Sir Rowan and the Camerian Conquest by Chuck Black Page A

have nowhere to go except with me.”
    Rowan slowly sat up and turned around in his saddle.
    “That obvious?” he asked.
    Mariah nodded. “Come on. Let’s get out of here.” She kicked her horse, and Rowan followed.

BANDITS
     
    They moved as quickly as Rowan could go to get out and away from Laos. Once they felt safe, their pace slowed significantly. It took Mariah nearly five days to get Rowan back to the farm. The journey to Laos, the turmoil while there, and the return trip to the farm had taken a significant toll on him.
    For a while, his condition was almost as bad as when Mariah had first discovered him in the cave. This time, however, Mariah was obstinate about what Rowan could and could not do until he was healthy again. The process was long and slow, but Mariah was a faithful caregiver. After two months, Rowan began to look like a thin but normal man again. After four, he began purposefully to rebuild his muscles and was able to help with some of the duties required to keep the farm going.
    Each day that passed, Rowan grew stronger and stronger, as did his affection for the one who had saved his life … twice. He was careful to allow Mariah room to live without feeling any pressure to become emotionally connected to him. She seemed to appreciate this about Rowan, for the loss of her husband was still a wound he knew she felt deeply.
    Twice he had passed by her bedchamber on his way to the outbuilding for the evening and heard her softly weeping. The second time he knocked and carefully opened the door to find her sitting on her bed holding Palson’s shirt in her lap.
    “Are you all right, Mariah?” he asked gently.
    She nodded.
    Rowan slowly closed the door and left her to her memories.
    When harvest season came, Rowan went to the fields with Mariah, and together they brought in a bountiful crop, considering the small size of the farm. It felt good for Rowan to work hard and feel stronger the next day instead of weaker. At last he had finally crested the recovery peak.
    Rowan and Mariah talked often of the events in Cameria. The small village nearby provided some news of regional events, but not enough to satisfy them. Rowan felt torn between the simple life of the farm and the knowledge that Cameria was slowly being conquered from both within and without by foreign enemies. His return to Laos was inevitable. When he did return, he wanted to be prepared.
    One day late in the fall, five months after they had returned from Laos, Rowan was chopping wood in a nearby grove of trees to prepare for winter. The ax felt good in his hands, and it reminded him of his nearly forgotten sword. He finished chopping the wood and began loading the cart, wondering just how much of a load Mariah’s old workhorse, Biscuit, could haul up the rise and back to the house.
    Just then Rowan heard Mariah scream, and he sprinted toward home.
    “Rowa—!” she called out, but this cry was cut short.
    When he broke from the trees, he could see two strange horses tethered near the front of the house. Two men were pilfering Mariah’s home, and she was doing her best to stop them—with little success. Rowan chastised himself for not grabbing the ax before leaving the cart, but now it was too late to turn back.
    “Back off, woman.” One of the men struck Mariah across the face, then threw her up against the side of the home. He passed through the door for another trip to the food pantry. The second bandit was tying produce and goods to his horse—essentials that Rowan and Mariah had worked hard to harvest and trade for. He looked up and saw Rowan approach.
    “Wallen! We got comp’ny!” the man shouted back over his shoulderas he drew his sword. Then he turned toward Rowan. “Stay back, and no one will die t’day.”
    The other thief hurried out the door toward the horses with one arm full of booty and the other holding a sword. Rowan saw Mariah duck into the house behind him.
    Rowan slowed his approach. “No one has to die