“Tomorrow, two of you will track down the trail of the stranger. Follow it. I want to know where his curiosity truly led him.”
The two Hunters nodded at once.
“The rest of you,” Dar continued, “will ride with me at first light to Chieftain Pratus’s castle.”
Ayes of excitement for the hunt and eager nods followed.
The door opened slowly and Leith peeked his head around it. “No more villagers left to speak tonight, sir. Would you like me to show you to your cottage?”
“My men?” Dar asked.
“They will bed down here. Bedding will be brought to them.”
Dar nodded and took hold of Elara’s hand after a few last words to his men.
They left, the night closing in around them as the door shut behind them. The village lay quiet now, too quiet, as if Ancrum itself listened and weighed what had been spoken within those walls.
Dar walked at her side, eager to reach the cottage, eager to be alone with his wife, and eager to satisfy the ever-growing need he had for her. It tugged at him when he took her hand, when she stood close, when her breath whispered across his cheek, or his arms circled her waist. It was there all the time, haunting him, and he did not quite understand it.
It almost felt like the anticipation, the excitement of a hunt, but he had caught her… or had he?
Leith stopped in front of a cottage set apart from the others, a low stone dwelling with a single window aglow, lantern light spilling across the ground.
“Rest easy, sir,” Leith said and left them.
Dar opened the door and ushered Elara in, shutting the night away behind them.
Warmth greeted them at once. A fire burned low in the hearth, the scent of woodsmoke familiar. Dar removed his cloak and set it aside, then turned to her.
Elara lingered near the door after shedding her cloak, her thoughts still tangled in the evening’s revelations.
“Perhaps…” she said slowly, testing the thought aloud, “perhaps the stranger who seeks Driochmor is the one the ethereal healer warned me of. The one who would change the tides of war.”
Dar exhaled, a sound caught somewhere between weariness and frustration. “It could be. Too many paths are crossing for it to be chance.” He stepped closer, lifting a hand to her waist, his touch warm and certain. “But I am tired of ghosts and whispers tonight of what may be and what might come.”
Before she could speak again, he drew her to him and kissed her.
It was not a fierce kiss, nor a demanding one. It was slow, deliberate, as if he sought comfort rather than conquest. His arm curved securely around her, anchoring her against him. The world narrowed to the warmth of his body, the steady beat of his heart beneath her palm, the familiarity she had come to crave.
She kissed him back, letting herself sink into it, into the simple truth of him. For a moment, the forest fell silent inside her. The road, the stranger, the talk of war—all of it faded.
But Amelia did not.
A flicker of blue light stirred behind her eyes. A whisper she could not unhear.
Elara’s breath caught. She eased her hands against his chest, not pushing him away, but asking for space.
He felt it at once and drew back, concern shadowing his expression. “What’s wrong?”
She could not meet his gaze at first. When she did, her eyes held an apology he did not yet understand.
“There is something I must confess,” she said softly.
He tensed. “You worry me when you speak so.”
She took a breath, fortifying herself. “I cannot keep this from you any longer.”
He waited, silent and attentive.