“Ye daenae understand,” she cried, unhearing. “I cannae go back. I willnae. I willnae. I willnae!”
Her breathing became unsteady and shallow, as if her lungs were rebelling against air. Darragh could no longer stand back, not when she looked as if she were seconds away from fainting. He crossed the distance instinctively, one hand lifting before he could think better of it.
His palm came to rest lightly against the center of her chest. Firmly, he instructed, “Breathe.”
Amelia froze at the contact, the shock of being touched seeming to dislodge the spiraling thoughts. Her eyes were still wide with terror when she found his gaze, but her body obeyed. She drew in a long but shaky breath, exhaling it through clenched teeth.
“Again,” he said, pressing his hand closer, giving her a grounding presence to focus on. “Breathe.”
Her chest rose, steadier now, then fell. The wild look in her eyes started to fade, the color returning to her cheeks. She looked more present, more grounded.
“That’s it, lass,” he soothed as her breathing slowly evened out. “Keep breathin’. Ye’re safe.”
Heat radiated through the fabric, and he could feel the way each pull of air became surer. It was as if she solidified beneath his touch. He stared at her in wonder, realizing that something had shifted between them.
I wonder why she’s nae pushin’ me away. When did she stop runnin’ from me?
Slowly, the frantic energy of the room faded. Amelia’s body, while still tense with the weight of everything she was refusing to tell him, relaxed slightly. She was leaning into the warmth of his palm, though he didn’t think she was fully aware of the comfort she was seeking.
“Ye’re safe here,” he said, his tone even and low. “Ye’re nae goin’ to be sent away.”
She nodded, the movement slow and deliberate. It seemed almost as if she were trying to convince herself of his statement. The trembling, however, had stopped.
Still, he didn’t remove his hand from her chest. He told himself that this was for her, to ensure she remained steady and didn’t faint or work herself into a frenzy. It didn’t matter that he needed to feel that she was still breathing, that she was coming back to herself from that feral, animalistic place.
“Say ye understand,” Darragh said, his fingers pressing against her skin in slight encouragement. “Tell me ye understand that I willnae be givin’ ye away.”
Amelia sucked in more air, her lungs no longer protesting. Then, finally, she spoke, her voice still a bit shaky. “I understand.”
“Good,” he praised. “Fraser Keep is yer home as long as it’s the safest place for ye.”
She nodded again, swallowing hard. He could feel the effort it took. Her body was slowly returning to her control. For a moment, he let his hand linger. Then, with what felt like considerable effort, he let his hand fall to his side. He stayed close, though, the distance between them feeling both too small and too wide.
* * *
Amelia felt as though she were a guest in her own body, the sensation intensifying when Darragh broke the contact. He’d somehow, completely without her permission, become her anchor. It was terrifying. It was exhilarating.
“I suppose,” she said, forcing herself to speak as though she weren’t still stitching herself back together, “ye still want answers.”
“Aye,” he said, his reply coming quick and sure.
The intensity of his look, the quiet expectation, made her entire body flush. His attention, though demanding, didn’t feel hostile any longer. She wasn’t sure how to react. The defensiveness and venom that she’d once used felt insufficient and inappropriate.
“What if it’s too awful to say out loud?” she murmured, looking at his chest rather than his face. To admit to being a liability to her father’s legacy felt unfathomably shameful. “What if admittin’ it makes it real?”
He was quiet for a long moment. Long enough that Amelia finally returned her gaze to his face. “When ye daenae speak of it, ye’re protectin’ the men who hurt ye,” he said, his restrained anger leaking through.
She wanted to tell him, recognizing that there was truth to what he said. The secrets she was carrying protected her, yes, but they also protected her father and every man who was responsible for her suffering.
“I cannae trust anyone,” she whispered, a final attempt to resist the pull she felt.
“Ye can trust me, Amelia,” he said, his voice rougher than before, lower and more protective.
The sound of her name from his lips sent a shiver through her entire body. While the fear was still there, an instinctual apprehension of getting closer to men, it was fading fast. Or, perhaps, she was simply learning to trust that he wasn’t a threat.
His touch returned, this time a palm to her cheek, firmly claiming her gaze. Then, dangerously, he said, “I’ll burn the world before anyone hurts ye again.”
His jaw tightened as soon as the words left his mouth. The restraint that he’d been displaying had fractured, and beneath it wasn’t anger or rejection. Instead, she saw something else entirely.
