Total pages in book: 44
Estimated words: 41044 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 205(@200wpm)___ 164(@250wpm)___ 137(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 41044 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 205(@200wpm)___ 164(@250wpm)___ 137(@300wpm)
What could he possibly offer her? He was cursed, marked by a wish that should never have passed his lips. The life he once lived was behind him, and what lay ahead was uncertain at best. A man with no place, no peace.
And yet… when he was near her, the edges of that wish felt less sharp. She listened without judgment. Challenged him without cruelty. She saw him, not the warrior he had been, nor the man twisted by regret but simply him.
It was foolish, he knew. Dangerous, even. Affection led to hope, and hope was a cruel thing for a ghost of a man like him.
But a whisper stirred deep inside, stubborn and quiet as a seed under frost.
She could be the one to save me.
And though he tried to bury it, that whispered thought stayed with him as he bent again to the soil, the morning sun catching the edge of his thoughts like light through the clouds.
A low whistle pierced the hush of the morning. Raff straightened, brushing dirt from his palms as Latham ambled toward him, a bundle of tools slung over one shoulder and a grin tugging at the corner of his mouth.
“You’re up early for a man who looked haunted last night,” Latham said, dropping the tools beside a nearby post. “Or did you find sleep easier in Ingrid’s shadow?”
Raff shot him a look, but Latham only chuckled.
“Don’t bother glaring. You’ve been looking at her like a man who’s already half-caught. Not that I blame you.”
“I’ve work to do,” Raff muttered, bending to the soil again.
“Aye, well, that makes two of us,” Latham said, grabbing a hoe and settling in beside him. For a moment they worked in silence, the scrape of metal against earth the only sound.
Then Latham glanced over. “There’s talk this morning about who’s taking Ingrid to market.”
Raff’s head lifted. “I’m taking her.”
Latham blinked. “That so?”
“I told her I would,” Raff said, voice firmer now. “After Chafton’s men took the wool.”
“Hmm.” Latham scratched at his chin. “Funny. That’s not what I heard. Word is Tolan offered to go with her. Said she shouldn’t be left to travel alone, not with tempers still hot over the wool and the other talk stirring. But I think he favors her.”
Raff straightened fully now, eyes narrowing. “Tolan? The smithy.”
“That be him,” Latham said and gave a one-shouldered shrug. “Just what I heard. Folks get ideas when things aren’t spoken plainly. If she’s yours to protect, might be time you made that clear.”
Raff didn’t respond. He dropped the hoe into the soil and wiped his hands clean on his plaid. The quiet fury that had simmered beneath his thoughts all morning rose swift and certain. He hadn’t offered to take Ingrid to market out of duty alone. He wanted to go with her, spend time with her. No one else had the right.
Without another word, he turned and strode from the field, leaving Latham behind with a satisfied grunt.
“About time,” Latham muttered to himself, watching him go.
Raff left the field with long, purposeful strides, the damp earth pulling at his boots as if trying to slow him down. His shoulders were tense, jaw set, thoughts churning like storm clouds. He wasn’t angry with Ingrid, of that he was certain, but the idea of someone else, someone like Tolan, someone established in the village, someone who could offer Ingrid security, stepping into the place he’d already claimed, yet had not acknowledged, not sure if he should, if it was right for him to do. But Tolan had just changed that.
He passed a few villagers on his way, nodded to one, ignored the whispers of another. Let them talk. Let them wonder. His purpose was clear.
As he neared the cottage, he slowed, drawing in a breath. He didn’t want to come to her with heat still in his voice. This wasn’t about claiming rights or proving something to the village. It was about her. About a promise. About the weight of something unspoken growing between them.
The scent of baking bread and drying herbs met him as he rounded the corner, the sounds of the morning soft and domestic—the scrape of a pot, the rustle of fabric, a quiet hum from inside.
He stood for a moment outside the partially open door, steadying himself, listening.
Then he knocked.
It was time he spoke the truth. Time to make it known that he wasn’t going to let her face this world alone. Not if he could help it.
Ingrid was kneading dough at the table when the knock came, her hands dusted in flour, her braid slipping forward over her shoulder. She stilled, her heart giving a small, traitorous flutter.
She didn’t need to look to know it was Raff.
He’d been in her thoughts all morning ever since Latham had passed through with a sack of onions and a handful of rumors. Word traveled fast in the village, and someone had already suggested Tolan ride with her to market. She hadn’t said aye, hadn’t said nay. The suggestion had caught her off guard. She’d thought… well, Raff had said he would take her. And she’d wanted him to. Too much, if she was being honest with herself.