She nodded toward the front. “The rest of our men showed up. I think Thorne was more interested in pursuing Ross than staying to fight.” She swiveled her gaze to the empty servant’s road behind them. “I hope they got enough of a head start.”
The thud of boots echoed around the corner of the burning house, and Christian emerged with a group of his men, still armed and on alert. He took one look at Isaac and grimaced. “Good God, you look like hell.”
Isaac gave a hoarse laugh. “Thanks. I’ve just returned from it.”
Christian crouched beside them, eyes scanning Josephine and the smoke-streaked bird in the cage. “Is everyone in one piece?”
“More or less,” Samantha muttered, wiping a damp rag across Josephine’s soot-streaked face. She met Isaac’s eyes. “Why don’t you come stay at our home tonight? Get cleaned up and you men can talk it out.”
It.
As in, what happened between Christian and Thorne. And what would they do next with the new information they had.
*
The blessed slipof cool water ran over Isaac’s face.
Again.
And again.
Long gone murky and dark, the basin water swirled like ink—smoke and blood and ash clinging to every ripple. He leaned in and scrubbed harder. As if he could scour the soot from his skin. As if he could wipe away the memory of Thorne’s blade flashing far too close,of fire licking at the walls. Of Josephine going limp in his arms.
Water splashed over the rim, pooling on the floor.
More frenzied scrubbing.
But the smell of smoke still clung to him.
He closed his eyes. All he saw was Josephine, motionless on the ground.
With a growl, he plunged his face into the basin, welcoming the deadening weight of water against his ears. Counted to ten. Twenty. Lost count and let the world go quiet around him.
He came up gasping, water streaming from his face. For a moment, he stayed there, hands gripping the basin, shoulders heaving. His reflection stared back at him in the mirror.
“Get yourself together.” He wasn’t sure who spoke, himself—or the reflection.
He dragged a towel across his face and grabbed the fresh shirt draped over the chair. The rest of his bathing could wait.
For now, there were questions to answer. Decisions to be made.
Once buttoned up, he strode from the room and descended the stairs. Light spilled from beneath Christian’s study door, warm and steady. A thread of tension pulled tight in his chest as he pushed the door open.
His friend sat at his desk, feet propped up. He didn’t look up, but picked up a bottle of bourbon and poured two glasses. Wordlessly, Isaac picked one up.
Christian took a hearty drink. “Hell of a night.”
An understatement.
Isaac took a small sip, the warmth trailing down his raw throat. The burn didn’t hurt, instead, it grounded him. A reminder he was still alive. He sank into the other chair. Took another drink.
Finally, he looked up. “Thanks.”
Christian lifted a dark brow. “For what?”
“You know exactly what. For saving me.”
The whisper of a smile played across Christian’s face. “Well, I guess we can call ourselves even then.”
