Torin felt numb, and he wondered when it would truly hit him. He wondered what more he could do. He had searched house after house, croft after croft, all the castle chambers. He had glanced over more backs than he’d have liked to, searching for a wounded man, and yet he had failed to find the answer he sought.

He thought of Jack. The secret Adaira had shared with him earlier.

The bard was Torin’s last hope.

He was thinking of how long it had been since he had heard music when the back door creaked open. Torin stiffened, his eyes flickering to the threshold.

Sidra stepped into the house.

The first thing Torin noticed was that she was barefoot and completely drenched. He could discern every line and curve of her body through the damp chemise. The second thing he noticed was the strange expression on her face, as if she had just woken up and had no idea what had happened while she slumbered.

Seeing him sitting at the table, she closed the door and approached, but stopped a few paces away from him. Her long hair dripped water onto the floor.

“Where were you?” he asked. He sounded angry, but only because he was deeply afraid.

Sidra opened her mouth. Nothing but breath emerged. She was trembling; the sight made Torin ache. He could also see the bruises beginning to bloom on her chest, from where she had been kicked.

His hands curled into fists beneath the table.

“Sidra.”

“I was looking for Maisie,” she said, her gaze dropping to her feet.

He stared at her, wondering what she was withholding from him.

Since the moment he had met her, he had always been able to read Sidra’s face. She was an openhearted woman, honest and genuine and fearless. He remembered the night when he had first held her, skin to skin. When she had invited him to share her bed at last, months after they had wed. The wonder, the pleasure that had been in her eyes when she looked at him.

He regarded her now, standing like a stranger in their house, and he couldn’t read her face. He didn’t know what she was feeling, what she was thinking. It felt like a wall had risen between them.

She lifted her eyes to his, as if she also felt the distance. Her voice was reserved when she asked, “Why are you here, Torin?”

“I came to be with you tonight, Sidra.”

She blinked, surprised. It made him realize how few nights they had spent together. And even then, Maisie had often slept between them in the bed.

“Oh,” Sidra said. “You . . . you didn’t have to do that.”

He studied her, his pulse throbbing in his temples. Did she want him to leave? “I can go, if you would rather that.”