Page 7

“Sutherland,” he repeated, as though tasting the word. “Wait.”

He disappeared, leaving her staring at wood as if she were nothing more than a nuisance, a stray dog at the door. For a heartbeat, Sorcha stood frozen, listening to boots on stone and the clink of metal. Her palms were damp despite the cold. Her fingers curled, unclenched, curled again.

“Open it!” Destiny’s voice sounded from behind the wood.

The guard hesitated. “My lady—”

“Now.”

He obeyed, stepping back as the gates swung inward with heavy complaint.

Sorcha barely had time to draw a breath before Destiny stepped through the gates, seized her shoulders, and pulled her close with fierce strength. Destiny’s arms tightened around her.

“Oh, Sorcha,” Destiny whispered, voice breaking. “Oh, my sweet Sorcha. What has happened to you?”

The warmth of Destiny’s body hit Sorcha like a flame. It was the first time in days she had been touched without violence, without calculation. The first time in ages she had been held as if she mattered.

Sorcha’s throat clenched. Her vision blurred.

“I—” The word collapsed into something ugly. A sound that was not speech at all.

Destiny’s hands moved immediately, hovering at Sorcha’s bruised shoulder, then catching the torn edge of her cloak.

Destiny’s brow furrowed, lips parting. “Who did this?”

Sorcha shook her head, a small, helpless motion. If she spoke now, she would fall apart.

Destiny’s gaze darted to the red streak at Sorcha’s neck. Destiny’s hand rose, hesitated, then gently touched the wound, and her eyes filled with tears.

“They took it,” Sorcha whispered. Her voice sounded as if it belonged to someone else. “They took the necklace.”

Destiny’s face tightened with a grief almost as fierce as anger. “Your mother’s.”

Sorcha nodded. Her mouth trembled. “It was all I had left.”

“Oh.” Destiny breathed the word as if it hurt her lungs. Then, as though refusing to allow the world another measure of cruelty, she gathered Sorcha closer. “Come. Come inside. You are safe here.”

Safe.

The word struck Sorcha so hard that she nearly buckled. She gripped Destiny’s sleeve, clinging like a drowning woman to driftwood.

Destiny guided her towards the inner door, half carrying her. The guard stared after them, still frowning, uncertain whether he should step in.

“Help me,” Destiny said, her gaze narrowing on the guard. “Get someone to fetch hot water. And a cloth. And tea.”

The guard’s eyes widened. “Aye, my lady.”

Destiny’s anger softened the moment she looked down at Sorcha again. “You are shivering.”

Sorcha tried to shake her head, but her teeth clicked.

Destiny murmured, “’Tis all right. You are all right.”

They crossed the threshold together.

Warmth surged over Sorcha like a wave. The smell of peat smoke and baking bread met her; so ordinary, so domestic, it felt unreal. Any moment now, she expected to wake from this dream and find herself still in the forest, still bruised, still alone.

But Destiny’s arm remained around her waist, a shield against all she had been through this day.