Twenty

 

Abraham reined in his horse just before the bridge. With all the traffic headed into the city, including an endless train of carts that looked to be carrying either the king's tithe or enough food to feed an army, he hadn't been moving faster than a walk anyway, but now he had to stop, for the very tower the witch had spoken about loomed above him.

The windows were unshuttered in the warm summer air, and Abraham fancied he could see a shape looking out through one. A feminine silhouette, there for a moment, before it was gone.

A maiden locked in the tower, perhaps? One who would be so grateful to him for rescuing her that she would break the curse as a matter of course?

It would not be easy getting in, for the tower was part of the castle, but that was where his magic shoes would come in. He would sneak in, carry the girl out, persuade her to break the curse, and be home with Maja before the baby was born.

He would hold his son in his arms, free of the curse that had plagued their bloodline for far too long, or he would not be able to look his son in the eye, for he would be a failure of a father.

Abraham urged his horse across the bridge, his eyes fixed on the tower. Therein lay his salvation, and he would not let it slip from his grasp.