It was Marcus.
I knew it with every fibre of my being.
Whether it was the way he stood, the shape of his shoulders beneath the cloak or simply something instinctive pulling me toward him, I could not have mistaken him for anyone else.
But I would need a reason to leave, and a believable one too. One that would allow me to step away without drawing attention to myself, or have Gen insisting on accompanying me.
I needed to know that he was truly alive. I need to touch him, hear his voice, to convince myself that I had not imagined those familiar eyes staring up at me from the shadows.
Gen was clapping along with the festivities, occasionally stamping his foot against the wooden platform in time with the drums. Villagers shouted his name from below, raising their cups toward him as servants moved between the crowd carrying pitches of ale and mead.
One of the village women approached the stage then.
She wore a deep red dress that clung to her figure, garlands woven through her chestnut hair. The neckline dipped low, revealing more than modesty allowed and a playful smile curved her lips as she approached Gen carrying a mead-filled pint.
I watched in silence, my hands tightening in my lap.
Gen rose to meet her.
The woman curtsied gracefully, offering him the drink. He accepted it with an easy smile, leaning down as she murmured something meant only for his ears. Whatever she said must've drawn a faint amusement from him.
Then he lifted a hand and tipped her chin upward.
My breath caught.
His thumb brushed across his own lips before he pressed it against hers.
The gesture was brief, intimate.
It was possessive.
The woman gazed up at him like she had been granted a blessing from the gods themselves.
Gen simply took the pint from her hands and said something that made her smile widen. Then he gestured toward one of his soldiers.
The man stepped forward immediately.
With gentle insistence, he guided the woman away from the platform while she cast one last lingering glance over her shoulder.
Gen, meanwhile, turned and made his way back to me, taking a slow sip from the mead as though nothing unusual had happened.
"It is getting late," he said, a faint smirk tugging at his lips. "Yet no one has come to claim you."
"You did not specify how long they had to do so," I replied. "Perhaps some are even now informing my family—or my husband."
At the mention of a husband, something shifted in Gen's expression. His eyes darkened, and his jaw tightened before he took another drink from his cup.
Then he extended it toward me.
"This is good mead," he said. "You should try it."
Seeing as the festivities were beginning to make my head spin, I took the chalice from his hand and brought it to my lips.
If I could not have aspirin, perhaps alcohol would suffice.
But the moment the mead touched my tongue, I regretted it.
I scrunched my nose at the taste.
God, it was strong, far stronger than perhaps any alcohol I have tasted before.
I only managed a second swallow before handing the cup back to him. Gen chuckled softly as he accepted it and took a long drink himself.
Meanwhile, I pressed a hand over my mouth and closed my eyes briefly, forcing myself to breathe through the pounding in my skull.
"Helena?"
His voice sounded closer this time.
I opened my eyes to find Gen leaning toward me, concern etched across his features. One hand reached for my chin and I couldn't help thinking about the village woman just moments before, as he gently tipped my face upward.
"Are you alright?"
I found myself staring into those dark blue eyes, and feeling nothing but disappointment.
Because these were not the eyes I longed to see. Not the face I had searched for in every shadow. Nor the touch that haunted me whenever I closed my eyes.
Gen must've mistaken my expression for pain.
"Is it the mead?" he asked. "Has it upset you? Are you unwell?"
"No."
I took a steadying breath and gently moved away from his hand.
Marcus could still be watching, and I didn't want him to see me like this.
"I would like to go somewhere quieter for a little while," I said. "Just until my head clears."
His expression softened immediately.
"Then I shall accompany you."
I shook my head. "No."
The answer came too quickly, but I forced myself to smile.
"You should stay."
His brow furrowed. "Stay?"
"The people are celebrating because of you. They have been approaching you all evening." I glanced toward the crowd below. "I would feel guilty taking you away from your own feast."
A hint of amusement appeared in his eyes. "You are attempting to dismiss me."
