Chapter 232 TEIGEN LVI
Her breath trembled. Her fingers twisted in the fiery mass of her hair. “Perhaps it’s the cabin,” she whispered. “Or perhaps… it’s you.”
The words hung between them, fragile and full of meaning. Neither moved for a long moment. Then Ryker rose, banked the fire low, and came to lie beside her.
Elara lay stiff at first, her long auburn hair fanned across the pillow, brushing against his shoulder in the narrow bed. Slowly she relaxed, her breathing falling into rhythm with his. She glanced at him lying there, eyes closed, the firelight softening the hard lines of his face.
Gently, she moved closer. Ryker’s eyes opened. She nestled into his side, and he wrapped his arm around her shoulders, pulling her against him.
As Elara drifted toward sleep, she carried that look with her, his warmth, his desire, his quiet reverence and dreamed of what it might mean if he were truly hers, not just for stolen moments, but for every dawn to come.
~
The afternoon sun lay warm across the valley. Golden light slanted over the cottages, and thin trails of smoke rose from the hearths. Ryker swung his axe down hard, splitting a thick block of wood clean in two. He gathered the pieces in his arms, the sharp scent of pine and sap clinging to his shirt, and carried them up the gentle slope toward Rae’s house.
The steady work of chopping, stacking, carrying had started to calm him. It was a simple life, but it tasted sweeter than any dream he’d had while serving the Duke.
Rae sat in his usual spot that afternoon, perched on a low stool outside his small house. A skein of yarn looped around his bent fingers as he twisted and wove it slowly. When he saw Ryker coming over the hill with the firewood, he set the yarn aside and smiled.
“You’ll spoil me rotten,” Rae said, his voice rough with age. “Another day or two of this and I’ll forget how to fetch my own wood.”
Ryker chuckled and dropped the logs beside the pile near the wall. “If I let you fetch it yourself, you’ll end up with your back bent worse than it already is. Think of it as payment for the roof you gave us.”
Rae’s eyes twinkled as he leaned forward on his cane. “Roof, you call it. That cabin’s half-rotted, if you ask me. Yet I’ve not heard a word of complaint from either of you. The girl—Elara—she settling in alright?”
The sound of her name softened Ryker’s face. “She’s trying,” he said. “Learning to haggle at the market, cooking with me when she’s not cursing the flour, mending what she tears. She surprises me every day.”
Rae gave a low chuckle, but his eyes stayed sharp. “She’s a highborn lady dropped into the mud. Best you remember she’s still fragile.”
Ryker sat down on the stump across from him and wiped the sweat from his brow. “Fragile, aye. But stubborn too. She wants to learn, Rae. Wants to live.” His voice dropped. “With me.”
Rae studied him for a moment. Pride and worry sat side by side in the old man’s face. Before he could speak, a sound cut through the quiet afternoon.
A low blast rolled over the hills then another, higher and sharper. Trumpets.
Ryker’s head snapped toward the road that wound into the valley. Villagers working in their gardens or by their stalls looked up like startled birds. Dogs started barking. Chickens scattered. Rae’s face went pale.
“No…” he whispered. “Not here.”
Ryker stood up fast, his chest tight. Then he saw them. Banners rose over the ridge, snapping in the wind. The black and gold of the Empire’s sigil shone bright against the sky, carried by armored men on horseback. Behind them marched rows of foot soldiers, their armor clanking in heavy rhythm.
The villagers began to gather along the roadside, murmuring in fear. Mothers pulled their children close. Men set their jaws but stayed still. No one stepped forward to block the troops.
At the front rode a man Ryker knew too well. His stomach twisted at the sight. Lord Sawyer. His armor gleamed even through the dust, and a cold smile sat on his sharp face. He sat tall in the saddle, looking over the villagers like they were cattle to be counted.
Beside him rode a sergeant, shouting orders as the soldiers spread out in neat lines. Dust rose in thick clouds as the column stopped right in the middle of the village. The trumpets fell silent.
All that remained was the uneasy shuffle of boots and the quiet dread of the crowd.
Rae gripped his cane until his knuckles turned white. “They’ve come for her.”
Ryker’s throat tightened. He thought of Elara alone at the cabin, maybe hanging laundry or humming by the window, with no idea what was coming. He turned to Rae. “I have to get to her.”
“Go,” Rae said quickly. “Go now. I’ll keep them busy. Buy you what time I can.”
“But—” Ryker started, not wanting to leave the old man with these men.
Rae cut him off, eyes fierce. “Don’t argue, lad. That girl is your charge now. You’d damn us all if she falls back into their hands. Get her and get gone.”
Ryker took a deep breath, then clasped Rae’s shoulder in thanks. He turned and ran down the path, boots pounding the dirt. Every beat of his heart seemed to shout Elara’s name.
Behind him, Sawyer’s voice rang out sharp and cold over the crowd. “People of this village!” he called. “I come with the authority of the Grand Duke. We seek a fugitive—his daughter, Lady Elara. She was stolen from her home.” He raised a gloved hand. “She is young, fair-faced, with auburn hair down to her waist and eyes blue as the sky. She travels with a rogue who calls himself her protector. A traitor to the Empire.”
The villagers stirred uneasily. Whispers spread. Some glanced toward Rae’s house, others toward the paths leading up the mountain. A few stared at the ground, as if silence could save them.