Chapter 11: I am not touching you
My mother Rosa, Rosaine, was a tall woman with prematurely grey hair and sharp blue eyes that seemed to see everything. She had the kind of practical intelligence that came from managing a household and raising children in a place where carelessness could mean the difference between comfort and hardship.
My father Garrick was built like a mountain himself—broad-shouldered and solid, with hands that could gentle a frightened colt or swing an axe with equal skill.
"Where were you all night?" My mother asked without preamble, her eyes fixed on my face in that way that made me feel like she could read my thoughts.
I’d prepared for this question during my walk home. "I was at Valara’s lodge. She and Rena were there, and we were drinking and talking. I fell asleep there rather than try to make my way home in the dark."
It wasn’t entirely a lie, though it left out several significant details.
My parents exchanged glances, and I could practically see them having one of those wordless conversations that married couples seemed to master over the years.
"The chieftess doesn’t usually entertain young men overnight," Garrick observed carefully.
"We were discussing... village matters," I replied, hoping I sounded more convincing than I felt.
The silence stretched between us for several long moments before Rosa finally nodded slowly. "Very well. But in future, you’ll send word if you plan to be out all night. We worry."
Garrick cleared his throat. He had no words for me; my mother’s word was final, after all. If she didn’t drag the matter, then it was over.