Page 89 of The Shape of Silence

It hadn't worked, of course.

The hurt remained as sharp as it had been the morning she'd trusted him with the one truth she'd never dared speak aloud. She had thought making love had changed something between them, had believed with all the certainty of her foolish heart that whatever impossible burden she carried, he would help her bear it. Instead, he had looked upon her with bewilderment and anger, and afterward with a careful distance that had hollowed out something she hadn’t realized she needed to protect.

And yet every time he rode beyond the trees, she caught herself listening for hoofbeats long after the sound had gone. It made no sense. She disliked that feeling almost as much as she disliked herself for still caring what became of him.

Outside, the wind moved softly through the trees. Charlie lifted his head once near the bed, ears twitching toward the forest before settling again.

Avery must have drifted eventually despite herself, because the next thing she knew, shouts erupted beyond the door.

She sat upright immediately.

Charlie was already on his feet, growling low toward the entrance while more noise exploded around the house. Horses thundered through the clearing. Men shouted over one another.

Avery threw aside the blankets and scrambled from the bed as the commotion came closer.

“Move!”

“Wake the rest!”

“Hurry!”

Her stomach lurched.

She dragged on her boots without bothering with the laces before snatching up the first cloak within reach, which happened to be Morggán's plaid. Her hand closed on the familiar wool, and she flung it around her shoulders as she lifted the bar from the door.

The clearing beyond had descended into chaos.

Riders poured through the trees hard and fast, horses lathered dark with sweat beneath the pale wash of moonlight overhead. Men dismounted before their mounts had fully stopped moving while others shouted toward the smaller campfires farther west. One horse stumbled badly and nearly went to its knees before recovering again.

Lucas Thain rode directly through the center of the clearing barking orders as he went.

“Every tent down!”

“Leave what slows ye!” His captain, Airril, called out as they continued on, likely heading toward their own tents.

She heard Tormod’s voice next, but she couldn’t see him. “South trail first—move! Alasdair! Get yer lads movin’!”

She scanned the crowd for Morggán and couldn’t find him. Her stomach dropped, and before she could stop it, her mind had already filled in every reason why he wasn’t there—none of them good.

“No,” she whispered, moving away from her house and into the stream of incoming mounted men. She was swallowed by the chaos. A rider’s leg shoved her sideways, and a horse’s powerful haunch spun her around. Panic seized her—she would be trampled right here in front of her own home.

“Morggán!” she called, but the sound was swallowed by the noise of the frantic return. She pushed on, going against the tide, using her arms and hands to wedge herself between so much horseflesh. “Morggán!” she shouted again, louder this time.

He was fine, she told herself. She had no reason to think otherwise—and she was going to keep telling herself that until something said otherwise.

Avery coughed as dust from the horde choked her. It hindered sight as well, and she waved her hand in front of her, searching for his face, hoping to God he wasn’t returning face down over the big black horse he’d ridden.

She heard his voice before she saw him, and her whole body went slack with relief.

“Tormod, take yer men north and clear the ridges! Water the steeds now, ere we ride again!”

She was bumped once again, too busy trying to find him when she heard him curse.

“Bluidy hell—Avery!”

And then his hand connected with her, his fingers closing tightly around hers.

“Get up here,” he ground out, easily hauling her up into the saddle with him.