They dashed off the road to what little protection the forest could offer. Within minutes, lightning also made an appearance. Lyssa pulled her plaid up over her head.
Coming out into a clearing, Mr. Campion had started to turn them back toward the woods again, when lightning lit the scene and he gave a shout. “Over there. A run-in shelter. Come on.”
They made it to the shelter just before the skies opened and the rain fell like sheets. For a moment, they sat in the dark, thankful for dry ground and catching their breaths. From what Lyssa could tell, their safe haven was only a few feet deep and perhaps six feet wide.
Mr. Campion moved first. He took off his jacket. “Here, get out of your wet shawl or else you’ll chill.”
She dropped her plaid, setting it to the side, and crossed her arms. “Where do you think we are?”
“In a shepherd’s shelter,” he answered, leaning against the back wall, one leg stretched out, the other knee bent.
Lyssa’s shoes were soaked—again. She took them off and placed them next to the shawl. Her toes were cold, so she drew her legs up and tucked them under the hem of her skirt.
“Do you think it will rain long?” she dared to ask.
“I don’t know.” After a beat, he said, “Lie down and try to get some sleep. We have a long day on the morrow.”
“What about you?”
“I’ll keep watch.”
“You must sleep, too.”
With dogged stubbornness he said, “I earn my money keeping watch.”
Lyssa sensed she’d best not press the issue. She stretched out on her side, resting her head on her arms, careful not to touch him.
However, sleep didn’t come. She didn’t like the tension between them. She wanted to make amends.
Mr. Campion rubbed his face and yawned. She could hear the scratch of his whiskers. He settled himself more comfortably against the back wall.
At last she dared to say, “I’ve always enjoyed the sound of rain. If I listen closely, I believe I can hear someone whispering as when it falls through the branches.”
Lyssa didn’t expect him to answer her, so she was doubly surprised when he said, “The whispers you hear are the fairies complaining they’ve had their sleep disturbed.”
She laughed, delighted with the image. She relaxed, cradling her head in her arms, but her mind was even more awake now. The air smelled of rain and wet earth. She waited, debating with herself whether or not she should say anything…and in the end, as always, curiosity won out. “You said you have the keeping of your sisters and their children. Where are their husbands?”
“Dead.”
He was not one to mince words, but the way he said this one sent a chill through her.
Lyssa sat up, brushing her hair back from her face. “I’m sorry.”
He didn’t answer but she could see the silhouette of his profile as he stared straight out into the steady rain. His arm rested on his bent knee and she noticed he rubbed his thumb against his index finger, a sign he wasn’t completely as stoic as he seemed.
Before she questioned the wisdom of it, she reached out and touched his shoulder. Nothing more, nothing less. A quick, simple touch.
Slowly, he turned to face her, his features masked by the night. “I told them to stay where I’d left them, but they came after me. They worried about me and couldn’t stay behind.”
Exactly what she had done.
“Where were you?”
“Portugal. I knew the fighting would be brutal. I wanted them both to remain back. They didn’t need to be in the first assault.”
“Butyouwere there,” she said, instinctively understanding. “How could you expect them to stay behind?”
“I knew what I was doing,” came his answer. “They didn’t.
