Part 27 (2/2)

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 s.h.i.+fted 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 s.p.a.ce 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, la.s.s. Look what we did for you.”

Obediently she followed him to one of the two corners closest to the fireplace. He lifted a curtain st.i.tched 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 s.p.a.ce 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. n.o.body will get past us, la.s.s.

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 s.h.i.+ft 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 s.h.i.+vering 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.

For a while.

Then she was running through the warehouse while the gunman chased her. She rounded a corner, looking for a way out, but it was a dead end. As she whirled to run the other way, the gunman walked around the corner.

He brought up his gun. She stared down the barrel and heard the flat tat-tat-tat as he shot her, and she was falling.

Always falling.

Rodrigo, she tried to call. Help me.

She plunged awake as a hand settled over her mouth. The men had gone to bed, and the indirect light from the fire had died down, leaving the s.p.a.ce in near total darkness.

A figure leaned over her, weight pressing down the edge of the mattress, but before she had time to panic, Nikolas whispered, ”Shh, it's me. It's all right.”

She gripped his wrist, shaking, and his hand s.h.i.+fted from her mouth to stroke the hair back off her forehead.

He said telepathically, You were having a nightmare and whimpering.

Unsurprised, she nodded. Sorry I woke you.

He exhaled, an impatient, nearly inaudible sound. Move over, Sophie.

She hesitated, torn between wanting to so badly she could practically taste it and remembering the bite of the last things they had said to each other. Her telepathic voice sounded small and uncertain to her own ears. Maybe that's not such a good idea.

He brought his forehead down to hers. Let's take a time-out. You still meant everything you said, and so did I. Let this be its own thing. We can go back to fighting again tomorrow.

Was that okay? Maybe that wasn't okay. Maybe she was supposed to stay strong on principle, but he was here and offering, and principle didn't have arms to put around her. Still trying to decide how she felt about it, she slid to one side of the bed.

Lifting the covers, he slid in beside her. Long, hair-sprinkled legs entwined with hers as he gathered her into his arms. The comfort was immediate and staggering.

She turned into him, burying her face in his chest while he stroked her hair. He wore nothing but a pair of silk boxers, she discovered, as she fitted her body to his. He was longer, broader, and more muscular than she, and the sensation of his bare body against hers caused a tension that was coiled tight inside of her to ease.

Better? he asked.

She nodded.

Tell me about it, he said. The nightmare. Maybe if you talk about what happened, it will make it go away.

She sighed. The nightmare doesn't bear much resemblance to reality. I'm in the same warehouse where the shooting occurred, but in the dream, I'm lost and the gunman is chasing me, and that didn't happen. I never make it out, and he always catches me. I see the barrel of his gun-that did happen-and he shoots me, and I fall. I always fall.

<script>