The apology was a surprise, simple, and without condition. Elspeth pulled back a little, craning her neck to look up at him. His eyes were open, glinting in the pale moonlight.
“For what? Surely ye daenae need to apologize to me after what we did.”
“For all of it,” he said, his gaze searching hers. “For the things I said. The way I acted. I was a fool, Elspeth. A stubborn, proudfool. You have been here, under my roof, this whole time. I curse the waste.”
A tiny, bitter smile touched her lips. “I thought we were long past that. In fact, I feel ye ken me quite intimately now.”
“There is so much left for us, darling,” he whispered. “I do not know what.”
“I mean it! Ye daenae need to apologize to me.”
“It is in the air between us, though. And well, I wanted to… clear it. Really clear it, so that we can start anew.” He paused, and she felt him take a deep, shaky breath. “I have been so angry for so long. Angry at myself, mostly, for letting things get so out of hand. For not seeing you.”
His honesty was a balm, a soothing ointment to old wounds. She no longer thought of balls or societal expectations. She thought only of him and this moment. She felt the sting of tears, but this time they were not tears of sadness.
“I was angry, too,” she admitted, her voice barely a breath. “Angry that ye hated me for somethin’ I’d never asked for. And angry that I dinnae hate ye back. Ye have this habit of infuriatin’ me.”
He let out a low, humorless laugh. “How could you? You are far too good for that. I do not think you have a hateful bone in your perfect body.”
“Ye are a most vexin’ man, Yer Grace. A perfect, impossible puzzle.”
He turned his head, pressing a soft kiss to her palm. “You solved me, then?”
“I am nae sure,” she confessed. “Perhaps I have started to. Maybe we are just two broken pieces that fit together somehow. Like a cracked teacup mended with paste.”
“A teacup?” he echoed. “I am intrigued.”
“Me nursemaid, Morag, had one. Her favorite teacup, ye see. It was dropped, shattered into a dozen pieces when I was runnin’ about our home. Me maither spent hours, days, piecin’ it back together with a special paste. She said it was even more beautiful for havin’ been broken, a testament to her determination.” Her fingers traced the curve of his chin. “Our cracks, all the jagged little pieces. we will mend them together.”
Hugo was quiet for a long moment.
“I like that,” he said finally, his voice thick with emotion. “Our cracks, all the jagged little pieces… we will mend them together.”
“Anythin’ can be fixed with the right attitude and approach.”
“Even me?”
“Even ye, Hugo. Besides, ye arenae as bad as ye think. I promise ye that.”
He shifted, pulling her closer until there was no space left between them. His lips found her forehead, a feather-light touch, then her temple, and finally, her lips. He took a deep breath, savoring her scent.
It was not just her heather scent, but it washer. He could not get enough of her. Yet, something niggled at his chest.
I have not slept in another woman’s bed since…
“Stay,” she whispered against his mouth, a promise more than a plea. “Stay with me.”
Let the ghosts of the past lie.
He closed his eyes and pulled her closer, letting the rhythm of her breathing lull him into the most peaceful sleep he had ever had.
Chapter Twenty-Four
What is that incessant bright light? And better yet, where am I?
The sun pried open Hugo’s heavy-lidded eyes. He blinked against the unfamiliar rays, the room slow to come into focus.
When was the last time he had been woken by the sun? It had been years since he rose so late. Even as a young boy, he was too restless to wait for the world to wake up, to relinquish that control.
