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He played with a rogue strand of hair along her temple, twirling the dark lock of it along his finger, letting the curl fall, and then re-twisting it again and again.
His look caught hers in the mirror, and his voice low, he sneaked up upon a request she wasn’t prepared for. “Tell me of them.”
“Who?”
“Your family.”
Her gaze dropped, her look focusing on his toes hanging off the red tufted edge of the chaise.
She knew what he was asking her.
To open that door to the past. Open it so he could live it with her. Open it so he could feel her wounds as harshly as she did.
She stilled, silent for seconds.
She couldn’t.
Just as she opened her mouth to refuse it, she clamped down on her tongue.
Except she trusted him. Trusted him with everything she was.
She had just felt it. Just known it.
Now she had to honor it.
“My mother was always singing. Always humming.” Her look lifted from his toes, meeting his gaze in the mirror high on the wall. “It’s what I remember most of them. When I would visit—she was so happy she couldn’t contain herself. She wanted so much more for me, which is why they sent me to live at Vinehill to be Sloane’s companion—to give me another family. It was because she loved me that she did it. I always knew that. She didn’t want me to suffer the worry of their life. The worry of their home being taken away in a clearing.”
“The clearings were prevalent in the area?”
“They were. My father was stoic on it—my brother even more so. James was only two years younger than me and he grew up knowing what he was to inherit on that land. The clearings were happening all around them. Every month, another farm gone, another family displaced to the coast, to the Americas, to heaven knows where.” She turned on her side, settling the front of her body onto Roe’s, her hand splaying across his chest as her head nuzzled into his left shoulder.
“But James was also loyal—he never thought about leaving for other things. And my father was stubborn—so very stubborn. But he adored my mother—I saw it every time I was there. Everything he did, he did for her. He would make her little bouquets of grasses. And she would always fuss over them as if he’d found roses.”
“I remember your mother fondly—she was very good at taking in the stray dog that she thought me to be. I was always welcome, no matter what I wore or how bad I smelled. And she never asked on the blood on my clothes. She was the type of kind that you almost cannot believe in—it is so true in form. And I’d had very little of that—kindness—traveling across Scottish lands as I did in those days.”
She nodded, her cheek rubbing against his skin. “People used to describe me as her—her kindness—I once had it in full force. It was one of the most beautiful things she gave me.”
Her breath caught in her throat. “And I lost it…lost it along the way.”
“It echoes in you, Tor. Her kindness. I see it all the time.” His left arm curled along her back, his hand settling along her hip. Warmth against her bare flesh. “The times I was there at their farm—it seemed as though they managed to find happiness under the shadow of worry?”
“Yes, or they made whatever happiness they could. They were simple. They never wanted to be more, and even with time against them, they were happy.”
“And what was your oldest cousin—Jacob—like?”
Her chin curled down to her chest, her body instinctively coiling against the pain still raw in her heart. “He…he was the one I counted on the most. He wasn’t just like an older brother, he was a brother, a father to me. He was our leader, the one we looked to for everything.”
Silent, Roe’s right hand came up, his thumb gentle onto her cheek. The simplest motion, taking pain, giving strength.
“His…his was the one—the one death that shattered me.” Her voice hiccupped into a whisper. “One of the strongest, wisest people I’ve ever known. Fair to a fault. He always picked me up when I fell. Always there. He was the one with the brightest future, not because of what he would inherit, but because of the man he was. Honorable and handsome and kind and funny. That all of that—what he could have been—was extinguished on that day…”
The lump in her throat welled so large, she couldn’t force air past it.
“A travesty.” His left arm tightened around her waist, his fingers digging into her side.
“A waste. Such a bloody waste.” She nodded, the tears falling onto his chest slick between their skin. “I was the one that needed to go to save my family—and I should have known Jacob and Sloane would never have let me go alone. Lachlan was the soldier, he was coming to help, but he was too late and I wouldn’t wait. It was my fault they were there that day. My fault Jacob died. He did it for me—went into that burning cottage for me—to drag me and Sloane out—and back in again to drag my family out. He did it for me.”
Roe stiffened under her, then jerked slightly, his right hand going under her chin and forcing her face upward to look at him. “No, Tor, not your fault. He did it because that was the man he was. Run like hell, into hell to save those you love. Your words. And he obviously loved you, Torrie. That is not your fault. That is a man making a decision. Just like you made a decision to go after your family. He did as well. That decision was not your fault.”
