Ryder moved toward the fire pit bowl, its bed of coals pulsing a deep orange-red, alive as any beast he’d ever faced in the arena. Heat shimmered upward, and among the coals lay the branding iron, its tip glowing with the initials he and Isobel would carry into forever—R and I, entwined.
With steady hands, Ryder lifted the long handle, the weight solid in his grip, and carried it back to where Isobel stood by the arbor he himself had built board by board. Her eyes shone, steady as a flame. Together, their fingers wrapped around the handle, leather against lace, and they pressed the glowing iron into the timber.
Smoke hissed up, sharp and acrid, while the wood sizzled and split. A tiny flame licked to life, wild and eager, before dying down to reveal the scorched mark of their union. Ryde
