“Are you hurt?” he demanded; his voice rough with emotion. “Did they – did anyone –”
“I am fine,” Nora said softly, though her voice trembled. “Truly, Godric. I am not hurt.”
But he could not seem to stop, his hands continuing their desperate inventory. He checked her face for bruises, her neck for marks, his gaze sweeping over every visible inch of her with an intensity that bordered on manic.
“Your sleeve is torn by your shoulder,” he noted, his fingers hovering over the ripped fabric of her dress. “And your hair – they must have grabbed you, pulled you –”
“Godric,” Nora said more firmly, catching his hands and squeezing them. “Look at me.”
He did, and the sight of her eyes – warm and alive and fixed on his face – finally allowed something in his chest to unclench.
“I am well,” she said again, more gently this time. “Frightened, yes, and a bit shaken. But they did not harm me. Not truly.”
He wanted to believe her. Needed to believe her. But the image of Luther's pistol pointed at her head kept replaying in his mind, a nightmare loop that threatened to drive him mad.
“I almost lost you,” he said, the words breaking on the way out. “I almost – if I had been even a moment slower...”
“But you were not,” Nora interrupted, her voice steady despite the tears still clinging to her lashes. “You stopped him in time. That is what matters.”
The simple faith in her words undid him completely. Godric pulled her into his arms, crushing her against his chest with perhaps more force than was strictly necessary. She came willingly, her own arms wrapping around him, and for a long moment they simply held each other while the world continued to spin around them.
Luther's screams had subsided into agonized whimpers. Anthony remained unconscious on the floor. And Cecil stood over both of them like a guardian, his chest heaving and his expression murderous.
But Godric was aware of none of it. All that existed was the feeling of Nora in his arms, warm and alive and safe. The scent of her hair, the sound of her breathing, the way her fingers clutched at the back of his coat as though she feared he might disappear if she let go.
“You came for me,” she whispered, her face pressed against his shoulder.
“Of course,” Godric managed; his own voice thick. “Of course I came. I told you that I would keep you safe. I meant it. Every word.”
She pulled back just enough to look up at him, and her eyes were impossibly soft. “Did you really?”
“Every word,” he repeated fiercely. “Nora, I – “
But before he could continue, the sound of multiple footsteps and raised voices echoed from outside the warehouse. Cecil moved to the door, peering out cautiously, then turned back to them with visible relief.
“The constables,” he announced. “I sent someone to fetch them before I came after you. They should have been here sooner, but –”
“It does not matter,” Godric said, carefully helping Nora to her feet. She swayed slightly, and he kept his arm around her waist, supporting her weight. “They are here now. That is what matters.”
The next few minutes passed in a blur of activity. The constables swarmed into the warehouse, taking in the scene with practiced efficiency. Luther was hauled to his feet despite his protests of pain, his injured foot wrapped hastily before he was clapped in irons. Anthony received similar treatment once they managed to rouse him, though he required two constables to keep him upright.
Through it all, Godric kept Nora close, unwilling to let her out of his sight for even a moment. She seemed equally reluctant to leave his side, her hand clutching his coat as the constables asked their questions and documented the evidence.
When they finally indicated that Nora was free to go, Godric wasted no time. He swept her up into his arms, ignoring her startled gasp, and carried her out of that cursed warehouse and into the clean air beyond.
His carriage still waited where he had left it, the coachman’s eyes widening in surprise at the sight of them. But Godric offered no explanation, simply set Nora down gently on a wooden crate that sat outside a neighbouring building.
Then he knelt before her, his hands running over her arms, her shoulders, her face – checking once more for any injury he might have missed in the chaos.
“Godric,” Nora said softly, catching his hands once more. “You are going to wear yourself out with all this fussing.”
“Let me,” he said, his voice raw. “Please. I need – I need to be certain that you are well.”
She studied his face for a long moment, and whatever she saw there made her expression soften into something unbearably tender. “I am well,” she promised. “Truly.”
His shoulders sagged with relief, and he found himself resting his forehead against their joined hands. “When I saw you there, bound and helpless, with that monster pointing a weapon at you...” He could not finish the sentence, could not put into words the sheer terror that had consumed him in that moment.
“But you saved me,” Nora said gently. “You came, and you saved me.”
