I dress not for protection, my usual armor of linen and leather, but with a quiet anticipation—ready for the simple closeness the day might bring. The solitude I once cherished now seems pale in comparison.
Boots laced, I step into the main room, eager to find him. The hearth is cold and empty. The table where we share our meals—bare. No sign of him anywhere in the cottage. My gaze falls to the door… and the space beside it, where Bracken’s saddle is usually kept.
A pit yawns open inside me, sharp and hollow. Breath flees my chest as if the very air has been stolen.
Gone?
The kiss, the fire we surrendered to—has it driven him away? He swore he would not leave until he was whole, and he is far from it still. Would he truly go without a word?
The door feels unbearably heavy as I pull it open.
Relief strikes so hard it leaves me weak. There he stands, Bracken already tacked, his hand smoothing the leather. A peaceful smile lights his face—until his eyes catch mine. Concern replaces it instantly, and he moves toward me before I can draw breath.
“What’s wrong?” His voice pours over me, urgent.
“I thought—” The words break, foolish on my tongue. “I thought you had left.”
I have long since taught myself not to care when others push me aside; their absence a wound I learned to ignore. But this… this I cannot bear. The thought of him gone hollows me in a way I have no defense against.
His arms wrap around me, not with the heat of storm-driven passion, but with something gentler. This is no consuming fire. This is a steady flame, holding.
“Now, now, little flame,” he murmurs, easing back just enough to catch my gaze. His chestnut eyes shine with quiet promise. “I would never do that to you. I couldn’t.” Relief washes over me, and I fear I may get swept away.
His thumb brushes lightly along my cheek, grounding me.
“Come with me,” he says quietly. “Just for a while.”
Only then does he open the saddlebag, revealing simple provisions tucked within, a blanket rolled and bound in place. His careful thought—the tenderness of it—steadies the wild fear that gripped me moments before.
Astride Bracken, we ride only a short distance from the cottage before the glade welcomes us with open invitation. I wrap my arms around him, steady in his movements, hovering just enough to spare the places where pain still lingers—even as every part of me longs to hold him tightly and never let go.
The heat radiating from his body warms me more than sunlight or flame ever could. These past days with him—his smile, his laugh that rumbles like low thunder and stirs an answering echo in my chest—I cherish beyond measure. And yet, as his strength returns, so too does the bittersweet truth: soon he will depart.
Resigned to savor any moment I can, I rest my head against his shoulder, draped in one of the old cloaks we found tucked away in the cottage. The glade comes quickly by horseback, his steed’s saddlebags heavy not with armor or arms but with a simple picnic. Cheese and fruit from the cottage’s stores—simple sustenance transformed into something gentler by the way he insists we go. I see it for what it is: half a test of his strength, half a gift of reprieve.
He tries to hide the way he braces when he dismounts, and I take care with my own weight as he helps me down. I insist on setting out the blanket. Beneath the canopy we savor the moment. Away from the cottage, his lingering hurts seem more apparent, but so too does the miracle of how far he has come: from bleeding on the floor on the brink of death to now wincing only slightly at certain movements.
“Let’s take a walk,” I offer softly. The walls of the cottage have grown too small to contain us.
We move through the woods, across terrain I have explored and called my own since the day I arrived. Here the air is vast, freeing. He offers his hand to steady me over the rougher ground, yet I feel the faint tremor in his grip, the way his fingers linger as though the contact is as much for him as for me. In his deeper breaths I see it still—the hand that presses his side against the sting in his ribs and the weight he leans on me more than pride will allow. I do not call attention to it despite my concern. Perhaps the closeness is worth the cost to us both.
We spend hours there: the glade, the woods, even the stream. Among these trees, the world beyond feels like myth.
“What are you smiling at, little flame?” he asks, amused.
I inhale slowly, the crisp spring air awakening my lungs with each breath.“That I wish I could stay in this moment forever,” I admit, eyes closing as though I can lock it away inside myself. When I look up, his smile threatens to undo me entirely.
His hand lifts, roughened palm brushing against my cheek with acare that feels almost reverent. I melt at the warmth of his touch. It stills every restless thought inside me. He bends just enough to press a kiss to my forehead, lingering there, as though the act alone might bind the moment in truth.
“You make it hard to wish for anything else,” he says softly.
His hand lingers at my cheek even after his lips leave my brow, as though reluctant to let go. My breath catches, sharp and sweet. Instead of retreating, I slip my arm through his, no longer for his steadiness but for my own choosing. The nearness is an admission in itself—that I want to be held just as much as he wants to hold me. For that breath, I let myself belong.
By the stream he bends briefly, wetting his palm and raking it back through his dark hair, his hand lingering at his neck as the cooling water refreshes him. Sunlight streams through the canopy, catching every sharp angle of his face. A bead of water slides down his temple, glinting, and I think of the storm—the way rain clung to him, the way his mouth claimed mine. Heat rises sharply in my chest at the memory, a reminder of how close I came to surrendering.
I swallow hard, willing my thoughts back into calm, but the echo of it follows me as surely as his nearness. A closeness I have fought so hard against now softens into easy comfort. We move in stride, no longer fighting the grazing of hands or accidental touches. We allow ourselves to abide by the gravity that seems to keep us tethered.
I am done warring with myself. I never thought I would have someone in my life worth caring for. If all I may have with him are fleeting days of closeness, then I will cherish them.
