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His own laughter joined in and he pulled his horse to a stop in front of the coaching inn. He alighted, his long legs graceful as he dropped to the ground. Handing his reins to the stable boy, he came over to her and grabbed her by the waist, lifting her down to the ground.
He gave one quick look along the street, deemed it safe with a splattering of people moving about, and pointed to the pup in her pouch that had woken with the jostling. “Have the dog empty himself while I get rooms.”
She nodded and he turned around and went into the inn while she fished the dog out from the pouch on her cloak.
Moving off the road and to the front of the stone building, she set the pup down, watching it sniff about for a minute, and then her look lifted to the front door of the inn where Rafe had disappeared. She stared at it, his story heavy on her chest.
No wonder he didn’t talk about his past.
Her eyes closed at the image of the blade in her mind, sawing against his tiny pinky. Bile instantly tickled the back of her throat.
She would never be able to erase that vision from her head. A stoic eight-year-old Rafe, watching his pinky be dismembered from his body. Not fighting it. Not crying. Accepting it because that was the way it was, his world.
She heaved a breath and it hit her—that was what she recognized in him. Was drawn to. The same deep-seated loneliness she felt.
He was out of place with the world around him, just like she was. Granted his world was much more extreme, but he’d discovered how to navigate it according to his own will, even with that unease deep in his soul.
She wanted that. Wanted what he had figured out. To not let the loneliness constantly creep in and dictate her life.
The pup nudged into her leg with his snout and she scooped him up, looking down at the wide black orbs of his eyes.
“It’s time I gave you a name, what do you think?”
“Fox.” Rafe had stepped out of the inn just as she’d murmured the words.
She glanced up at him, then looked to the puppy.
Fox.He gave domesticated animals names of wild animals. Telling.
Her head cocked to the side with a smile. “I like that name. If he didn’t have this big nose of his, he could very well pass in foxland.”
Rafe gave her a nod and set a hand to her lower back, ushering her into the coaching inn and up two flights of stairs.
Following them up the stairwell, the innkeeper carried a tray holding two plates covered with silver cloches. Ready-made food, but it smelled delicious.
Rafe pointed to a door as he directed her down a corridor. “I’ll be directly next to you.”
He opened the door of the next room on the right.
The innkeeper followed them into the chamber, setting the tray down on a rectangular rosewood table. A decanter of wine had already been brought up, waiting.
With a nod to Victoria and then to Rafe, he left the room.
Rafe glanced about the well-appointed room to check it over—the table with two chairs, a large bed centering the room, and healthy blazes in the fireplace. All looked in order, so he set the key to the room on the table, though she didn’t doubt he’d kept a duplicate in his pocket since that seemed exactly the sort of detail he wouldn’t overlook.
He picked up one of the plates, balancing it on his stretched fingers as he moved toward the door, then stopped with his free hand on the knob and looked over his shoulder at her. “We arrive at Seahorn tomorrow. You should get some rest, Vic.” He turned to leave, opening the door.
“Rafe.”
He paused in the doorway, turning half toward her. “Yes?”
“What if…” She had to stop and take a deep breath. “What if I don’t want you to go?”
He looked away from her for a long breath, then his dark brown eyes swung back to her, pinning her. “What are you saying, Victoria?”
What was she saying? She wasn’t exactly sure, other than she didn’t want him to walk out that door. “What if you stayed? In here? In this room?” Her words paused, her voice wavering. “I like…I like sleeping next to you.”
“You can snuggle with the dog.”
