Page 24 of The Shape of Silence

She moved about her work without commentary, and he watched with the awareness that this place—and she—had long functioned without him and would do so again once he was gone.

The day passed with Avery keeping to her quiet industry. Morggán remained near the house, unwilling to venture far yet and unwilling, too, to admit how often his attention drifted beyond the clearing toward the open country south of the hut.

The dwelling sat just inside the forest’s edge, half hidden among the trees, but its door faced outward toward the rolling grasslands beyond. Forty yards from the threshold the shelter of the woods simply ended, giving way to open ground that rose and fell in long green swells beneath an open sky. From there a man could see a fair distance in clear weather—far enough to spot riders crossing the hills long before they reached the forest.

More than once that day he found himself standing near the edge of the trees watching those distant slopes.

Unless they believed him dead, his men should have found some sign of him by now.

Twice he moved beyond the forest altogether, out into that tall grass, listening for the faint clatter of harnesses or the distant murmur of armed men traveling beyond his sight. Every shifting gust of wind drew his attention. Once he turned sharply at the sound of movement beyond the rise only to find deer breaking through the tall grass instead.

There was no horse tethered nearby to carry them swiftly from danger if armed men appeared, no hidden company waiting in the trees, no defensible position beyond the forest itself. Avery’s plan, such as it was, seemed to consist entirely of vanishing deeper into the trees should trouble come.

Ordinarily he would have dismissed such a strategy outright. Yet after seeing how thoroughly the hut disappeared among the trees once approached from any direction but the south, he understood at least part of her reasoning. The forest concealed the place well. More than fifty paces within the trees from the rear and the house nearly vanished behind brush and trunks altogether. A man unfamiliar with the terrain might pass at the edge of the forest and never know it stood there.

Even so, the thought of retreating blindly into the wilderness without horse or company or proper defense scraped against every instinct he possessed. What bothered him more was the growing realization that if danger came, he wasn’t strong enough to fight against it, and her plan might be all they had.

Thinking upon her vulnerability here, he remarked, not unkindly but with the bluntness of fact, that she had been reckless in taking him in at all. There were men, he said, who would not repay such hospitality with restraint, men who would see a lone woman and consider it opportunity rather than obligation.

She listened without interruption, then answered only that, “You hadn’t the strength to rise, let alone cause me harm.”

He considered her indifferent response as naïve as it was vexing.

Toward evening the air cooled and the work lessened. Supper was simple and eaten without ceremony. The hut, once dim, sank gradually into darkness until the small fire cast the only light, gilding the rough stone and timber and catching in the strands of her hair as she moved. He lay once more upon the fur, though nearer the door than before, and she settled opposite him with the dog curled between her and the fire.

It was well into the night when he heard it.

At first it was nothing more than a change in her breathing, a shallow quickening that did not match the stillness of the room. Then her hand jerked against the wall and a sound escaped her—small and strained, as though forced from her chest. The hound lifted his head but did not bark.

Morggán watched her a moment longer, uncertain what to make of it. Even asleep she remained strangely restrained. There was no thrashing panic, no violent movement. Only tension held tightly through her body, visible even in stillness. Her breathing came shallow and quick beneath his plaid, and once her hand flexed sharply as it dropped over the side of the thin mattress.

A night terror, he surmised, when she began to whimper, and softly frantic words reached him.

Her strange manner of speaking had grown on him somewhat, but this now, quick unfamiliar syllables murmured low and broken beneath her breath, seemed stranger yet.

Morggán frowned slightly and considered waking her, releasing her from the dream. Instead he remained where he was, one hand fisted in the fur across his chest while he watched her from across the gray hut.

Avery made another soft sound and turned her head against the pillow she used. Dark hair spilled half across her face. Her brow remained drawn tightly even in sleep.

Something about the sight gave him pause.

It didn’t seem like weakness, but maybe frustration, he surmised. There was remarkably little weakness in her, waking or sleeping. Rather it was the sudden glimpse of strain beneath the composure she carried so constantly while awake that he witnessed now. During the day she moved through the world with a quiet self-command, and yet now, asleep and unaware, something that troubled her enough to follow her into dreams had finally slipped past that control.

A full thirty seconds or more had passed, with Morggán fighting the urge to go to her, before she seemed to startle herself awake, going suddenly still. Her eyes opened at once—not slowly, not drowsily, but sharply alert.

She remained motionless beneath his breacan, breathing unevenly while her gaze darted across the dim hut, meeting squarely with his gaze. Sleep still clung faintly to her expression, softening it in ways daylight never seemed to manage, though awareness gathered quickly enough behind her eyes once she realized he was awake and watching her.

“Sorry,” she said quietly after a moment. “Did I wake you?”

“Nae, lass.” No lie, since he had been awake already thanks to the lingering ache in his ribs and leg.

Avery pushed a strand of hair back from her face and sat up slightly, drawing his breacan closer around herself. Embarrassment flickered briefly across her features then before it was subdued almost immediately.

“I dream sometimes,” she said, by way of explanation.

“Aye,” he said quietly. “I gathered as much. Dare I ask, of what?”

“It’s always the same,” she said, sighing sleepily. “I’m holding my mother’s hand, and she and I are looking into shop windows, and then... nothing.” After a moment, she repeated, “It’s always the same.”