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“Aye, I always do,” he said.

“This is your cottage?” she asked surprised and sat on the bench under the window, the lovely day meant to be enjoyed outdoors.

Slayer joined her. “Aye, my grandfather built it for him and his bride. I spent a lot of time here with him. He preferred it to the castle. It is where I spend my time now when I can. I enjoy the solitude.”

“You are blessed to have such a peaceful place. I look forward to my time here.”

He reached out to take hold of her chin and instinct had her snapping her head back, fright widening her eyes.

“You need to trust me, Sky, when I tell you I mean you no harm,” he said and gently took hold of her chin to turn her head slowly from side to side. “It is going to take a while for the bruising to fade.”

“Then it is good I will be here alone where no one will see me.”

He released her chin and stood. “I go to the stream to catch fish for our meal.”

“I will go with you and fill a bucket with water for later use,” she said and rushed into the cottage to retrieve a bucket, relieved he had not corrected her about being alone here.

It did not take long to reach the stream and while Slayer whittled the end of a branch into a point to spear the fish, he glanced at Sky. She had settled herself quietly upstream from him, taking in her surroundings. Her endless smile and happiness heightened her beauty and set things stirring in him, something he hadn’t expected. Gone was the fear in her eyes, when not on him, replaced by a joy he envied. Even with her bruised eyes, she was attractive or perhaps it was her pleasant smile that appealed to him. Whatever it was he found himself favoring her and never had he ever favored a woman. Women served a purpose, no more than that, and yet he found he favored his time with her. But then time here would serve a purpose as would she.

He had just about finished the spear when he saw that she looked as if she was speaking with someone, yet she was alone. He stood transfixed, watching her smile and chuckle as if in conversation. Then suddenly a squirrel jumped into her lap. The bushy-tailed animal looked up at her and Slayer was stunned to hear a squeaky chatter spill from his mouth as if he was talking with her. He was even more shocked when she patted him on the head, and he curled himself in her lap ready to nap. Never had he seen a squirrel trust a human enough to befriend him.

He walked to the edge of the stream and stopped to glance at Sky once again. She sat with her head tilted back, her face to the sun that had maintained its dominance of the sky longer than usual, while the squirrel continued to nap in her lap. He thought he might have imagined what he saw, though that was doubtful since he was observant, but his second glance confirmed it.

If there was one thing he had learned about animals through the years, it was that they had a good instinct for who they could trust. He had seen horses who refused to let some men ride them, dogs who kept their distance from men and women alike, and cats, who bloody hell, let no one command them. If the squirrel trusted Sky upon meeting her enough to sleep content in her lap, then Sky had to possess the kindest of souls. Such a kind soul was rare and could be more harmful for a person than helpful, for they would trust far too easily. Yet she voiced her concern about trusting him. Perhaps it was only animals she found worthy enough to trust.

He shook his heavy thoughts away and got busy fishing. It was not long before he caught two nice-sized trout.

With them speared on the branch, he called out to Sky. “We return to the cottage.”

The squirrel popped his head up and cast him a look, then stretched himself out of his curled position and chatted at Sky before hopping off her and scurrying away.

Sky stood, grabbed her filled bucket, and joined Slayer. He took the bucket from her when she reached him.

They walked in comfortable silence until Slayer asked, “How is it that the squirrel appeared to talk with you?”

She did not think he would understand, most people didn’t. She sometimes did not understand it herself. The only thing left to her was to be truthful with him. “I listened and learned. Squirrels use different sounds to communicate. They chatter when they talk among themselves. When excited you will hear a shrilling chirp and when they are happy, they whistle. If you hear them bark, they feel threatened.”

He scrunched his brow and got annoyed that he did. “That makes no sense. Animals do not speak.”

She almost grinned at the confusion on his face and the annoyance in his voice. They battled each other. But she had learned through the years that what people did not understand often confused and annoyed them.

She kept a soft smile as she said, “Everything speaks if you listen.”

“You talk nonsense.”

“Do I?” she asked with an inquisitive tilt of her head. “The sun rises, telling us it is morning. Sets, letting us know it is night. The clouds warn of rain, the air of snow. When squirrels grow fat they warn us of a harsh winter?—”

“That is common knowledge,” he argued.

“Only to those who listen and learn from what they see. I see animals as friends. You see some of them as food and others to command and serve you.”

“And rightfully so.”

“I think differently, and the animals understand that and do not fear me for they know I will not harm them.”

Their conversation intrigued him, though others would think differently and condemn her for voicing such nonsense and even think her ability came from evil.

“Were you born with this strange skill and knowledge?” he asked, curious.