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