Apparently, I'm the Infamous Earl's Legendary Bride

Book 2: My Lord Saves the Citizens - Chapter 38

Norsewood

The air outside was biting cold, and Derek Porter shivered as he gazed across the snow-covered field, the last of the light, what little there was, fading away, the scene turning to a dull gray. Soon, it'd be dark, and it'd be another night they'd had to endure this winter, but at least that meant it'd be another day closer when spring arrives, too, when the warmth would melt the snow and they could start cultivating the land again, bringing food to the table.

The thought of food shifted Derek's attention to his job at hand, the reason why he had come out of the cottage in the first place.

He turned on his heel and headed toward the barn, a dilapidated building of woods and straw, the only place where they kept all their winter stock: wheat and rye grains as well as homemade cheese, dried fish they caught from Carnfell Lake, and the vegetables—potatoes, carrots, and onions. Of course, they stored the animal feed rice here, too, since they had nowhere else to put the abundant lot, and that took over half of the space at the front, hiding the stock at the back, plus the second barn farther back.

It was a miracle that those raiders had left the two barns untouched once they had sighted the rice when they had invaded their small community here at Carnfell over one and a half months ago. Of course, his in-laws and the other neighbors were not so lucky, and all their winter stock as well as livestock had been burned to the ground, leaving only the rice grain untouched, which was stored in a separate barn as was custom here in each household.

For the past month, it had been the Porters who had come to the rescue in this seventy-nine-people community where food was concerned, sharing what little they had with the other families living in this area. As for the rice, Derek thought that it was unfortunate they couldn't make use of it until spring arrived, when they could travel to Norfolk, the neighboring region, to buy new domesticated animals such as cows, pigs, and chickens.

Those bastards, he thought. If only he had been a trained fighter, like the soldiers at Norsewood Manor, then he could have at least defended their community and his young brother Grant wouldn't have been stabbed in the gut and was now lying there with an injury that wouldn't heal and a fever that had yet to abate. It was a marvel that he even lasted this long, for most that had been severely injured during the attack had already passed on.

He prayed that Grant could get through it, though he knew there was little hope as the wound was getting bigger and uglier. He prayed, too, that perhaps there'd be a blessed healer miraculously passing by and by the goodness of their heart, they'd heal Grant. But, of course, this was winter, and this was Norsewood. No one in Norsewood was a blessed healer.

Opening the door, Derek's gaze came to rest on the mountain of rice grain that was piled high, the tip of the peak nearly touching the roof of the two-story barn.

What good was a grain if it had so little use? Perhaps they should stop cultivating it. The fact that it was backbreaking work and required an enormous amount of water, and furthermore, there was no market for it, were all economically unsound. Perhaps it was time they tried planting something else in those fields. Although many had tried, his father and himself included, but no other grain, let alone any sort of plant, except for those notorious weeds, seemed to thrive on those soft, muddy grounds.

Despite his desire to discard rice completely, Derek felt a sense of compunction. The Norsewood people had been cultivating the grain for generations, and the thought of discarding it now just didn't feel right, at least for him and his family.

Dismissing the thought of rice from his mind, Derek turned on his heel and headed toward the back. He picked up a sack of potatoes, lifting it onto his shoulders, and then he headed out again and back to the cottage.