Page 309 of These Tears

She studies me for another long moment before releasing a breath through her nose.

‘I see’ is what comes out of her. Then she looks at the cloth hanging from her now-crossed arms. ‘Fine. I reserve the right to remain deeply suspicious.’

I scoff. ‘I would be alarmed if you weren’t.’

She flicks the tea towel at my thigh, but thanks to Elias, my reflexes snap to attention, and I step away just in time.

‘When’s the flight?’ she asks.

‘Two days.’

Her face falls so quickly that guilt lands hard in my gut before she speaks.

‘That soon?’

‘We’ve already stayed too long because of the court bollocks, and the company transfer… things.’ And making sure Cromwell’s minions were all properly detained.

‘Three weeks is not long when you vanished for months and barely called.’

‘I didn’t vanish,’ I chuckle nervously as I step away and lean against the archway.

‘You moved into a cabin past the edge of civilisation with a man who answers questions using dead philosophers.’

I laugh aloud, knowing precisely how ticked off she gets when he does that.

‘I wouldn’t say that. Sometimes he uses living Norwegians.’

She does not share in my amusement, simply folds the tea towel into a neat rectangle, then immediately unfolds it because the women in our family need their hands occupied when emotion becomes inconvenient.

‘I don’t like that you weren’t coming back more often.’

It’s a quiet reprimand, but it echoes nonetheless.

‘I know.’

The anger in her face is thin, grief stark behind it – far more difficult to defend against.

The distance was necessary, and Conall supplied plenty of false evidence for it. But I can’t tell her the northern winters did not care about sisterly obligation. That I liked the idea that Anna had Conall, the house and a life finally beginning to resemble her own. I wanted her to have that privacy to reclaim herself.

But excuses remain excuses even when they wear sensible shoes.

‘I’m sorry.’

She exhales heavily. ‘I just want to see you a little more often.’

‘You just like having access to my wardrobe.’

I grin. She squares her shoulders and starts rolling the towel again.

‘More than once a year,’ I promise. ‘And you’re the bridesmaid. Not taking no for an answer.’

She sucks in a deep breath. ‘Really?’

I’m already running away before she launches into questions, leaving her with the leftovers – and a very tired Irishman waiting in the sitting room.

We had spent nearly two hours around the table with him translating the legal updates. Elias sat beside me, one large hand wrapped around a wine glass he never drank from.

As my foot lands on the first stair, the sound eerily reminds me of the gavel. My mind flips to Cromwell.