“When,” he began, taking in her form as he visibly weighed the request, “did I promise ye that?”
He closed the ledger and set it aside. As he stood, he studied Amelia. She could tell he was looking for the reasoning that underlay the request. It would have surprised her if he found anything there, as Amelia couldn’t articulate why she’d asked.
Perhaps I’m tryin’ to prove somethin’. To him or meself, I’m nae sure.
“Just now,” Amelia said, keeping her tone playful. She wanted to know more about him, but she didn’t want to scare either of them away.
Darragh chuckled, low and amused. He gestured toward the door as he said, “Ye daenae say…”
With a genuine grin on her face, she left the library. Once they were in the corridor, he took the lead, a candle in his hand. She had to stifle a laugh as he squeezed himself through the narrow servants’ stairs up to the attic.
The candle cast long, dramatic shadows along the stone as they climbed higher. He kept his pace slow and steady, his steps sure as if he were no stranger to walking this path. She kept up with him easily, absorbing his careful, contained awareness.
“One moment,” he said, holding his palm out to keep her from wandering too far into the room.
Methodically, he lit several candles gathered around the space. The golden-orange glow washed over everything, making the moment feel more private. If she were more inclined to whimsy, she might have even called the atmosphere magical.
“Watch yer step,” he said as he placed his candle on a side table. “This room could use some of yer attention.”
“I do suppose I could dedicate some time up here,” she mused, walking into the center of the room.
There I go, sayin’ I’ll be here. Actin’ as if I’m a part of the keep.
Darragh laughed, a singular punch of amusement. His back was to her, his hands deftly sorting through the stack of canvases and parchment that she’d been drawn to the last time she visited this place. Without bothering to conceal her interest, she shuffled forward, watching as he deliberated over which pieces to pull.
“I’ve nae painted in years,” Darragh said reflectively as he pulled out a painting of a gorgeous spring landscape.
She was too enthralled by the detailed hunting scenes that were interspersed between rough sketches of hills and rivers. Even the pieces that were nothing more than scraped ideas were beautiful. His talent was unmistakable.
“Ye painted all of these,” she said, awed that a man so gruff, so skilled in tracking and fighting, also carried the patience and finesse to create something so beautiful.
“Aye,” Darragh said, setting the paintings he had chosen in a line for her to observe.
Amelia took a moment to walk down the line of them, taking in each detail and precise brushstroke. Each scene seemed to focus on the contrast between dark and light, good and evil. If given the chance, she thought she could spend hours in here interpreting each of the pictures.
“Why do ye keep these hidden up here?” she asked, finally looking away from the painting of the white deer and golden wolf that had sparked her curiosity. “They’re beautiful.”
Darragh went quiet, something in his expression shifting. His gaze was intense and unreadable, fixed on a point just behind her shoulder. She realized then that she was asking him to reveal something private, something he didn’t want to share.
I’m sure he’s seen that look on me face quite a bit since I arrived.
So, even though she hadn’t anticipated doing so, she took a deep breath. It was time, she thought, that he knew the truth. If there was even a chance that she’d flee before her father had a chance to come looking for her, Darragh deserved to know everything that she’d kept secret.
And I ken I willnae leave this room without speakin’ this.
* * *
Amelia was quiet beside Darragh for so long that he wondered if she was truly waiting for an answer. Her gaze was fixed on his artwork, something contemplative in the furrow of her brow. When she slowly turned to face him properly, her face was more open than he’d ever seen it before.
“Me father…” she began quietly, stubbornly keeping her eyes on the canvas in front of her. Darragh’s attention sharpened, noticing the new stiffness in her stance, the way she swallowedhard enough that her throat clicked in the quiet. “He sold me to them.”
The entire world seemed to stop. Fury rushed through Darragh. His theory, the one that he’d known to be true but hadn’t allowed himself to fully believe, admitted so freely with Amelia’s nervous voice, made his vision go red. The blood pounding in his ears was so loud that he almost missed the next part of her quiet admission.
“He sold me because he finally had a son.”
Her words hung in the air between them. It seemed as though she were unable to look at him, shame and impossible pride radiating off of her in waves. His jaw clenched so tightly he thought his molars might break.
That bastard.
