Unsteady

Chapter Twelve

The next morning, the fireplaces scattered throughout the house had long since burned out, leaving behind a lingering chill that seeped into every corner. The stillness of early dawn hung heavily in the air, broken only by the soft patter of rain and the occasional groan of wind against the windows.

In Graham and Regina's bedroom, the faint light of morning crept through the curtains, casting silvery beams across the room. Regina stirred beneath the thick layers of their quilt, the cold pressing against her cheeks as she slowly opened her eyes.

Her gaze drifted to the far side of the room, where the fireplace stood dark and cold—until a flicker of movement caught her attention. Graham was crouched in front of the hearth, his broad shoulders hunched as he worked methodically to revive the fire.

The crackle of fresh flames broke the silence, their warm glow chasing away the gloom of the morning. Light danced across the walls, turning the room into a haven of flickering gold and orange.

"What time is it?" Regina murmured, her voice thick with sleep. She pulled the quilt tighter around her shoulders, the warmth not quite banishing the chill from her skin. "How's the storm?"

Graham glanced over his shoulder, his movements deliberate as he added another log to the fire. A faint smile played on his lips. "Just after five," he replied in a low voice. "The girls are still out cold. I checked on them earlier and rekindled their fireplaces. Storm's still going strong, though."

Regina listened, her brows knitting slightly as she caught the sharp staccato of rain striking the windows. "It sounds like hail," she remarked, tilting her head to better hear the relentless drumming on the roof.

Graham shook his head, turning back to the fire as the flames grew steadily stronger. "No, just heavy rain," he assured her. "But it's coming down hard. I'm going to check on the horses; they're probably running low on hay and water."

Regina propped herself up on her elbows, her dark eyes narrowing in concern. "In this weather?"

"They need to be fed," he replied, his tone calm but firm as he straightened and dusted off his hands. "And if I don't go, Valeriya's going to want to handle it. I can't let her go out in this storm." He moved toward the closet, pulling on a thick, cable-knit sweater over his shirt.

Regina sighed softly, watching him as he readied himself. "Just... be careful," she said, her voice tinged with worry.

He nodded, pausing at the door to glance back at her. "Always," he promised before slipping out into the hall.

The moment Graham stepped outside, the storm greeted him with its full force. Sheets of rain lashed against him, soaking through his coat almost instantly. The wind howled, tearing at his clothes and pushing against him as he trudged across the yard. His boots splashed through puddles, the icy water soaking through to his socks.

Despite the storm's ferocity, Graham moved quickly, his focus sharp as he reached the stables. The heavy wooden doors creaked as he pushed them open, and he was immediately greeted by a calmer atmosphere.

The sturdy structure of the stables shielded the horses from the worst of the storm, their insulated walls muffling the howling wind and relentless rain. Inside, the air was warmer, filled with the earthy scent of hay and the soft rustle of the horses shifting in their stalls.

Graham moved swiftly but gently, checking each horse with practiced care. His hands brushed over their coats, ensuring they were dry and calm. He refilled their water troughs and added fresh hay to their feeders, murmuring softly to them as he worked. The animals responded with quiet nickers, their trust in him evident as they settled back into their stalls.