Emily woke to the sound of a hammer striking an anvil. She blinked, disoriented by the heavy grey light filtering through the frost-rimmed window. The air in the room was biting cold.
She turned her head. The left side of the bed was empty. The sheets were cold. Gareth had been up for hours.
Emily sat up, pushing her tangled hair out of her face. For a moment, the old panic flared. Had she offended him? Had he left her here to be locked away?
She slid out of bed and hurried to the heavy oak door. She grabbed the iron ring and pulled.
It wasn't locked. The door swung open with a creak, revealing the empty, drafty corridor. There were no maids waiting with silk gowns or hot water. No guards posted to keep her confined.
Emily closed the door, walked to her travel trunk, and pulled out a fresh woollen dress, a thick shawl, and a comb. She dressed quickly, her breath pluming in the frigid air, and splashed her face with the freezing water left in the basin.
She made her way downstairs, following the smell of woodsmoke, roasting oats, and rendering fat. The great hall was mostly empty, save for a few hounds sleeping by the hearth and a servant sweeping the rushes.
Emily stepped out into the courtyard. The cold hit her like a physical blow, snapping her senses sharp. The fortress was a hive of aggressive industry. Wagons were being unloaded. Boys were carrying bundles of firewood stacked twice as high as their heads, and men-at-arms were sparring in the mud with blunted swords. No one paid her any mind. She was just another body in a busy keep.
She found Gareth near the stables. He was out of his armour, wearing a heavy leather apron over his tunic. He was holding the hind leg of a massive, irritable war horse between his knees while a blacksmith examined the hoof. Gareth's sleeves were rolled up, revealing thick, muscular forearms corded with veins and a dusting of dark hair.
"You cut the frog too deep, Elias," Gareth was saying, his tone conversational but firm. "He's favouring his right side. Pare it down and reset the shoe."
"Aye, my lord. I see it now," the blacksmith muttered.
Gareth dropped the horse's leg and gave the beast a rough pat on the flank. He turned to wipe his hands on a rag and saw Emily standing a few yards away, shivering in her shawl. He didn't smile, but the hard line of his mouth softened a fraction.
"You missed the bacon."
"You didn't wake me," Emily replied, her voice carrying over the ringing of the forge.
Gareth tossed the rag to a stable boy. "You look like you hadn't slept in a month. Come here."
He walked toward a wooden table set up under an awning near the kitchens, gesturing for her to follow. On the table sat a battered tin plate holding a half-eaten loaf of dark bread and a wedge of hard yellow cheese. Gareth tore off a chunk of the bread and handed it to her.
"Eat. You'll need the fat on your bones to survive the wind up here."
Emily took the bread. It was dense, tough, and tasted faintly of ash, but she was starving. She took a bite, chewing slowly as she watched him. He poured a cup of watered ale from a jug and drank it in one long pull.
"What am I to do today, my lord?" Emily asked, swallowing the dry bread.
Gareth paused, setting the cup down. He looked at her, his pale amber eyes studying her face.
"My duties," Emily clarified, pulling her shawl tighter. "In my father's house, I managed the ledgers, oversaw the pantries, and negotiated with the wool merchants. I assume you have a steward who handles such things here, but I must have some purpose." She met his gaze squarely. "I will not sit in a tower and wait to die of boredom."
Gareth stared at her for a long moment. Then a low chuckle rumbled in his chest. It was a rough, unused sound.
"My steward," Gareth said, leaning against the wooden table, "is a man named Vane. He is brilliant with a sword and entirely useless with numbers. He has been stealing from my own winter stores for three years because he doesn't know how to carry a sum. The south tower roof has been leaking since last spring, and the wool merchants from Oak Haven have been overcharging me by twenty percent." He crossed his arms over his broad chest. "I didn't bring you here to breed, Emily. I have a hundred warriors who can hold a shield wall. I don't have a single person in this keep who can read a trade contract without moving their lips."
Emily stared at him, the bread heavy in her hand. "You brought me here to work."
"Your father mentioned in his desperate letters that you ran his estate. I needed a quartermaster and a political adviser. The marriage was just the only way to get your father to hand you over without demanding gold I don't have." He looked out over the muddy, chaotic courtyard. "This pack is strong, Emily, but we are unorganised. We survive by teeth and claws, and winter is coming. We need a mind."
He turned back to her. The Beast of the North, the monster who supposedly tore men limb from limb, was looking at her with quiet, desperate respect.
"The ledgers are on the desk in our chamber," Gareth said softly. "The keep is yours to run. No one will question your authority. If they do, tell me, and I will throw them off the battlements."
He meant it as a joke, but his tone was deadpan.
Emily felt a strange, sudden warmth bloom in her chest that had nothing to do with the heavy wool she wore. She looked at her half-eaten bread. She thought of her father's damp, miserable castle, where she was invisible, a burden to be sold. She looked at the towering, bruised man in front of her, who had just handed her the keys to his kingdom because he recognised her competence.
"I'll need my own horse," Emily said, taking another bite of the bread, "and a ledger with fresh parchment. Vane's records are likely a disaster."
Gareth's mouth twitched into a genuine, rare smile. It changed his entire face, making him look less like a king and more like a man who had finally found an ally.
"I'll have Elias saddle the grey mare," he said. "Welcome to Highridge, Emily."
Emily watched him walk back to the forge, the northern wind pulling at her hair. She had expected to be broken today. She had expected heartbreak and blood. Instead, she had a keep to run, a pack to feed, and a husband who listened to her.
She finished her bread, dusted the crumbs from her skirt, and marched back toward the great hall. There was work to do.