My fingers brushed accidentally against his while reaching for one of the weighted markers.
Neither of us pulled away. The contact lasted perhaps three seconds or possibly an entire century.
Then Geoffrey turned his hand slightly beneath mine.
“Harper,” he said quietly.
A knock sounded abruptly at the study door. We both jumped apart like deeply guilty academics caught committing unauthorized feelings.
Father William leaned inside holding a candle.
“The Baron says if either of you intends to reorganize England tonight, you should first eat something.”
Geoffrey closed his eyes briefly.
I laughed before I could stop myself.
* * *
He left again before dawn. I heard the horses in the lower yard while the castle still slept beneath rain and darkness. Hooves against wet stone. Quiet voices. Leather creaking softly in the cold.
I stood at the narrow window of my chamber wrapped in a blanket and watched torchlight move below through the mist.
The rhythm of it was becoming familiar now. Geoffrey arriving at Thames exhausted and rain-soaked from negotiations, strategy meetings, secret alliances, and arguments conducted in drafty halls across England. Then leaving again before the household had properly adjusted to his presence.
The war had begun teaching all of us the same lesson. Love people quickly. Nothing stayed long.
One rider crossed the courtyard below and looked up toward the tower windows as though he already knew where to find me.
Even at this distance I recognized him immediately as he lifted one gloved hand briefly.
Not a dramatic farewell or a declaration, but an acknowledgment.
I am here.
I must leave.
I will come back if I can.
Something tightened painfully beneath my ribs. I raised my own hand against the cold glass.
Then he turned his horse toward the gatehouse, disappearing into the grey before sunrise swallowed the last torchlight whole.
By September the household had settled into a strange new rhythm.
War. Rain. Couriers. Geoffrey returning unexpectedly at odd hours with mud on his boots and politics clinging to him like smoke. The Baron pretending not to notice how quickly I looked up whenever riders entered the yard.
And letters.
Always letters.
* * *
Geoffrey’s third letter arrived on the first day of September.
I knew before breaking the seal the news would be bad. When I did, I saw that the handwriting was tighter than usual. Controlled.
I sat beside the window looking out at the bailey below and unfolded the parchment.