Horde (Razorland #3)(123)

Then I paused my work on the cottage to go to the governor’s manor. One person in Rosemere would share my sorrow in equal measure.

Morrow opened the door when I knocked as if he had been expecting me. His face was thin and pale, newly marked with a red scar. The rest of him seemed sound enough, though he still hadn’t regained his full strength. I gave him my arm as he escorted me to a large room with a crackling fire. When I was working I didn’t notice the nip in the air as much as when I stopped.

“She’s gone,” I said softly.

He lowered his head, the hair falling into his clever face. “I know.”

“How long before you go after her?”

“I’ll give her the winter, long enough to miss me.”

“And if that doesn’t work?” I guessed he hadn’t told her how he felt about her; I could’ve explained why she was so leery of men. But as promised, I had kept Tegan’s secret, and nobody knew what she’d suffered in the ruins. With Stalker dead, the truth would die with me.

“Then I’ll come and go until she asks me to stay.” His smile was a sweet and somber thing. “I’m working on your story, you know. It’s keeping me busy during my convalescence. I hope to have a draft ready for you to read by spring.”

I smiled at that. “Fade can read it to me. It’s not my strong suit.”

For a few seconds, I imagined curling up with my man before a fire, listening to Morrow’s words. I couldn’t imagine anything better. We talked a little longer, enough for me to be sure he’d be all right in Tegan’s absence, but the storyteller was stronger than he looked and he had one precious gift that rendered him invincible—eternal hope. Either that, or he was mad, which might explain why he’d followed me.

“I plan to call it the Razorland saga,” he told me.

“Why?”

“Because of something you said when you were telling me about your journey north … about how the world’s all razors that cut you no matter what you do.”

“It isn’t anymore,” I said softly.
“Thanks to us.” Morrow flashed his charming smile, but I saw the bittersweet tinge to his gaze. He would miss Tegan too.

“One thing I’ve always wondered … why do you greet the colonel by kissing her on both cheeks? It seems like that would annoy Morgan.”

“I’m Rosemere’s diplomatic envoy,” he replied. “My father knew he had to find work to satisfy my need to wander. That’s the customary kiss of peace.”

“Ah.” I should have known he was more important than he let on, just a storyteller indeed. “Then why didn’t you identify yourself when you were traveling with me?”

His look turned sheepish. “Because I didn’t have approval for the mission. My father wouldn’t have gotten involved. So I couldn’t claim to represent Rosemere when we were building Company D. That, I did as James Morrow.”

I stood, kissed his cheek, and said, “I’ll always be grateful.”

Then I went back to work, along with half the village. The construction seemed to focus Spence, giving him something else to think about, and Rex kept him company. Spence liked him best because they shared a common loss. They didn’t talk much, but a certain bond was forming between them. They were also working on a house for Edmund and Momma Oaks, a fact that delighted me. I’d kept the promise to myself at last—and given them a new home. Gavin cavorted more than he worked, proud as a young peacock in his new cloak, which bore the insignia from Company D.

With constant labor, it took under a month to complete the cottage, just before the first snowfall. Awed and delighted, I stood inside with Fade, unable to believe we had a place of our own. People soon arrived with housewarming gifts, a tradition on the isle. Stone delivered furniture that Thimble had built while Momma Oaks brought cushions and curtains for the windows. She fussed and helped me hang them while other village women offered dishes and pots for cooking, linens, blankets, and boxes I didn’t open straightaway.

It was late in the day when they all departed—and along with the small touches, we had a table, chairs, and a bed with a newly stuffed mattress. The cottage was designed much like Stone and Thimble’s; for a moment, I let my mind wander, imagining how the years would pass. While I pondered, Fade built a fire in the hearth, the first in our own home. Wonder stole my breath and called tears to my eyes. I refused to let them fall.

I opened our first gift. Someone had given us a picture frame and I knew what to put in it. “Do you still have your token from down below?”

“Of course,” he said. “It’s stupid, but I can’t make myself discard the thing.”

“I’m glad.” I placed his paper and my card inside the frame, and then I went in search of hammer and nail.

Our talismans adorned our new home, and that seemed fitting, part of the old life to carry into the new one. Next I rummaged in my pack and laid out my two greatest treasures: Longshot’s maps and the book Fade and I had found in the ruins. He came to see what I had, then he touched the leather with reverent hands, as if the story meant as much to him.

“I can’t believe you still have it. And it’s still intact, too.”

“I kept it wrapped in oilcloth. Would you read me the end?”

Fade pitched his voice low—and the story had more resonance now.