“Aye, but I learned from the best.” His fond look gave no doubt as to his meaning. “I shall do ye proud, Chris.”
Such glowing affirmation . . .
Chrissi had to swallow again, her throat aching.
Sunlight streamed through the window at his back, rimming his head and catching coppery highlights in his dark hair. The beard suited his features, she decided. It lent him a dangerous air, as if he had just set down his sword after an afternoon of marauding.
At twenty-one, he had been virile and unnervingly attractive.
Now at thirty, he seemed a fortress unto himself. An immovable block of muscle and determination.
She ached for that strength. To crawl into the comfort of his arms and let him battle her demons and the memories that still haunted her. To grow old together, secure in the other’s affections.
But that wasn’t how their story would end.
The more he pushed, the more inevitable it became that her own sins would tumble loose, burying them both in a rubble pile of hurt and betrayal.
Chrissi had survived his loss once, if just barely.
But a second time?
No.
Alis would destroy her in truth this time around.
Particularly when he left her bedchamber and returned an hour later, a bouquet of freshly cut wildflowers—Highland thistle, wild rose, and dog violet—clutched in his fist.
Chris was melancholy.
The development puzzled Alistair.
When he had determined to woo her, he had expected resistance—anger and recriminations.
Instead, with every kind act, she seemed to sink a wee bit more inside herself, becoming more wan with each passing hour.
After two days, Alistair decided a change of scenery was in order.
Surely, Chris was simply upset to relinquish the excavations to his care.
He ordered a roaring fire built in the library and installed her there, ankle propped on a footstool and the pottery sherds on a table within easy reach.
She seemed content enough, sorting and cataloging as he read across from her.
From time to time, he would feel her eyes upon him. But when he glanced up, she would immediately look away. And the one time their eyes met, Chris blushed.
He considered that to be progress.
But his attempts to draw her into easy conversation were stymied.
The next day, he moved her to the great hall, placing her in an overstuffed chair before the enormous windows.
“If ye lean to the right here, lass”—he pointed—“ye will be able to see the excavations.”
Her expression brightened at that.
“And how fares the digging?” Chris pressed him for updates.
“Well! The workers are slowly removing the dirt I marked from the tunnel. They are to summon me should they find anything. In the meantime, I shall enjoy keeping ye company.”
