Evan shook his head. Fear coiled in his gut—fear of what returning might stir, of old ghosts and old obligations. And fear, sharper still, of seeing Ruby again. Of what her eyes might demand of him if he stayed.
“I canna.”
“Canna? Or willnae?” Niall asked quietly. He gazed at Evan in that intense, unsettling way he had. “Ihad to make the choice to stop running,” he said quietly. “From the past. Perhaps ye need to make the same choice.”
Evan closed his eyes. Damn him. Damn his brother for still knowing how to reach him. He exhaled slowly, the fight draining out of him. “Ye always were a conniving bastard.”
Niall grinned. “I learned from the best.”
“All right. I’ll come. But just to meet Charlotte. Nothing else.”
With a last glance back at the wall and the land beyond, Evan turned and fell into step beside his brother, walking back towards both Niall’s home and Evan’s past.
RUBY SAT VERY STILL, hands clasped in her lap, and tried to convince her heart to slow down.
The sitting room was... cozy. That was the only word for it. A low, beamed ceiling, thick rugs layered across the floor, shelves crowded with books and odd little objects, and a roaring fire that threw out welcome heat.
After mud-slick roads and aching feet, after the constant edge of danger and the tight coil of fear that had lived beneath her ribs since the night she’d stepped through the arch, this domestic calm felt unreal.
Homely. Safe.
Which was absurd, really, given that she was several centuries from her own time.
She dragged her gaze away from the flames and looked at Charlie again, just to reassure herself she was real. Her cousin sat opposite her, curled into the corner of a chair with the ease of someone who belonged here, her hair loosely tied back and her expression relieved and worried all at once.
“I still can’t quite believe you’re here,” Charlie said quietly. “When I saw you on the road, I thought I’d gone mad.”
Ruby huffed out a shaky laugh. “Tell me about it.”
She should have felt triumphant. Relieved. She’d crossed seas and moors, been chased and hunted. But she’d made it. She’d found Charlie. Instead, there was a hollow ache sitting in her stomach.
Evan was gone.
The door opened and Ruby stiffened automatically—only to relax when an older woman bustled in, carrying a tray. She was middle-aged, with her hair pulled back into a neat bun and an expression that managed to be both brisk and kind. She wore a plain dress and apron dusted lightly with flour, and the tray she held bore a teapot, two cups, and a plate piled high with golden-brown scones.
“Chamomile tea,” the woman announced briskly. “And scones, fresh from the oven.”
The smell hit Ruby like a physical thing. Melting butter. Warm bread. Her stomach growled traitorously.
“Ah, Flora, perfect timing,” Charlie said, smiling. “This is my cousin, Ruby Douglas. She’s just arrived. Ruby, this is Flora. She keeps this house running and all of us in line.”
Flora snorted softly. “That’s a generous description, but I’ll take it.” She turned her keen gaze on Ruby. “Ye are very welcome here, miss. Ye look like ye could do with something hot and filling.”
Ruby swallowed. “I...um...I.”
Flora poured the tea and passed Ruby a scone already sliced and slathered with butter.
“Eat,” she said firmly, as if daring Ruby to argue.
Ruby took a bite—and very nearly cried. It was ridiculous. It was just a scone. But the butter melted into the crumb, the tea was sweet and sharp and warming, and reminded her so much of home that she could barely breathe.
Flora, satisfied, gave Charlie a knowing look and left them alone. For a few minutes, they ate in companionable silence. Ruby sipped her tea, letting the warmth seep into her stomach, her chest, her bones.
But eventually, Charlie spoke. “So,” she said gently. “What happened? Why did you come all this way looking for me? I’m coming home in a few weeks anyway, remember? For the wedding?”
Ruby stared into her cup. Daniel’s face rose unbidden in her mind.
She exhaled. “No, you’re not. The wedding is off.”
