Not with the memory of distant hoofbeats still pounding through his thoughts. Tala stirred beneath the blanket. Her black hair had come loose across the pillow. The small beads tangled between the strands. She stared up at the roof beams for a moment, almost as though she were measuring the walls of another prison.
Then her gaze shifted to Cal. Her eyes did not soften. They rarely did. When she finally pushed herself upright, the blanket slipped from one shoulder. Dark bruises stretched across her skin.
Cal's jaw tightened. Marks like those did not come from falling. They came from hands, hard hands, cruel ones. Tala noticed where he was looking and quickly pulled the blanket higher, protecting what dignity she still possessed even while her body remained weak. Then she slowly raised one wrist.
Her fingertips rested against the angry red scars circling it. Chains. The word came rough and broken, but sharp enough to cut through the room. The air between them seemed to stop. Cal leaned forward, elbows resting on his knees while firelight carved hard shadows across his face.
He did not answer right away. He did not need to. The way he looked at her told Tala that he understood. She touched her throat next, then her shoulder, showing him the marks left by rough rope and struggle. She did not have to tell the whole story.
One word, one scar, that was enough. Someone had tied her. Someone had dragged her, and somewhere beyond those walls, there were men who still believed they owned her. Cal rubbed a calloused hand across his beard. He had seen chained men before, prisoners taken during the war, outlaws marched into town wearing iron.
But this was different. This was cruelty wearing the mask of ownership. The thought stirred a kind of anger in him he had not felt since the war. You're safe here, he said at last. His voice was low, steady, certain.
Tala studied his face as though trying to decide whether his promise carried weight or was nothing more than another empty sound. After a long moment, she gave one small nod. It was not much, but it was real. The rest of the day passed beneath a restless kind of quiet. Cal kept to his chores.
He split firewood, carried water, checked the roof for leaks before the weather turned worse. But with every swing of the axe and every trip toward the creek, his eyes kept drifting toward the timber. He was waiting for movement, waiting for riders. Inside the cabin, Tala moved carefully but with stubborn purpose. She tried grinding corn with unsteady hands.
She dipped water from the basin. She stayed near the warmth of the fire. Each task was small, but Cal could see the pride behind every effort. She refused to become helpless, refused to sit there and become someone else's burden. At one point, her legs began to shake.
She lost her balance. Cal crossed the space between them quickly and caught her by the arm before she hit the floor. Tala sucked in a sharp breath. Her whole body went rigid beneath his hand, but she did not pull away. For one long heartbeat, they stood close enough to hear each other breathe.
Too close. Their eyes met. "Easy." Cal said softly. Tala steadied herself.