GRAYSON WALKED ACROSS THE MAIN ROOM, his heavy steps silent on the rugs, and kicked open the door to the bedroom.
The space was small, cramped, and entirely theirs.
This cottage held only a single bedroom, a fact that had caused Grayson a great deal of frustration when they first arrived, though his objections had long since vanished into a quiet satisfaction.
Arthur kept his own cluttered shack down by the lower cliffs, appearing only every few days to drop off flour, scream at the weather, or cook a meal that smelled heavily of garlic and lard.
Tonight, the house was empty, cold, and entirely dark.
Grayson deposited Mailah onto the mattress with a sudden, solid drop.
The iron springs beneath the heavy down mattress let out a sharp groan under their combined weight.
He didn't retreat to the wooden chair in the corner. Instead, he stripped his heavy wool coat off with an impatient yank, tossing it into the darkness where it hit the floorboards with a muffled thud.
