Chapter 11 #2
Elodie turned to face him fully. In the moonlight, she could see the scar at his throat—a brutal line that ran from beneath his ear to his collarbone.
She’d noticed it before, of course, but she’d never let herself really look.
Had carefully avoided looking, actually, because it felt too intimate, too much like trespassing.
“May I?” she asked, reaching toward it before she could think better of it. “I mean, you can absolutely say no. I’m being horribly forward, I just—”
Gareth went very still. For a moment, she thought he would pull away. Then, slowly, he inclined his head.
Her fingers touched the raised edge of the scar, tracing its path across his skin. The tissue was smooth, silvery-white against his tanned throat. She could feel his pulse beating rapidly beneath her fingertips—this warrior, this silent knight, his heart racing at her touch.
“It must have been terrifying,” she said quietly. “Lying there, thinking you were dying. Alone. I can’t imagine—I mean, I literally cannot fathom what that must have been like, and I know I talk too much, but sometimes there truly aren’t enough words for—”
His chest expanded with a deep breath. His hands lifted, hesitated, dropped. Lifted again. When he finally signed, he wasn’t looking at her—his gaze fixed somewhere over her shoulder, as if the words were easier to form when he couldn’t see her face.
I was not afraid to die. I was afraid of what I had not said. To my sister. To the people I loved. I thought I had time. His hands stilled for a moment. I was wrong.
Only when he finished did his eyes find hers again. That same waiting. That same vulnerability, raw and unguarded in a way that made her heart crack.
“And now you don’t speak at all,” she said.
Now I choose my words carefully. Something flickered in his expression—not quite hope, not quite fear, something in between. I do not know whether I can speak. I have tried, but nothing comes out. Mayhap one day I will speak, and then it will mean something.
She withdrew her hand from his throat, but she didn’t step back.
Couldn’t seem to make herself step back.
They stood close enough that she could see the individual strands of bronze and gold in his dark hair, the fine lines around his eyes that spoke of pain and vigilance and years of solitary watching.
“My friend Jennifer,” she said, “the one I mentioned—she’s been deaf since childhood.
She taught me sign language when we were at university together.
I learned it because I wanted to talk to her, really talk, without barriers.
Without having to write everything down or rely on lip-reading.
” She smiled at the memory. “She’s brilliant.
Proper genius. Designs graphics for fancy London firms and refuses to let anyone treat her like she’s limited.
She’s also the only person who’s ever told me to shut up and actually meant it lovingly. ”
His hands rose. She sounds like a good friend.
“The best. Honestly, she’s more like a sister.
She’s the one who made me understand that communication isn’t about volume—it’s about connection.
About actually being heard, not just making noise.
” Elodie’s voice went soft. “I’m not very good at that part, obviously.
The being heard part. I’m excellent at making noise. ”
Gareth’s hands rose to respond, then stilled. He was looking at her with an expression she couldn’t quite read—something between wonder and wariness, hope and fear all tangled together.
The moment stretched between them, fragile as spun glass.
Elodie became acutely aware of her own heartbeat, of the warmth radiating from his body, of the vast silence of the night pressing in around them.
Here on the battlements, in the dark where no one could see, their conversation felt like something secret. Something that belonged only to them.
He reached out. Slowly, giving her every opportunity to pull away. His calloused palm came to rest against her cheek, warm and rough and impossibly gentle.
His other hand moved. Thank you. For trusting me.
Elodie turned her face slightly into his palm, a gesture that was answer enough.
They stood like that for a long moment, connected by touch and moonlight and the shared weight of their wounds. The wind rose and fell. Somewhere in the castle below, a dog barked once and fell silent.
“You know,” she said quietly, “I’ve spent five years trying to make myself smaller.
Quieter. Less... myself. Trying to fit into a space that was never meant for me.
And then I fell through time—literally fell through bloody time, which is still completely mental, by the way—and landed here.
With you. A man who communicates in silence and somehow still hears me better than anyone ever has. ”
She laughed. “The universe has a terrible sense of humor.”
Finally, Gareth dropped his hand and stepped back. But the distance felt different now—not a barrier, but a choice. Space he was giving her because she might need it, not because he wanted it.
You should sleep, he signed. Tomorrow, more words.
“Yes.” She pulled the blanket around herself, suddenly aware of the chill. “Tomorrow.”
He walked her to the staircase, his hand hovering at the small of her back—protective without being possessive. At the top of the stairs, she paused.
“Gareth?”
He turned.
“I’m glad I fell through time,” she said.
“I’m glad I landed here. With you. I mean, the whole situation is absolutely barking mad, and I still have no idea how to get home, and I’m fairly certain I’m going to say something historically inaccurate and get burned as a witch—” She caught herself. “But still. I’m glad.”
Something cracked in his expression—the barest fracture in the ice he’d built around himself. His hands lifted, shaped a response, then fell to his sides.
Instead, he simply inclined his head. A gesture that somehow contained multitudes.
Elodie descended the stairs with her heart beating wildly in her chest. When she reached her chamber, she found she was smiling—a real smile, not the defensive grimace she’d perfected over years of professional dismissal.
She crawled into bed and touched the fire opal ring on her finger, the ring he’d given her. In the darkness, it seemed to pulse with its own inner warmth.
Sleep, when it finally came, was dreamless and deep.
And in the morning, when she made her way to the great hall for breakfast, she found Gareth already waiting for her, his hands moving through the vocabulary they’d built together.
Good morning, he signed as she approached. I have been practicing.
He showed her a new sign—one she hadn’t taught him. His hand moved from his heart outward, palm open.
Trust, he signed. This is trust, yes?
Elodie felt her throat tighten. “Yes,” she managed. “That’s trust.”
Good. His gaze held hers, that pale fierce intensity she was learning to read. I wanted to learn that one.
“Right. Yes. Good.” She was babbling again.
Brilliant. “I can teach you more today, if you’d like.
We’ve got the basic vocabulary down, and I was thinking we could start on more complex concepts—emotions, abstracts, that sort of thing.
Though I warn you, the sign for ‘annoying woman who won’t stop talking’ is quite complicated, lots of hand movements, very advanced—”
Before she could finish, the great hall doors banged open. Miles, the captain of the guard, strode in with a rolled parchment clutched in his fist. His face was grim beneath his red beard.
“My lord.” He stopped before Gareth, breathing hard. “A messenger arrived at dawn. From Dunharrow Keep.”
Gareth’s expression went cold as winter stone. He took the parchment and broke the seal, his eyes scanning the contents. Whatever he read made his jaw tighten, a muscle ticking beneath his scar.
He handed the message to Elodie.
The handwriting was elegant, the words courteous. Lord Alaric de Montrevain, by the grace of God, Lord of Dunharrow, extends his warmest greetings to Sir Gareth de Clare... requests the honor of a meeting... old grievances that should be laid to rest... in the spirit of Christian fellowship...
“He wants to meet,” Elodie said, her voice flat. “Here. At Greywatch.”
Gareth’s hands moved in sharp, controlled gestures. The snake comes to the garden.
Miles shifted his weight. “My lord? What shall I tell the messenger?”
For a long moment, Gareth didn’t move. Then he signed, his movements deliberate.
Tell him yes. Let him come. I would see my enemy’s face.