Page 90 of The Silversmith

“She has no reason to be angry at you, Ella. It’s me she—”

“Please.” I tied the ends of a knapsack and fidgeted with the strings. “She needs to hear it from you. Show her the man I see so she knows I’m safe with you.”

He leaned one arm against the doorframe and ran his other hand over his scarred, bearded face. I’d started to give up hope when finally, he nodded. “I’ll handle it.”

Sighing in relief, I covered the space between us and threw my arms around him. “Thank you,” I muttered into his chest, inhaling his scent, absorbing his warmth.

He folded his strong arms around me—engulfing my small body. “Anything for you,” he whispered, resting his lips in my hair.

Minutes later, I crawled into bed and watched as Gemma semi-successfully tamed her curls into a high knot. She hadn’t spoken a word since our confrontation outside the kitchen.

Three firm knocks on the door snapped the rope of tension. She crossed the room in four long strides and jerked it open, revealing Gavin.

“Tremaine.” His expression was hard and cold. He glanced at me, gaze softening, before looking back at her. “May I speak with you?”

Her scowl was an answer enough. She moved to slam the door in his face, but he stuck out a heavy, black boot and scowled right back.

“Gemma,” I spoke up from bed. “Please.”

She glared at me, then Gavin. With an indecipherable grumble, she shoved past him into the hallway. Before following, Gavin gave me a pointed nod. A promise.

I heard the door to the men’s bedroom across the hall open and close.

They were in that room for over an hour. There was no shouting, only the distant rumbling of their hushed conversation. For long, torturous minutes, I waited before finally succumbing to my nerves and deciding there was nothing I could do besides get some rest.

Almost asleep when Gemma finally entered, I heard her move quietly and carefully through the room. She climbed into bed but remained seated upright as she rested her hand on my hip. Thinking I was asleep, clearly.

But I could see her face in the vanity mirror. Her worries stewed beneath the moonlight. Her caramel eyes were distant, glassy, sad. She looked like she was somewhere else.

Bile rose swiftly in my throat. I’d known it was a risk, asking him to convince her. I knew he had secrets.

And I suspected he’d just told her one he had yet to tell me.

Chapter twenty-two

Caz’s leg stopped bleeding early into the night courtesy of Finn’s tourniquet and bandaging. He slept on the sofa—where he now ate breakfast, slowly—while Finn and Ezra took up space on the floor to tend to him. He was weak and in immeasurable pain, but his humor and outlook remained steadfast.

If I ever suffered a near-fatal wound, I prayed to be half as brave as Caz.

Gemma was quiet this morning. Her feisty, combative wit had molded into pensive awe. When Gavin walked into her line of sight, she stared wide-eyed at him, gulped, and then over at me with a similar look.

Not a single objection left her usually sharp lips when Finn brought up their route to the Caves.

It had been my idea and my desire to go, but I had expected more of a fight.

I silently rattled off the possibilities. He’d likely told her of his wife, and she now understood why he feared losing someone he cared for.

Or he had threatened her.

I wished the latter wasn’t so likely.

Clad in all black, Gavin entered the back room after everyone had finished eating. Late into the night, he’d been preparing supplies, horses, and a cart to carry Caz. When we woke, he was still at it.

“Finn, Caz, Ezra, Gemma. I have three horses prepared for you.” He took up a post beside me and crossed his muscular arms over his chest. “One to lead, two to pull a carriage. If there is even a murmur of her, you tell everyone that you’ve seen her head south, north, or west, I don’t give a shit. Anything but the truth. Give them a false description.”

I looked at Gemma. She gave me a sad smile. Relief and warning battled in my gut, but I rose from the table and followed them to the wooded area behind the tavern.

It was a misty, chilled morning. The wind was brutal. Gray skies threatened snow or freezing rain. The day was more cold than any other I’d experienced in Wymara—but I wore the wolf’s fur shawl around my neck. It kept the shivers at bay.