They rode in silence after that, the steady rhythm of hooves merging with the hiss of rain. Scarlett felt the tremor in his arm where it wrapped around her, the faint, unsteady flutter of his pulse against her back.”
“Robert,” she said quietly after a while, “why daenae ye rest? Let me ride.”
He cut her off gently. “No. Not until ye’re home.” Her throat tightened. “Ye stubborn man.”
His voice came low, near her ear. “Aye… but ye’re here. That’s all that matters.”
Scarlett turned slightly, wanting to see his face, but he pressed his forehead to her shoulder, hiding whatever emotion flickered there.
“Robert…” she began softly.
“Daenae speak,” he murmured. “Just let me have this. The sound of yer heartbeat… the warmth of ye still breathing. I need to know it’s real.”
Her eyes stung again. “It’s real,” she whispered. “I’m here, and I’m not leaving ye.”
His arm tightened once more, the tremor in his hand betraying the pain he wouldn’t admit.
Behind them, the hut burned bright against the rain—a fleeting sun swallowed slowly by the storm. Ahead, Gundor Castle loomed on the horizon, black against the lightning, waiting to reclaim them both.
Scarlett glanced back at him. His chin was against her hair, his breathing slower than it should have been, his weight heavier on her back than when they'd started.
"Robert." She kept her voice steady. "Stay with me."
His arm tightened once, faint but deliberate.
She faced forward. Kept the horse moving. Watched the castle grow closer in the gray dawn and did not let herself think about anything except getting him through those gates.
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
Rain still battered the stone walls of Gundor Castle when they rode through the gates, thunder rolling low across the hills. The courtyard teemed with motion, men shouting orders, horses stamping restlessly, and torches flaring against the downpour, but for Scarlett, the noise faded to nothing.
All she could see was the blood darkening Robert’s tunic.
He swung down from the saddle, landing hard, his boots splashing in the mud. For a moment, he stood steady, the image of control, then his shoulders sagged, the strength drained from him.
“Robert,” she said sharply, catching his arm before he could stumble. “Ye must rest.”
“I’m fine,” he muttered though his voice was hoarse, his face pale beneath the torchlight.
“Ye’re nae fine. Look at ye!” “I’ve looked worse.”
Scarlett glared up at him, temper flaring despite the worry gnawing at her chest. “Ye look half-dead, and if ye think I’ll stand by and watch ye collapse, ye daenae ken me at all.”
He gave a faint smile. “Aye. That much is true.”
When he swayed again, she ducked beneath his arm, ignoring his weak protest, and wrapped an arm around his waist. “Come,” she ordered. “We’re going inside.”
Servants parted as they passed, whispering as the Lady of Gundor dragged her bloodied husband through the corridors. Scarlett didn’t care. Her world had narrowed to the heat of him beside her and the tremor she felt in his body.
In his chambers, she shoved the door open with her hip. “Sit,” she commanded.
“Ye’re bossy when ye’re worried,” he murmured, lowering himself onto the bed with a wince.
“Good. Then ye ken I mean it.”
He tried to smile, but it faltered. His hand found hers briefly before falling away. “Scarlett…” His voice was quiet, almost broken. “For a moment out there… I thought ye’d gone. Thought I’d lost ye forever.”
Her throat tightened. She turned quickly, focusing on the basin, the cloth, the water going red.
