“Hell looks like medieval France?” she asked him.
“Not France. Even I will not go there. This is Shrewsbury.”
She held his hand tighter. “Shrewsbury.”
“England. Do you remember?” He looked down at her and his yellow eyes were hopeful.
She frowned at the thatched cottages and the stone walls that separated the fields. There were no people around. The sun was low on the horizon. It appeared to be early summer as the trees in the distant forest were all freshly green. She did not remember. She felt his intense disappointment as a sharp pain in her heart. She looked up at the yellow eyes. “How can I remember? I have never been to England.”
His cheek twitched. He took a huge breath and led her toward the nearest cottage. He lifted her up with his strong arms and sat her on top of a barrel so she could see inside the window.
It was dim inside. There was the low glow from the fireplace and two oil lamps that hung suspended from the rafters on thin chains. A thick candle illuminated a heavy wood table near the window, but it was the low rope bed that caught her attention.
