The Duke's Unwanted Second Wife

Damian pulled away abruptly, turning his back to her as he composed himself. The vulnerability of the last few moments seemed to startle him more than the impending storm. He wiped the remaining traces of tears from his face with a quick motion of his sleeve.

"Don’t feel embarrassed," Eilika said softly. "Whatever happened just now stays between us. I am your wife, Damian; you don’t have to hide your heart from me."

She didn’t wait for him to respond, sensing that giving him space was the kindest thing she could do. Instead, she looked upward. The once-clear blue was now dark and a gush of wind suddenly passed through the tulip field.

"The sky is completely covered with dark clouds, Damian. We need to hurry," she urged, rising to her feet and smoothing her damp olive gown.

The first heavy, freezing drops of the downpour began to slash through the canopy. Damian turned back to her, his eyes now sharp and focused on the horizon.

"The carriage is too far," he noted. "We’ll be drenched before we reach the trail. The huts are our only option."

He reached out and grasped her hand. "Let’s take shelter first."

Together, they began to move quickly down the small hilltop under the lashing rain. The first hut they reached was small and weathered. Damian knocked firmly on the wooden door, but when no one answered, he pushed it open to find the interior empty. He pulled Eilika inside and quickly bolted the door against the wind.

Inside, the air was dim and smelled of dry earth. Eilika stood in the center of the room, her olive gown soaked through and clinging to her skin. She began to shiver violently.

Damian scanned the room, his eyes landing on a small window that let in the grey, flickering light of the storm. "Eilika, sit here," he said, gesturing to a pile of dry straw tucked into the corner.

As he walked toward her, he noticed the paleness of her face and the way her teeth chattered. Without a word, he stripped off his heavy overcoat. It was still warm from his own body heat when he draped it over her shoulders.

"You’re freezing," he muttered, his hands lingering for a second to pull the lapels tight around her neck.

He turned his attention to a small stone hearth built into the far wall. "I’ll see if there’s any dry wood left here. We can’t have you falling ill."

Eilika sank onto the straw, pulling the oversized coat around her like a blanket. "I—I usually don’t feel the cold. But suddenly, I am," she murmured, her voice trembling. A sharp sneeze escaped her a moment later, punctuating her words.

Damian’s expression tightened with concern. "Wait for me here," he commanded, before turning and rushing back out into the downpour.

Eilika watched the door swing shut, the latch clicking into place. "We should not have come here," she whispered to the empty room, her mind racing with the sudden isolation. She closed her eyes for a moment, vigorously rubbing her arms to generate some warmth, when the sound of heavy footsteps and muffled voices reached her.

The door creaked open again. Damian stepped inside, followed closely by a middle-aged man wearing a thick, wax-coated cloak. Damian walked straight to Eilika, reaching down to help her to her feet.

"Please follow me," the man said, gesturing toward the door. "My home is just a few yards away. It has a proper hearth and dry blankets for the Lady."

Damian kept a firm arm around Eilika’s waist to steady her as they stepped back out into the lashing rain, guided by the local man toward a larger, sturdier structure visible through the grey mist.

The couple’s home was small but sturdy. The middle-aged woman gave them a kind, knowing smile as she ushered them into a guest room where a fire already crackled in the hearth.

"The room is ready for both of you," she said warmly.

Damian helped Eilika into a wooden chair near the fire. The woman then placed a stack of folded, coarse-woven garments into Damian’s hands. "These are for both of you. They are plain, but dry."

"Thank you. I hope we aren’t disturbing you," Damian said, his voice regaining some of its formal edge despite his dampened clothes.

"Not at all," the man replied with a respectful nod. "We will leave you two to settle in." He guided his wife out and closed the heavy door, leaving Damian and Eilika in the sudden quiet of the firelight.

Damian turned to Eilika and handed her the smaller set of clothes. It was a simple linen shift and a heavy wool skirt. "Wear these. You need to get out of that wet silk immediately."

Eilika took the clothes, her fingers still trembling slightly. "What about you? Your shirt is soaked through as well."

"I’ll change once you are finished," he said, turning his back to her to give her privacy, his eyes fixed on the dancing flames of the hearth. "Hurry, Eilika. The chill won’t leave you until you’re dry."

"I’ll wait outside," Damian said, stepping out and closing the door to give her privacy. Eilika quickly shed her sodden dress, leaving his heavy overcoat on a chair, and pulled on the dry, coarse clothes provided by the farmer’s wife. She let her damp hair fall loose down her back, the warmth of the room finally starting to reach her skin.

A short while later, Damian returned carrying a tray with two steaming bowls of soup. "Stay by the fire," he directed, setting the tray down on a small wooden table.

Eilika looked at his damp shirt, which was still clinging to his shoulders. "You need to change, too. I’ll step out so you can have the room," she offered, moving toward the door.

"No. Stay where you are," he countered firmly, motioning for her to sit back down in the warmth.

Eilika paused, her expression clouded with confusion. "But... where will you change, then?"

"Right here," Damian answered simply. He began unfastening his cuffs, his movements casual and unbothered, as if the boundary between them had shifted somewhere back on that hillside.

Eilika quickly turned her attention to the fire, her cheeks flushing. The room felt much smaller as she heard the rustle of his wet clothes being discarded.