan’s eyes widened. “You cry? But…you’re grown up.”
“Sure, even grown men cry occasionally.” He chuckled at the lad’s incredulous expression.
Chatter continued and Erron could only stare. Jarek and Zethan had taken to each other like a fish to water. If she tried to talk with them, she would sob. So she watched. The little boy flashed a shy smile, then laughed. Twice.
Jarek showed him around the shop.
Zethan reached out, petting the deer hide Jarek was working on, b
ut her husband let him explore without admonition. He did so, while they both watched and Jarek came to stand by her. He took her hand and kissed her knuckles.
“Is this all right?” she croaked.
He gave a tender smile. “I told you so, my love.”
“Told me what?”
“The Blessed Spirit would bring us a child when it was time.”
Tears cascaded again and he tugged her close and kissed her forehead.
“I love you,” she whispered.
“Being a lass is tough, huh?” Zethan asked, his hands on his thin hips, and facing them as he stood next to the hide rack.
Jarek threw his head back and laughed.
About the Author
Bestselling, award winning author of romantic suspense and epic fantasy romance, C.A. loves to dabble in different genres. If it’s a good story, she’ll write it, no matter where it seems to fit!
She’s a hopeless romantic and always will be. Risking it all for Happily Ever After is what she lives by!
C.A. is originally from Ohio, but got to Texas as soon as she could. She’s happily married and has a bachelor’s degree in Criminal Justice.
She works with kids when she’s not writing.
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