Chapter Nineteen
The sky hung low and heavy, a dull sweep of grey that pressed over the training yard like a weight.
A fine drizzle slicked the packed earth beneath his boots, beading on his cloak and dripping from the edges in slow, cold rivulets.
His men moved in the yard before him, blades flashing in the muted light, the clang of steel against steel ringing through the damp air.
He should have been watching them, correcting a stance, noting a missed opening, but his mind was nowhere near the practice field.
It was back at the cottage.
Back to the moment, only hours ago, when Ailith had stood before him, her words slicing him open.
I wish to return to my home in the forest.
He’d felt the ground shift beneath him then, the old wound tearing wide open again. The years of her absence, the cold ache of wanting her and not having her, all of it came roaring back. So he’d done what was easiest. What was safest.
He’d turned his anger into armor.
“As I expected,” he’d said, the words cutting sharper than any blade. “Ye’ll leave me again.”
She’d tried to speak, but he hadn’t let her. Wouldn’t let her. Instead, he’d walked out. Each step away from her was a wall closing between them. He told himself he was sparing them both the pretense that hearing her reasons would change nothing.
But now… now the drizzle seeped into his bones, and with it came the slow, gnawing truth he should have stayed. Should have listened.
One of the men grunted at a misstep, pulling Hendry’s gaze back to the yard. But even as he called out a correction, his chest felt hollow. The sword drills blurred into background noise, a rhythm that no longer matched his own.
“Enough!” he called out signaling the end to the time of practice.
With a muttered curse, he strode from the yard, the damp earth sucking faintly at his boots.
The walk to the cottage was longer in the cold, the drizzle sharpening into fine needles of rain against his skin.
By the time he reached the small wooden door, he was chilled through, his pulse tight with something he refused to name.
He pushed the door open.
The cottage was still. Too still. The fire in the hearth had burned low, the air cool in a way that told him it hadn’t been tended for hours. Her cloak was gone from its peg. The table stood bare, the cup she favored nowhere in sight.
“Ailith?” His voice was rough, the sound of it swallowed by the quiet.
His gaze moved to the rug in front of the hearth, half wishing Teller would be there, head on his paws, sleeping soundly. But it wasn’t to be, the rug was empty.
Ailith had gone.
The drizzle outside became a steady rain, the patter against the roof matching the slow, heavy thud of his heart.
For a long moment, Hendry stood in the center of the room, unable to move. The empty space felt wrong, stripped of her warmth, her presence, the quiet sweetness she brought to the air. It was as if the cottage itself had exhaled and gone cold.
His chest constricted with a familiar pang of heartbreak, and for a moment the world tilted. How was he going to survive this again? He closed his eyes, forcing himself to breathe. To think. But all that came was the sound of rain on the roof and the hollow quiet of an empty cottage.
With a sharp turn on his heel, he strode out into the downpour, the cold slapping at his skin like it meant to punish him. His boots pounded over the muddy path toward the keep, each step driven by something between desperation and stubborn pride.
He found Liam in bed, being helped with last meal by one of the healer’s helpers. At the sight of Hendry, his friend’s brows drew together in mild surprise.
“Ye look like ye’ve just lost a battle,” Liam said, eyeing him warily. “I did nae see Ailith today. Is she awaiting ye in the great room?”
Hendry didn’t answer right away. He went to the small hearth, letting the heat lick against his soaked cloak, but it did little to thaw the cold lodged inside him. “She’s gone,” he said finally, the words tasting bitter.
Liam straightened. “Gone? Gone where?”
“Back to her cottage in the forest. She told me this morning she wished to return to her home.”
“Why would she?” Liam’s frown deepened, then his tone shifted, cautious. “Does it mean she turned down yer marriage proposal?”
Hendry’s head snapped toward him. “What? No. I didnae propose.”
The healer’s helper snorted but remained silent.
Liam blinked, clearly baffled. “Then why in the name of all that’s holy are ye surprised she left?”
Hendry bristled. “She know we are to marry. Of course, as soon as things from the battle settled. It’s… it’s the natural course.”
Liam’s brows climbed high, his expression caught between disbelief and pity. “And did ye tell her this? Or did ye expect her to read yer mind like some sorceress?”
The question hit Hendry square in the chest. His mouth opened, but no words came. Images flashed unbidden. He dared a look to the helper, and the woman gave him an annoyed look.
Ailith’s guarded eyes that morning. The hesitation in her voice. The way she’d looked at him as if waiting for something he never gave.
A leaden weight settled in his gut. “She didnae ken,” he murmured, more to himself than to Liam.
Liam’s voice softened, though the edge of reprimand remained. “Hendry… in my experience with women, they prefer to be told what we think and feel. Ye should go after her. But this time, talk to her. Explain everything.”
“And propose,” the woman added sharply.
Hendry’s gaze drifted to the rain-smeared windows, his heartbeat picking up. He had faced blades, arrows, and the wrath of enemies without flinching. But the thought of laying his heart bare to Ailith felt like the most dangerous battle yet.