Moonshadow (Moonshadow #1)

“Everything I first said to you is still true.” Unable to look at her any longer and fight the pounding urge to take her back in his arms, he turned his back. “I’m in the middle of fighting a war, and I still don’t have anything to offer a lover—no safety, no home, not even the promise of my time and attention.”

Her breathing sounded harsh in the still of the courtyard. “Well, I guess we know where we stand now. You know what’s funny? I fell in love with you too, you jackass. Your commitment, your bravery, even your imperious attitude. It hurt when you walked out so quickly after we barely finished making love, but I went with it. You asked me to trust you when you said you had good reasons for walking away, and I went with that too. In fact, I’ve gone with all of it—the danger, the uncertainty, the fighting, and just so you know, your finer sensibilities for why you shouldn’t take a lover are outdated and delusional, because we’re probably not getting out of this house again alive. But you know what I can’t go with?”

He looked over his shoulder at her. “What?”

“I can’t go with how unwelcome all this is to you. How unwelcome I am to you. I can accept everything about you, even your worst, most imperious, biggest asshole moments. But you can’t accept me and who I am. You can’t accept the fact of me in your life, for however long or short that life ends up being. You can’t accept the fact that I might accept everything about your life, how restrictive it is and how dangerous—that I have the power and the ability to make that choice rationally and accept the consequences, whatever they may be.” Pausing, she dug the heels of her hands into her eyes before continuing raggedly, “So you may say you’re in love with me, but you’re not in love with me the same way that I am in love with you. We’re using the same words, but we are not having the same experience, and I’m… I’m not going with this any longer.”

As she said the last words, a footstep sounded in the hall behind her. Before Nikolas had consciously thought about it, he had drawn his sword and leaped to her side.

Gawain stepped out of the hall, into the light. The other man took in the scene at a quick glance—their tension, Nikolas’s drawn sword. He cleared his throat. “Sorry to interrupt. I just wanted to let you know there’s a hot supper when you’re ready.”

Sophie wiped her face as she turned to Gawain. “That sounds good.”

“We’re not done talking yet,” Nikolas said harshly.

She didn’t look in Nikolas’s direction. “Yes, we are,” she said. “We’re done.”

Bending to gather up her blanket, she stepped into the hall. After a brief hesitation, Gawain followed, leaving Nikolas standing alone in an overgrown courtyard filled with ghosts.





Chapter Eighteen





As Sophie followed Gawain back to the great hall, exhaustion set in, darker and heavier than ever. Not only did her whole body ache, but this time the exhaustion was emotional, and she knew she wouldn’t be able to access a second (third? fourth?) wind.

Back in the great hall, light, warmth, and a certain amount of order greeted her, along with the appetizing smell of hot food. Either they had constructed torches, or they had brought some with them, for lit torches filled sconces at strategic intervals.

They had shifted the Mini and the Harley so that they lined the outside wall, under the windows. Supplies were coordinated and stacked along the inner walls. There were a lot of supplies, so it made the remaining space that much smaller, but there was still enough room to create a small sitting area in front of the fire with the settee and chair and a dining area with the kitchen table that was extended with a few crates added to one end. Sleeping pallets lined the stacked supplies along the sides.

Automatically she counted the pallets and came up one short, but before she could ask Gawain about it, he nudged her shoulder. “Come over here, lass. Look what we did for you.”

Obediently she followed him to one of the two corners closest to the fireplace. He lifted a curtain stitched roughly together from the cottage curtains, and with one hand urged her to step inside. She complied and discovered they had created a tiny bedroom.

Two walls were the stone walls of the great hall, and the other two were built from crates and boxes of supplies. The double bed from the cottage was inside, and someone had even made it, complete with blankets and pillows. The bedside table held an oil lantern. Her luggage was stacked neatly at the foot of the bed, and the dresser was tucked in one corner.

The area was small and cramped, but it was private, and it offered a degree of comfort she hadn’t been expecting. “This is amazing and incredibly thoughtful,” she said. Her argument with Nikolas had left her feeling so raw she had to blink back tears. After giving herself a moment to recover by looking at everything, she faced him with a smile. “Thank you so much.”

Gawain hadn’t stepped inside. There wasn’t enough floor space to accommodate his large bulk in addition to hers.

Smiling briefly at her pleasure, he told her telepathically, Until we find out who the traitor is, Nikolas and I will be sleeping right outside. Nobody will get past us, lass.

Aloud, he added, “Well, you have enough walls for now. Eventually those will disappear as we use up supplies, but hopefully by then, we’ll either know if it’s safe to use the bedchambers, or we’ll have reached some other solution.”

“It’s wonderful. I love it.” Impulsively she gave him a hug. Looking surprised and pleased, he hugged her back.

“Come get yourself some supper. There’s oxtail soup and sandwiches.”

Oxtail soup sounded decidedly odd, but she followed him to the dining table, where she was greeted with friendly looks and a few smiles. Nikolas hadn’t returned yet, and abruptly she knew she couldn’t face him again that night.

When one of the men—Gareth, she thought—made as if to shift over to make room for her, she told him, “Don’t bother. I don’t mean to be unfriendly, but I’m so tired I can hardly stand upright. I just want to grab one of these sandwiches and go to bed.”

“No shame in being tired,” Gareth said. “You fought well tonight.”

“Thank you.”

“Wait,” Rowan said as he stood. He dug out a large mug, filled it with steaming soup from a camp stove, and offered it to her. “Take this.”

She accepted it, along with a sandwich, and retired to a chorus of good nights. Setting her food on the bedside table, she pulled the privacy curtain down, and her bedroom fell into shadow.

She had the brief impulse to light the lantern but then realized she didn’t know how, and suddenly the small task and her lack of knowledge became obstacles too big to overcome. Stripping out of her jeans and sweater, she crawled shivering between cold sheets. While she waited for the bed to warm up, she sipped at the soup, savoring the warmth and the rich, meaty flavor, and ate a few bites of the ham and cheese sandwich.

By then the worst of the chill had left the sheets, so she stretched out horizontally, and as she listened to the men’s quiet conversation, she plummeted into a black pit.