The words should have frightened her. Instead, they sparked something defiant in her chest—a fierce, protective anger that she hadn’t known she was capable of feeling.
“Then he’s an idiot,” she said flatly.
Gareth blinked.
“He tried to have you killed.” Elodie’s voice was steadier than she expected, considering the trembling in her hands. “He sent assassins to burn villages and terrorize innocent people. He’s been plotting this for months, watching and waiting for the perfect moment to destroy everything you’ve built. And his grand strategy is to use me as bait?”
Elodie was standing now, though she didn’t remember rising. The candle flame bent in the draft of her agitation.
“He thinks I’m your weakness because I’m a woman? Because I talk too much and trip over my own feet and appeared here wearing a ridiculous faerie costume?” She laughed, a sharp sound without humor. “Good. Let him underestimate me. Let him think I’m nothing but a prize to be threatened.” She leaned across the table, planting her hands on the maps, meeting Gareth’s startled gaze with fierce determination.
“I’m not going anywhere. I’m not running. And I’m not going to let some murderous, arrogant waste of a nobleman use me to hurt you.”
Gareth stared at her.
For a long moment, he didn’t move at all. His face was unreadable, his body utterly still. Then something cracked behind his eyes, some wall she hadn’t even realized was there, and his expression turned into something raw and wondering and terribly, terribly vulnerable.
He reached across the table and took her hand.
Not to sign. Just to hold. His fingers intertwined with hers, calloused and warm, and he lifted her hand to his lips.
The kiss he pressed against her knuckles was barely more than a whisper of contact—gentle, reverent, like a knight pledging fealty. But it burned through her like wildfire.
You are remarkable,he signed with his free hand, still holding hers against his mouth.You know that?
“I’m stubborn,” she corrected, her voice coming out breathless. “There’s a difference.”
He almost smiled. Almost. Then he released her hand and turned back to the maps, his expression settling into the focused intensity of a commander planning a campaign.
If we’re going to fight,he signed,we need to know what we’re facing. Miles sent scouts north this afternoon. They should report by morning.
Elodie sank back onto the bench, her heart still racing from the kiss. Business. Right. They were discussing strategy. Serious matters of life and death and medieval warfare.
She absolutely was not still feeling the ghost of his lips against her skin.
“What do you need from me?”
Everything you noticed today. The refugees’ stories. Any details that might help us understand his plan.He paused, then added,Your mind is quick. You see patterns. I need that.
“You could just say you like my company,” she muttered.
His hand came up again—not to sign, but to brush a strand of hair behind her ear. The gesture was becoming familiar, that small intimacy, and each time it sent her pulse skipping.
I like your company,he signed.But that is not why I ask you to stay.
They worked through the small hours of the night, piecing together information from the refugees’ accounts, marking attack sites on the maps, tracing supply routes and defensive positions. The candle burned down to a stub and was replaced with another. Cold drafts crept under the doors, and Gareth wordlessly draped his cloak around her shoulders when she shivered.
By the time gray dawn began to lighten the windows, they had a rough outline of Alaric’s strategy—and a beginning of a plan to counter it.
You should rest,Gareth signed, noting the shadows under her eyes.
“So should you,” she countered.
He inclined his head, acknowledging the point. Then he rose, offering his hand to help her up.
Thank you,he signed when she was standing.For staying, and for fighting. For—His hands faltered, and he simply gestured between them, a wordless acknowledgment of everything they hadn’t said.
CHAPTER 21
