Page 50 of The Shape of Silence

“I canna... abandon ye, nae with so much activity in the district. Alone ye might have been for years, lass, but ʼtis nae longer safe. This forest might have been untouched, indifferent for many moons, but that is nae more—ye are nae safe here.”

“But... I can’t just... leave.”

“And why nae?”

“Because this is my house,” she stated with quiet emphasis.

“And when the English overrun it?”

“I’ll go to the hollow, same as we did the other—”

“A hole in the ground is nae a fortress, lass. Nae against men who ken how to hunt.”

“But I’ve been fine here all this time,” she argued flatly.

He had moved farther inside now, and took two more steps around the fire until he stood in front of her.

Avery tipped her head back to maintain his gaze.

“This is my home,” she repeated more quietly.

“But circumstances have changed.”

The frustrating thing was that part of her knew he spoke truth. The world beyond the forest no longer felt distant and theoretical now that she had seen armies moving through it. Yet the thought of abandoning the house struck something close to panic inside her all the same. This was not merely shelter, not just some shack, this was the only fixed thing she possessed, the only thing that was hers.

“I can’t just leave,” she said again, more firmly now.

Morggán exhaled slowly through his nose.

***

“Avery, be sensible.”

His instruction made her shake her head harder, her jaw tightening in what he recognized as a familiar streak of defiance.

Exasperation rose in him then, sharp and unwelcome, though he could not have said precisely at whom it was directed—at her stubbornness, perhaps, though he had come to recognize that stubbornness as simply another of the qualities that defined her. More truthfully, the irritation turned inward. A week ago, she had been a stranger who’d stumbled upon him in the forest, a solitary woman living in circumstances that might not have brought disquiet to even a reasonable man. A week ago, his concern for her safety had been no greater than what any decent man might feel upon discovering such a situation.

And yet now he found himself standing in the small house she kept together with her own hands, arguing with her as though her decision held enough weight to trouble him personally. It was a foolish thing. He had men to command, duties that extended far beyond the boundaries of this quiet patch of forest. The business of war did not permit a man to concern himself overly with the choices of a solitary woman who, by all rights, should have been nothing more than a brief and curious encounter upon his road.

It irked him, this awareness that he had become invested despite himself. More irksome still was the uncomfortable suspicion that the concern he claimed as duty had begun to take on another shape entirely.

And if that were not vexing enough, she seemed altogether untouched by whatever spell had apparently taken hold of him. As always, she regarded him with a steady composure that suggested she had not spent the last several days becoming strangely aware of him in the same way he had become aware of her—that realization pricked his pride more than only a wee bit. Truth was, he couldn’t recall the last time—if ever—he was so... beguiled. To his consternation, he had more than only a little suspicion that he might be the only one in the room so afflicted.

With a low breath that was nearly a sigh, he stepped forward and went to his haunches in front of her. Before she could adjust to his closeness, he lifted his hands and laid them over hers as they sat on her thighs.

She stiffened immediately beneath his touch. Morggán felt the tension in her fingers, the quick tightening of muscle beneath his palm, but he ignored it, keeping his hands where they were.

“Are ye nae weary, Avery?” he asked quietly.

At that, she finally looked up at him.

For the first time since he had begun speaking, her composure wavered. Her lips parted slightly, the faintest breath escaping her as if the question had struck very near to some nerve. The small expression of surprise on her face—so fleeting he might have imagined it—gave him a quiet satisfaction he could not quite explain.

“Are ye nae weary,” he continued more softly now, “of being alone, having nae one to depend on, nae one to support or cheer ye? Nae one to abide with?”

The wonder left her eyes almost as quickly as it had appeared. She closed her mouth, the delicate line of it firming as she looked down again.

“I’m not leaving here,” she said after a moment, her voice steadier than her expression was. “I have nowhere to go.”