“I’ll have us ready to leave at first light tomorrow,” he had said. “Do not linger longer than needed.”
“I won’t,” she had promised, and meant it.
Now, as she walked through the village, she followed the path he had described—past the well, along the narrow lane edged with stacked firewood, toward the cottages closer to the tree line.
She felt eyes on her. Not unkind, but curious. Assessing.
Word traveled quickly in villages, and she was not blind to the fact that she was new, and more than that—she was Dar’s wife. The Hunter’s wife. The chieftain’s heir had brought her home, and that alone marked her as someone worth notice.
She kept her head high, a smile on her face, and her pace unhurried.
The village felt different by early light. Less uncertain than it had upon arrival. There was order here, discipline, but also a quiet steadiness. Gardens edged several cottages, modest but well-tended, herbs already dried and bundled beneath eaves. She recognized some by scent alone and felt a familiar ease settle over her.
Regina’s cottage sat near the edge of the village, half embraced by the woods. Smoke rose from its chimney, thin and steady. A basket of apples rested near the door, and strings of herbs hung beneath the small window—nettle, yarrow, mugwort, and others she could not yet name from this distance.
Relief softened her steps. The woman had what she needed, though she wasn’t sure if it would prove as helpful as her husband expected.
Elara paused only a moment before lifting her hand to knock, aware as she did that this was more than an errand. It was a step forward into Dar’s world, into the life they would share, and into the quiet weaving together of paths that had once run separate.
She knocked and waited.
A pretty woman opened the door, her slim frame round with child, her long, dark hair braided thick and lay over one shoulder. Her belly pressed visibly beneath her apron. One hand rested there instinctively, protective, while the other held the door.
“How may I help you?” the woman asked with a pleasant smile.
Elara dipped her head politely. “Good morn. I am Elara of Leighfeld.” She hesitated only a breath before continuing, aware of the weight of the words as they left her lips. “Dar’s wife… and an herb-scribe.”
The order of her introduction was not lost on her. Nor she suspected, on Regina.
“I am Regina, Gorman’s wife,” she announced, her gaze sliding over Elara with renewed interest. “Well then, hurry in before the chill settles into your bones. Commander Dar’s wife is always welcome here.”
Warmth greeted Elara the moment she crossed the threshold—woodsmoke, baking bread, and the unmistakable scent of herbs drying overhead. Bundles hung from ceiling beams and along the walls, carefully tied and labeled with neat charcoal marks. A cradle sat near the hearth, already waiting, and three small stools were tucked beneath the table, their legs scuffed by frequent use.
Regina closed the door and turned, her hand again finding her belly as she moved. “You’ve good timing. The little one has been restless since dawn.” She gave her stomach an affectionate pat. “Five months along now and already ruling the household.”
Elara smiled. “You make it sound familiar.”
“Aye, well, this will be the fourth to do so.” Regina’s eyes gleamed with humor. “Three daughters already, and another on the way. Gorman swears this one will be a son, but he’s said that every time. The lasses are with him now, a morning stroll, though more so to give me time to get their breakfast finished without chaos.”
She stirred a sizeable pot of porridge in the hearth, while a cloth covered a large plate, the mound beneath no doubt freshly baked bread keeping warm.
Elara’s gaze drifted naturally to the hanging bundles. “You keep a fine collection of herbs.”
Regina followed her look and nodded. “Enough to tend scrapes, fevers, and the foolishness of men who think themselves unbreakable.” She snorted softly. “I’m no healer, mind you. I leave that to those trained for it. But when you live with Hunters, you learn what you must.”
Elara moved closer to the wall, careful not to touch without permission. “You have mugwort,” she said, then smiled. “And nettle.”
“I do,” Regina said, “and from the look in your eyes, you’re in need of some.”
“If you would not mind sharing,” Elara said gently. “We are preparing for travel, and there are… protections I wish to put in place.”
Regina studied her a long moment, then nodded once. “Of course.” She reached for a knife and a basket and handed them to Elara. “Take what you need.”
As Elara cut the bundles with practiced ease, she engaged Regina in talk. “The village looks upon the Hunters with such certainty. Fear, respect… both, I think.”
“They live for the hunt,” she said simply. “It is bred into them and taught before first steps are taken. They measure themselves by it.”
“And you?” Elara asked. “How do you live among that?”