He returned to the hearth and sat before the dinner tray. He was ravenous, but his stomach was churning. He didn’t want to eat without her, so he decided to wait.
He might be waiting all night, he thought with a groan, leaning his head back against the chair. He sat like that for a while, eyes closed, heart swiftly beating, his damp hair dripping onto his shoulders. Finally he relented to pour himself a cup of wine, thinking it would calm him.
He was holding the bottle when a knock sounded at the door.
Jack froze, his voice lost, his eyes riveted to the door as it slowly opened. Adaira crossed over the threshold. She was holding what looked to be a pile of folded garments in her hands, and she kept her eyes averted from him at first. She bolted the door behind her and then leaned against it, an action so familiar and beloved to Jack that he felt like the two of them had been cast back in time to the night of their handfasting.
He realized she was just as anxious as he was, coming face-to-face with him after being separated. Jack didn’t speak. Not until Adaira finally lifted her eyes and met his gaze from across the room.
“You have blood on your face,” he said.
Adaira raised her hand to trace the flecks of blood on her cheek. When Jack noticed more blood streaked on her forearm, his heart quickened.
“And you are wearing my robe,” she said.
Jack glanced down at it, to ensure it hadn’t betrayed him by gaping open. “I thought you would prefer this to the alternative.”
Adaira began to close the distance between them. Jack watched her, trying to measure her emotion so he would know how to chart his own. There was a sheen in her eyes—tears or mirth, he couldn’t tell—but then she smiled, and his breath hung in his chest.
“I think you wear that robe better than me,” she claimed, her gaze rushing over him.
“I doubt that,” Jack countered, rising as she approached. The wine bottle was still in his grip, his fingers locked about its neck. “Although I would have to see you in this robe before I made such an assumption.”
“Mmm.” She came to a stop, an arm’s length away. The firelight washed over her face and her long, unbound hair. It gilded the sword sheathed at her side, the golden half coin hanging from her neck.
Jack could have stared at her all night.
Her smile eased, but its warmth lingered in her eyes. “I didn’t mean to make you wait so long, but I was finding you some clothes, as well as taking care of a few important matters.” She extended the folded garments to Jack. “Your harp should be returned by tomorrow. As should anything else Rab took from you.”
Jack set down the bottle. He accepted the clothes, relieved to see his half coin resting on the pile.
“The chain is broken, but I’ll have a jeweler mend it,” she said.
“Thank you.” Jack hesitated, setting the clothes aside. He looked at Adaira fully, aching to touch her. There were endless words still unspoken between them, and he could feel them, brewing like a storm.
“Adaira,” he whispered. “Adaira, I—”
The sound of her name broke her composure. It didn’t hit Jack until a moment later that she hadn’t heard her name in weeks, that she had been answering to Cora.
It was like a rock breaking through ice on a loch.
She stepped forward, until the distance between them evanesced and he could see the freckles fanning across her nose. Jack drew in a sharp breath, because there was fire in her eyes, and he was captivated by it, as well as slightly fearful of such heat. Especially when she raised a fist at him.
“You foolish”—she shoved him once with her hands—“insufferable”—then nudged him again, just over his pounding heart—“infuriating bard!” She pushed him a third time, forcing Jack to take a step back.
Fury spun from fear, he realized as he saw tears well up in her eyes. And he would gladly let her pound her fists on his chest if she needed to. She could call him whatever she felt like, because he was with her and that was all that mattered to him. He was breathing the same air as her, standing in the same moment with her.
Jack waited for her to shove him again, welcoming her to do so with his eyes and his hands, held palms up at his sides.
Yes, let it all go, Adaira, he thought, waiting. Let yourself unravel with me.
“I almost watched you die!” she shouted at him, and this time her fist pounded her own chest. Once, twice. A third time. As if she needed to command her heart to keep beating. “And I . . .”
Her voice broke. She turned away from him abruptly, her fist finally opening. Blue jewels tumbled from her hand, gleaming in the light as they spilled across the floor. But Jack hardly paid mind to their strangeness. He watched Adaira bow over, as if she had been torn in two. A sob split her breath. She crouched down and wept into her hands.