Page 47 of The Guardian

He looked every inch the warrior, sword belted at his hip, a faint shadow of exhaustion clinging to the lines around his eyes. But what struck her most was the way his gaze swept over her, slowly, almost reverently.

Her newly acquired blouse hugged her just right, and the vest Nala had insisted she wear cinched at her waist in a way that made her feel pretty. She’d barely thought of it when dressing, but now under Hendry’s gaze, she was acutely aware of every thread.

“Ye look…” he began, then cleared his throat, glancing aside for a heartbeat. When he looked back, there was a boyish uncertainty in his eyes that softened her entirely. “Ye look well,” he said at last.

Heat flared in her cheeks. “As do ye,” she murmured, then instantly regretted it. Saints above, had she just said that?

The corner of his mouth tugged upward, just enough to show he’d noticed her discomfort. “Didn’t think we would be this tongue-tied,” he admitted, scratching the back of his neck.

“Aye,” she said, managing a shy smile. “We went from years of silence to…being, well, acquainted again.”

That earned her a soft, surprised chuckle.

A long pause hung between them, filled with a thousand unsaid things, desire, doubt, the fragile thread of something rekindled.

“I will see ye later,” Hendry said at last, his voice lower now.

She nodded, eyes lifting to meet his. “Aye, I look forward to it.”

Another beat passed. Neither moved.

Then from behind the door, a man gave a pained groan, and they both blinked, startled back into motion.

Hendry took a slow step back, letting her pass.

As she brushed past him, he leaned in just close enough for her to hear: “Ye are beautiful, Ailith.”

Her breath caught. She didn’t turn, but her fingers clutched the bandages a little tighter, and her lips curved.