The latch rattled. I heard the grunt of a man as he tested it. My mind flashed through all the ways I could die: burned, hanged, drowned in the river by men who would call it justice.
A fist pounded the boards. “If anyone is within, show yourself! You have the Lord’s word that no harm will befall you!”
Moab pressed my head gently against his chest, as if to quiet both my trembling and my urge to scream. The fire’s embers glowed red on the other side of the curtain. I could see theshadow of a man through the gap in the pelts, his outline black and huge in the low winter light.
“Locked,” the voice muttered. “But there’s smoke, and fresh tracks. She’s here. Or someone is.”
There was a tense conference of murmurs, then the scraping sound of a blade wedged between door and jamb.
Moab leaned in, his mouth close enough to my ear that I could feel the shape of every word. “If they come in, I can fight. But it’ll go bad, fast. Do you trust me to get you out?”
Did I? The question had no meaning, but I nodded anyway, small and frantic.
“They won’t hurt you if you let them take me,” I whispered back. I meant to say more, but my voice cracked.
He made a rough noise, something between a laugh and a snarl. “Not gonna happen.”
Then the door gave way with a groan, hinges shrieking. Cold air and new voices flooded in. Three men stepped inside, swords drawn, faces hidden by hoods and the ruddy glow of the fire. For a heartbeat, I thought they would see us at once, but Moab shifted his stance, the weight of his body sheltering mine, and we became just another lump in the dark, one more heap of fur and shadow.
Sir Aldric was first to enter, his stride measured, boots thudding like drumbeats. He peered around the dim room, eyes narrowed, then gestured sharply to the other two.
“Search,” he said. “Look for blood or signs of the girl. Brother Tomas said she was bleeding.”
One of the men poked at the hearth, another checked the straw pallet. They upended the woodpile, overturned the table. I pressed my face into the dense pelt of a wolfskin, squeezing my eyes shut against the tears that threatened.
The third man, the nervous one, hesitated near our hiding place. His boots were inches away from my face, the rawhidelaces stained with mud and something darker. I prayed he would turn, would find the prospect of touching old pelts too distasteful. Instead, he reached out a trembling hand and parted the curtain.
I heard my own breath, the soft whimper that escaped. But at the same instant, Moab’s hand closed around my wrist, steady and calm. He squeezed once, hard enough to remind me that I was not alone, then loosened his grip.
The man’s face was so close I could see the broken capillaries in his nose, the split lip where a tooth had gone through. He squinted, trying to make sense of the shadows. I willed myself to become a dead thing, limp and unmoving.
He frowned, and with a shudder, let the curtain fall.
“Nothing here but rats,” he spat. “And old wolfskins.”
A bark of laughter from the other men. “Fitting, for a she-wolf.”
Sir Aldric stood in the center of the room, staring at the fire as though it might offer a prophecy. “She’s near,” he said, voice as cold as the wind. “I want a watch on the path and the hill. If you find her, bring her alive. If you see any strangers, especially a man, take no chances. Brother Tomas is convinced there’s a new evil in the woods. He says the mark on the dead woman was not of this world.”
The nervous man shuddered again and muttered a prayer.
They filed out, the door banging shut behind them. For a long time, the only sound was the thump of their boots and the horses snorting outside.
Moab waited another full minute, every muscle still locked and ready. When he was sure they were gone, he let out a breath, slow and silent, then released my wrist.
I slid down the wall, knees buckling. My hands shook so badly I could not unclench them. I felt the panic and shame rise together, a hot pulse that left me gasping for air.
He knelt beside me, his hand hovering over my shoulder, not quite touching. “You’re okay,” he said. “They’re gone.”
I looked up at him, saw the question in his eyes, the worry. “For now,” I said, and the words sounded like a curse.
He nodded. “For now.” Then, softer said, “You did well.”
I wanted to say something brave, something sharp. Instead, I curled into the heap of pelts and let the shudders wring me out.
The rest of the day passed in a haze. I remember the fire being rebuilt, the careful way Moab checked the window each hour, the slow return of feeling to my hands. I remember the twilight, the way the light slanted through the hides and painted his face in orange and black. He watched the world, never speaking, always alert.
I wanted to thank him, or at least to offer a share of my courage. But there was nothing left to share.
