“It is a gift,” she said, more firmly now.
“And magic is not?”
She went to pull her hand from his.
He did not let go. Not forcefully but with a quiet insistence that stopped her just the same.
Her breath caught, her gaze dropping briefly to where his fingers still held hers, warmth stirring there, then spreading, slow and unexpected, along her arm.
“It is not the same,” she said again, though there was less certainty in her voice now.
“Because you are told it is not?” he asked.
Bria lifted her chin. “Because it does not harm.”
“Nor does all magic,” he said.
A stone shifted beneath her foot, and her step faltered.
Before she could steady herself, his grip tightened just enough, his other hand coming to her arm to keep her from stumbling. The contact sent a sudden warmth through her, swift and unsettling, before he released her, though not her hand.
The warmth of his grip lingered now, no longer just a comfort, but something that stirred deeper, traveling through her in a way she could not ignore.
She forced herself back to their conversation, away from the stirring she did not understand.
“You speak as though you are familiar with magic,” she said.
“I speak as one who prefers to decide what I fear and what I don’t, which isn’t much,” he said with a slight smile.
Her heart gave an unexpected quickening at the difference the barest of smiles made in his features. He was even morestriking. She saw the truth in her own thoughts, catching several women glancing his way, smiling at him.
Bria could not help but say, “You do think highly of yourself.”
His brow narrowed. “Nay, I don’t believe so. I’m simply confident.”
A brief sting touched her hand, unexpected though not painful.
He let her hand go then as if he felt it too.
“I grow tired. I need to rest.”
She glanced at him and seeing the sudden exhaustion in his eyes, she hurried the last few steps to the cottage.
Bria pushed open the cottage door and stepped aside to let him enter.
“It is not much,” she said as she followed him in, her voice soft and reassuring. “But it will serve you well. The bed is kept ready, and there is always water and clean cloths if you have need?—”
“I have no need of a tour.”
The sharpness in Kaelan’s voice cut across her words and caused Bria to pause. It was not simply what he said, but how he said it. The edge had not been there before.
She turned slowly to face him.
He had moved further into the cottage, though not far, as if even that small distance had cost him more than he wished to show. His shoulders were drawn tight beneath the shirt she had helped him into, the fabric shifting with each measured breath he took. There was a stillness to him now, but it was not ease.
It was restraint.
“The wound troubles you more than you will admit,” she said, taking a careful step toward him.
