"LORD ASHFORD!"
Arthur's voice, raspy and impatient, cut through the wind.
Grayson let out a sharp, ragged breath, his shoulders dropping only an inch. He didn't wake Mailah.
He carefully shifted his weight, easing her head off his chest and onto the soft heap of the quilt. She didn't stir, her long lashes resting against her cheeks, utterly trusting.
He rose silently, the cold air hitting his skin like a shock, and crossed the room in three long strides. He drew the iron bolt and threw the door open.
The wind shrieked, driving a spray of freezing rain into the cottage. Arthur stood on the threshold, dripping wet, clutching a lantern that flickered wildly in the gale.
"I heard the storm getting nasty," the old man shouted over the wind. "Thought you might want this extra sealant for the window frame. The gaps are letting the cold in, and I know how you lot get when you're chilled."