"I am attempting to spare you."
His smile widened.
For a moment, I feared he would refuse upright.
Then he exhaled through his nose. "Very well."
Relief nearly swept through me.
"Cadoc. Brenin."
Two men immediately stepped forward from the edge of the platform. Both men were armed, large enough to make any escape difficult.
My heart sank.
"You will accompany Lady Helena," he ordered. "Guide her with your life."
The soldiers bowed. "Of course, my lord."
I forced a smile despite the panic rising in my chest.
Of course, he would not let me wander alone.
But just as I turned to leave, Gen caught my hand and I froze.
The conversation around us seemed to dim, but maybe it could be just me. The music softening beneath the pounding of my pulse. What is he doing?
Slowly, he lifted my hand between both of his, pressing a soft kiss against my knuckles.
The gesture was brief, entirely proper.
And yet, devastatingly public.
A cheer immediately erupted from somewhere within the crowd. Some laughed, some men smiled knowingly as heat flooded my face.
Because now, everyone had seen it. And somewhere beyond the firelight, hidden amongst the shadows, Marcus had likely seen it too.
Somehow I managed to keep my composure.
Slowly, I rose from my seat and descended the wooden platform while Gen remained behind, occupied by the cheering crowd. Villagers surged toward him with offerings for the fire, cups of mead raised high as musicians played louder and faster with every passing moment.
The noise helped, because it gave me cover.
By the time I reached the edge of the gathering, the bonfire's warmth had begun to fade against the cool evening air. Shadows stretched between the buildings beyond the square, swallowing the spaces where the torchlight could not reach.
The two soldiers followed closely behind.
Though my head pounded mercilessly, I could still feel it.
Marcus was somewhere nearby, watching.
Waiting.
"It is dangerous to venture further, my lady," Brenin said, extending an arm across my path. His gaze swept toward the darker corners of the settlement where the Roman patrols occasionally passed. "We should remain where Lord Gwrgenau can still see us."
"I only need a moment," I replied softly.
Brenin exchanged a look with Cadoc, neither man appeared convinced.
I was about to argue further when movement caught my eye.
Three Roman soldiers emerged from between the buildings ahead.
Brenin immediately straightened, his attention shifted.
Just for a second.
A hand shot from the darkness.
A muffled grunt followed.
Then another.
I barely had time to gasp before both guards vanished into the shadows as though the night itself had swallowed them whole.
My heart lurched.
The Roman soldiers continued walking, oblivious.
Everything had happened too quickly, I barely had the time to register it.
Then suddenly, a hand closed around my wrist, pulling me into the darkness between the two buildings. My back colliding with a solid chest.
A hand covered my mouth.
"Quiet."
The voice struck me like lightning.
Marcus.
The pounding of the drums, the festival, the pain in my skull...everything instantly disappeared. My world narrowing completely to him.
I turned before he could stop me, my hands flying to his face.
And there he was.
My Marcus.
Alive. Real.
His hood had fallen back during the struggle, revealing that familiar dark hair and those impossible dark eyes that had haunted every moment of the past week.
For a second, neither of us moved.
Neither of us breathed.
Then he dragged me through the doorway of a small timber house tucked beneath the larger buildings.
I didn't even care where we were, where he was taking me.
The moment the door shut behind us, I reached for him.
Or perhaps he was the one reaching for me.
I wasn't even sure anymore.
All I knew was that suddenly his hands were framing my face and his mouth was on mine.
The kiss was desperate.
Relief, fear, longing...everything we had been carrying crashed into us all at once.
My fingers tangled in his hair as I pulled him closer, needing to feel him, to know he was real. Marcus kissed me like a starved man, his forehead briefly pressing against mine before finding my lips again like he couldn't get enough.
My head still throbbed. My body still ached from my injuries.
But none of it fucking mattered.
Because after all that uncertainty and fear, Marcus was here.
Alive.