Page 67 of A Shadow Amongst the Roses

The door swung inward at her touch.

Ashwood froze. Something crossed his expression, confusion, irritation, perhaps suspicion of the mechanism itself. Whatever it was, he did not voice it.

Eliza stepped inside without hurrying.

Thomas followed, casting a brief glance at the door as it settled behind them with a quiet sigh.

Ashwood remained in the corridor, his back rigid, his shadow stretched unnaturally long by the dimming lamps.

Inside the room, Eliza paused and looked at Thomas.

“Will you manage both today?” she asked.

“I’ll manage,” he said.

He would. And without drawing the kind of attention Ashwood seemed determined to provoke.

Her expression softened. “Safe travels, Thomas.”

He nodded, the significance of the moment subtle but unmistakable.

When he left the room a few minutes later, he looked once more toward the corridor where Ashwood had stood.

The candle that had extinguished earlier still trailed a thin ribbon of smoke.

And the floorboard where Ashwood had planted his foot gave a faint, protesting creak, though no one stood there now.

Thomas exhaled.

The house had made its opinion known.

Chapter Thirty-Two

Thomas tightened the last strap on the pack horse, checked the crates twice, and tested the leather bindings with a practiced tug. The wind had risen since morning, sharp, damp, carrying the promise of another storm rolling in from the hills.

Eliza stood near the stable entrance, the hem of her gown brushing the straw-scattered floor.

“You have everything?” she asked.

“Enough to keep Thornhaven standing another week,” he said with a faint smile.

She didn’t return it at once. Her gaze drifted past him toward the open yard, where the light had flattened to a dull pewter. When she looked back at him, her expression had settled into something quieter.

“Ride carefully.”

There was a heaviness in her tone. Not fear. Not doubt. The kind of awareness that came from living too close to uncertainty for too long.

He nodded once, firm and steady. “I’ll return before dark, if the roads hold.”

“And if they don’t?”

“Then I will return as soon as I can.”

For a moment, neither spoke. The wind tugged at her shawl. He stepped closer and adjusted it, tucking the edge more securely over her shoulder. His fingers brushed the fabric, never her skin, but the nearness of her stilled him more than the wind ever could.

“Thank you,” she murmured.

He stepped back and mounted. The horse shifted beneath him, alert to the road ahead.