Lorraine turned toward Leroy. He wasn't even wearing armor, only a torn, blood-soaked linen shirt clinging to his chest, his skin streaked with river water and the residue of battle. And yet, when his gaze swept over the advancing force, his lips curved into that familiar, reckless smirk that she had never seen on him before.
This was her husband, the warrior. It made her both furious and breathless.
"Run, Lorraine," he said, his voice quiet, almost tender beneath the weight of command. His large hand pressed gently against her back, steadying her trembling frame. Then he turned to her, eyes shadowed with something deeper… tenderness laced with guilt. He didn't want to make her leave, but knew she had to.
He leaned in and pressed a quick, desperate kiss to her lips. "I'll handle this," he whispered, his breath trembling against her mouth. "Hide for me, will you? I'll find you."
