The building groaned, a wail of wind through broken windows, and the meager light from the candle cast long, wavering shadows on the walls as if fighting not to go out.
Grace bit her lip, obviously weighing her stubborn pride against the lifeline he was offering her. But she obviously loved Emmaline more than her own life. He knew what choice she’d make. He just needed to give her a few minutes to make it herself.
“All right,” she said, the words more a question than a declaration, edged with tentative hope. “She needs more help than I can give her, Silas. I don’t know what to do.”
Overwhelming relief burst through Silas. He nodded, too choked for words, and shifted closer to Emmaline. He wouldn’t let them down. He’d do everything in his power to ensure that next Christmas, Emmaline could chase Benedict’s children around the great hall of Snowdon Grange, as happy and healthy as they were.
“Come, little one,” he whispered. “Let me take you and your mama somewhere safe and warm. A doctor will look in on you and see what can be done.”
“That would truly be a Christmas miracle,” Grace murmured, putting her hand to her mouth to hold back a choked sob.
“I’ll carry her, Grace,” he said, tucking a thin blanket around the child with a tenderness he hadn’t known he possessed.
Grace’s eyes widened, wavering between trust and doubt. “We must hurry. Her fever...” The words caught in her throat as she moved to help, gathering a few of their meager belongings and struggling into a threadbare cloak
He lifted Emmaline, every movement careful, cradling her so that her head rested against his shoulder. The blanket he wrapped around her seemed as inadequate against the chill as the small fire was against the room’s vast cold. He should have thought to bring some blankets from the carriage up with him.
The girl’s breath came in soft, irregular gasps, interspersed with wet-sounding coughs. Her small hands clutched at Silas’s coat as if seeking an anchor. The gesture tightened something in his chest, his hope so potent it stole his breath.
Grace hovered beside him, a wild urgency in her stance. “Let’s go. Please.”
With swift but careful strides, Silas moved toward the door. Emmaline was cradled close, his grip fierce yet tender. Her delicate frame felt impossibly light. “I’ve got you now,” he murmured. “All will be well. I promise you, little one.”
The air outside was a sharp, biting shock. The cold wrapped around them, urging haste.
“The carriage,” Silas said. “It’s not far. Just across the street.”
“Thank God,” Grace murmured, hurrying to keep up with his longer strides.
The snow crunched beneath Silas’s feet, a staccato rhythm as he rushed to warmth. His breath clouded in front of him, ragged yet determined. He had not moved so quickly since... when? Since the days when life was filled with something other than regret. Now, he was filled with purpose, and it felt... good. Surprisingly good.
He adjusted Emmaline in his arms, nodding at one of the outriders, who had already lowered the steps. Once inside, he lowered his precious burden onto the forward-facing seat,tucking piles of blankets and the warming stones around her frail form.
The door creaked as Grace joined them, pulling it shut against the cold and everything they were leaving behind.
“Home,” Silas called to the driver, his voice urgent. The wheels started with a crunch, and Grace exhaled, long and deep. Relief was etched into every line of her face. However much she might distrust him, she’d been at the end of her rope.
Silas glanced at her, a silent question in his eyes. He knew how she must despise the thought of allowing him to do anything for them, but the fact that she was, that they were both here with him now, showed just how terrified she must be.
She pressed a hand to Emmaline’s fevered cheek. “Tell your driver to make haste,” she said. “We can talk about all of this, how you came to be here, what your father did... later. For now, we just need to save our daughter.”
