Becca St.John Read Online Free PDF

ROAD
     
    Almost daybreak. He’d slept too late.
    He eased out of a length of plaid used as a blanket and ignored the light drizzle of rain. Deian slept on his own, on the far side of the fire, his back to a boulder. Seonaid was on guard, he’d relieve her, give her a few moments rest.
    He climbed a hillock, for a better vantage, to find her. She stood just below the crest. Completely dressed, with bow slung from shoulder to opposite waist, quiver on her back and a sword at her side.
    Dressed to kill. She’d done just that, saving his life, only now she knelt, so deep in prayer she hadn’t heard his approach.
    A praying woman? Seonaid? She didn’t wear her religion for others to see. Never spoke of it or used the self-righteous judgment of the pious. How could she, after being on the whipping end of pious tongues?
    He’d never known of the church’s saints or God to offer comfort. So why would she hope for that? If she was a praying woman, and it looked like she was, it certainly failed to make her life any easier.
    Dear God, he hoped she didn’t think to ask forgiveness for all she ran from. As if that was her fault. He snorted. Even the death yesterday was not her fault. She saved them all by killing the man.
    “Are you meaning to join me or are you just trying to keep me from my prayers?” She didn’t bother to look up but remained on her knees, head bowed, hands clasped in supplication.
    “You’ve naught to be ashamed of.” This did draw her attention.
    “Ashamed of? You think guilt is my reason to pray?”
    He shrugged. Church things weren’t much to him. He attended, when he had to, and was known to throw a prayer to the heavens when caught in the worst of predicaments, but on the whole, he left holiness to old women and priests.
    “Are you a heathen?”
    She didn’t like his chuckle. He held back, shifted, uncomfortable. She nodded. “Aye, so you are.”
    He didn’t know what to do with that, wanted to deny her allegations, but refused to kneel and pray with her. So he turned back to the camp. He’d rouse the boy, see who could pee the furthest. That’s what men did in the morning. They didn’t drop to their knees and pray to a God who allowed a young girl to be beaten and raped by her brother.
    Who didn’t stop renegades from raping and murdering young innocent girls.
    Aye, he’d go and relieve himself of yesterday’s waste and sigh with the pleasure of it. More pleasure than anything God had to offer.
     
    vvvvvv
     
    Seonaid followed the savory scent of fresh trout to find Deian chatting away, Padraig chuckling. Neither saw her, for Padraig started to sing a ditty far from appropriate for a lady, even less so for a young lad.
    Men .
    “Is there one for me?”
    Deian held a skewered fish over the fire, Padraig had another.
    “Oh, aye, we worked hard to feed you, didna’ we?” Padraig jostled Deian’s hair, as the boy bounced on his feet.
    “We tickled the fish, Mama, and they came right into our hands.” He crowed with delight.
    “Did they laugh?” She moved in beside her son. Willing him to be as happy and pleased with her as he was with Padraig.
    One fish, already cooked, lay on a rock by the fire.
    “That one’s for you, Mama. Padraig said you get the first one.”
    She reached up to tousle Deian’s head, but he pulled away. “Did it laugh, when you tickled it?” She lifted the skewered fish, picked off a piece of meat, as she realized Deian never laughed with her. She always got the scrunched up face, serious face.
    “Aye, it did,” Padraig promised, solemnly, “but only under water. Hard to hear through the thrashing about. Isn’t that so, lad?”
    Deian’s head bobbed up and down, now thrilled with the adventure, when he’d been naught but bored the day before. How long before this drizzle spoiled his mood?
    And he’d be bored again, once they’d traveled any distance. Padraig couldn’t stop that.
    “Is it good, Mama?” He looked up at her, all innocent