Total pages in book: 109
Estimated words: 103333 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 517(@200wpm)___ 413(@250wpm)___ 344(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 103333 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 517(@200wpm)___ 413(@250wpm)___ 344(@300wpm)
Elara sat between Dar’s legs, her back resting against his chest, his arms wrapped around her as if she belonged there. Not claimed nor guarded. Simply held.
She fit against him with an ease that still surprised her.
The forest hummed quietly around them—night insects, the faint rustle of leaves, the distant call of something moving through the dark. Safe, for now.
Dar shifted slightly, adjusting the blanket around her shoulders, his chin resting briefly against her hair. He smelled of leather, smoke, and the night air. Solid and steady.
She broke the silence softly. “When we reach Ancrum, I want to enter the village alone.”
His arms tightened around her. “Nay.”
She felt the weight of the word more than she heard it, firm and instinctive.
She turned her head just enough to look back at him. Firelight caught the line of his jaw and the gray of his eyes. “Hear me first.”
He didn’t answer, but his hold loosened a fraction, a sign she recognized now. Permission to speak, not agreement.
“I’ve been there before,” she continued. “The healers know me. They trust me. If I arrive with you—especially with Hunters—it will close mouths instead of opening them.”
“They’ll know I’m close,” he countered.
“Aye,” she said. “And that alone will make them cautious. But if I walk in by myself, speak to them as an herb-scribe, not a wife escorted by a Hunter… they’ll talk.”
Dar stared into the fire, his jaw set tight. “You won’t go unguarded.”
“I won’t be unprotected,” she corrected gently. “There is a difference.”
He looked down at her then, searching her face as if weighing more than her words. He brushed his thumb along her forearm absently, a small, intimate gesture he didn’t seem aware of making.
“You ask me to let you walk into danger alone.”
“I ask you to trust my judgment,” she said quietly. “As I trust yours.”
That turned him silent.
The fire popped softly.
“You know I won’t willingly put you in harm’s path,” he said at last.
“And you know I won’t step into it blindly,” she countered.
He drew her closer again, his breath warm near her temple. For a long moment he said nothing, and she let the silence work, let him come to it on his own.
Finally, he sighed, low and resigned. “We will arrive soon after midday. I’ll have men watching the village from a distance. If anything feels amiss—anything—you leave at once.”
A smile curved her lips, small but genuine. “Aye, husband.”
His hand slid from her arm to her waist, fingers settling there with unmistakable familiarity. He leaned down, pressing a kiss to her hair, then her temple—unhurried, certain.
She turned in his arms, just enough to face him, and rose to her knees. Their foreheads touched, breath mingling.
“Thank you,” she murmured.
“For what?” he asked.
“For trusting me.”
His gaze softened, something unguarded flickering there before he could hide it. He kissed her then, not demanding, not hurried. Just a slow, sure joining that spoke of warmth, of promise, of them.
He drew back reluctantly, wanting badly to be alone with her, and strip her naked—he took a breath. “Rest now. Tomorrow will ask much of you.”
She nodded and settled back against him, his arms closing around her once more as if they had always known where to belong.
Beyond the firelight, the Hunters kept watch.
But within its glow, for this one quiet moment, there was only warmth, trust… and the fragile peace they would soon leave behind.
Chapter Twenty-Five
The Village of Ancrum
A Regional Chieftain
* * *
Elara entered Ancrum on foot, just as she intended.
She knew this village.
The packed earth path curved gently into familiar ground, and the sounds of life met her like remembered music—hammer against wood, a woman’s laughter, the low murmur of conversation carried on the air. Chickens scattered at her approach, and somewhere a child squealed in delight.
Ancrum was thriving.
That had always been true, but today the sight eased something tight in her chest.
The cottages were well kept, stone walls fitted tight and clean, roofs mended, smoke rising from chimneys in steady plumes. Gardens bordered nearly every home—late-season greens, bundles of drying herbs tied beneath eaves, baskets set out to air. This was a village that worked with the land, not against it.
She felt eyes on her, curious, then recognizing.
A woman paused in her sweeping. A man straightened from stacking wood. A pair of children whispered before one pointed openly.
“Elara?” someone called, uncertain at first.
She turned, a small smile lifting her lips. “Aye.”
Relief followed recognition, easy and unguarded and a call of welcome reached her.
She moved deeper into the village, no longer a stranger but a familiar presence returning after too long an absence. She had come here before—shared work, traded knowledge, walked these paths with healers whose hands bore the same stains as her own.
Near a wide table set outside the low stone cottage, she remembered well, three women worked together, sorting bundles of plants—comfrey, tansy, yarrow.