Brendan froze, remembering his dreams of chasing Freya, mad with desire and longing, stretching out for her, begging her to stay. He swallowed thickly.
“Oh, aye? What did I say?”
She cleared her throat, looking away. “Ye talked about blood and fire, and death. About doing all that ye could, but it not being enough. There is something ye aren’t telling me, Brendan.”
He stared down into the opaque depths of his porridge. A brusque retort sprung to his lips, a reminder for her to mind her own business.
She saved yer life. She didn’t have to. Where would ye be without her?
Ye thought ye could make it alone, eh? Well, ye were wrong.
“Do ye remember the Grahame Clan wars?” he said at last, voice tight.
She nodded shortly. “I remember.”
“Bloody things, they were. A faction rose up against Laird Grahame. Word had it that he was going mad, and they wanted somebody else as laird. Anybody else, really. They’d have accepted the laird’s son in his place, but Laird Grahame has never been a man to share power. So, they fought. Battles andbattles, till the rivers ran red. Brother against brother, father against son. Whole villages were levelled. It felt like it would never end, that whole, dry summer. The last battle they called Fire Hill because a fire began and ate up the bodies of the dead and dying, loyalists and rebels together. The rebellion was quenched along with the flames. Since then, the clan has been too weak and afraid to rise up again.”
“Can hardly blame them,” Freya muttered. “And ye, ye fought in that war?”
“Aye, I did. I was at that last battle, and after that, I decided I’d never fight again.”
She looked at him, gaze intent, and he knew it was only a matter of time before she asked himthe question, the one that shamed him every day and night.
“Who did ye fight for?” she asked. “Rebels or loyalists?”
He considered lying, as always. As always, he told the truth.
“Loyalists,” he said, looking her in the eye. “I fought for Laird Grahame.”
She flinched, as if he’d made to hit her, and looked away.
“Oh,” she whispered.
“Aye, I know,” he responded, smiling mirthlessly. “It’s disappointing, eh?”
“No, no, not disappointing. But that war was a bad one, I know that much. Many losses on both sides. Ye only wanted peace, I daresay.”
“Aye, that I did. I used to dream of peace.”
They were quiet for a few moments after that. Brendan found his gaze dragged to the woman more often than before, his heart hammering.
“I tried to save them,” he heard himself saying. “I did. But it wasn’t enough.”
She reached out impulsively, taking his hand. Her skin was warm against his, and he could see where the mixing and picking of the herbs had begun to dye her fingers green.
“I know ye did,” she said, voice urgent and serious. “I knowye, Brendan, and I know ye are a good man, no matter who ye fought for. Laird Grahame might be an evil pig, butyearen’t.”
He smiled faintly. “What a compliment. I amnotan evil pig.”
A smile tugged at the corners of her lips. “Take it or leave it, laddie.”
“I’ll take it.”
There was another silence, more comfortable this time. He found himself looking at her again, and this time, when she glanced up and met his eyes, he didn’t look away.
“Why did ye come to save me?” he said, voice wobbling like a child’s. “I’ve done nothing but push ye away. Ye, Freya, ye are always true to yourself. Ye are justye, no matter what happens to ye. I buried myself behind layers of guilt, and I suppose seeing ye be so true and honest made me feel worse. I’ve only pushed ye away, again and again, and yet here ye are.”
She took a moment before answering. “I don’t give up easily,” she said at last. “It can be a good thing, but also a bad thing. I’m like a dog with a bone. I was used to it, growing up. I was used to fighting for what I wanted, and even so, I rarely got it. And then ye came along, and I… I’ve not felt like this before. I can be selfish, and spoiled. I know my flaws, and I don’t try to hide them. I want to be better, but at the same time, I believe that anyone who won’t fight for what they want doesn’tdeserveit. And I think I want ye, Brendan. Grumpy as ye are.”
