Page 55 of The Guardian

How many nights had she sat here convincing herself she was content? How many mornings had she woken in the cold bedchamber telling herself she didn’t need anyone? She had believed it once. But now she knew better. Her heart was no longer in the small cottage that had served as her refuge for so long.

By the door, she paused. Her hand rested on the worn wood, the latch smooth from years of use. For a moment, she almost faltered. Her throat tightening at the thought of leaving it behind. Yet the vision of Hendry’s face, of the way he’d looked at her when they’d been together, swept away any lingering doubt.

She stepped outside, pulling the door closed behind her until it latched with a final click. She would not be coming back.

The donkey brayed softly as she climbed onto the seat. She gathered the reins, her heart quickening, not from fear but from the fierce determination thrumming in her veins. Teller shifted, alert now, ears pricked toward the road ahead.

“Let’s go. To Hendry. To our new home,” she murmured, and the words felt right, true in her mouth.

The cart jolted forward, wheels creaking, and the cottage began to shrink behind her. Ahead lay a winding track through the trees.

The sun was high as the keep came into view. Ailith pulled the donkey to a stop and climbed down. Teller jumped from the back and raced in circles sniffing the ground in search of new smells.

She stretched while studying the view of the large stone structure. The high walls that surrounded it, and the bridge one had to cross to get passage through its well-guarded gates.

What was Hendry doing at this moment? Sword practice was usually held midday for those not out on patrol duty. He would be standing on the sides, helping with stances and stepping in to show proper defense. In the short time she’d been there, she’d walked out on occasion to watch him work.

Although stern with his men, he was fair when correcting them and often stepped in to ensure they would be well-prepared when having to fight.

A shiver went down her spine, and her stomach tightened just thinking about coming face-to-face with him. There was little doubt in her mind that he remained angry with her.

Standing still and not moving forward was not an option at this point.

“Teller, come!” she called out as she climbed back onto the bench.

By the time Hendry finally called an end to sword practice, the sun had already dipped low enough to cast long shadows. He’d barely registered half of what the men had done that day; his mind had been firmly fixed on leaving the keep and finding Ailith.

As much as he’d wanted to go and seek Ailith, with so many warriors injured, handing off his duties wasn’t an option. The men needed steady guidance, and this wasn’t the time for their leader to go sulking off like some lovestruck boy.

Two young warriors, sweat dripping down their temples, trotted up and planted themselves in front of him. They dropped into a stance, clearly expecting pointers. He obliged, correcting their footing, adjusting the angle of the blade. Every minute spent here meant one less chance they’d end up skewered in the next battle, or lopping off their own foot.

Finally, he trudged up the slight incline toward the barrel by the kitchen doors, the promise of cold water calling to him. Dunking a cup into the clear depths, he drank deeply. The relief was short-lived.

A dark blur shot across the courtyard, heading straight for him.

“Teller?” Hendry barely had time to lower the cup before the dog skidded to a halt, tail wagging so hard his whole backside wobbled. The animal let out an excited whine, dancing on his paws.

“What the devil… What are ye doing here? Where’s Ailith? Did ye run away?”

The dog pawed his leg and stretched, as if the question was beneath him. Then, catching sight of the other dogs streaking across the yard, Teller took off like an arrow, barking his arrival much to the delight of the other dogs, who all joined in the chorus.

Hendry watched the pack disappear behind the keep, shaking his head. Lucky he had seen Teller, he’d make sure to collect the scoundrel before he set off for Ailith’s. She was probably worried and searching for her dog.

He started rehearsing what he’d say to her upon arriving as he crossed the yard. He’d begin by meeting her gaze, steady and sure, and admit he’d been wrong to assume she’d simply stay at the keep without him asking her to marry.

“I wish for ye to be my wife,” he began.

He grimaced. “Nae, too formal.”

“Ailith, will ye be my wife?”

Still wrong.

“Ailith, will ye marry me?”

Better. But he’d need something before that.

“I dinnae wish for a life without ye. If ye accept being my wife, marrying me, I will be…”