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Her hand went to his face and gently caressed his scars. “But left with reminders.”
“That have long since faded, except for you.”
“I’m so very glad to see you,” she said.
“And who is it you are glad to see?” Reeve said, walking over to her with a scowl.
Her smile refused to fade. She reached out her hand to her husband, and said, “I want you to meet a good, dear friend. Stone.” Her smile grew wider. “Or so that is what I called him.”
“You called me correctly,” Stone said.
“I could think of no other name that fits you more,” she said.
“You are the son of the witch who cursed Tara?” Reeve asked.
“He is the prophet Neil told us about,” Carmag said.
Tara dropped Reeve’s hand and grabbed hold of Stone’s hands. “You can help rid me of the curse your mother placed on me.”
“We need to talk,” he said seriously. “Alone.”
Tara turned to Reeve, and he looked none too pleased.
“I know you have waited for this, so go and do what you must, but first—” He pulled her close and whispered in her ear. “You are mine.”
“And I am yours.”
They kissed, not caring who watched, and when Reeve bought it to an end, he took her hand and walked with her over to Stone. “She belongs to me.”
“I know, and I knew that Tara would find you, and you would save my friend.” Stone held his hand out to Reeve.
Reeve took it, and they shook.
“I’ll take Stone to my cottage,” she said.
Reeve frowned.
Mara stepped forward. “Why not use my sewing room?”
Reeve smiled and slipped his arm around his mum’s shoulders.
“You’ll be telling me more about this as soon as your wife leaves the hall,” Mara whispered.
“Anything for you, Mum,” Reeve said, and kissed her cheek.
Tara hurried Stone up the stairs to Mara’s private room. The roaring fire kept the small room toasty. Stone removed his cloak and draped it over the back of the chair then sat, stretching his hands out to the fire’s warmth.
Tara sat in the seat beside him and waited, though she itched to ask him if he could remove the curse. Could he help free her?
“I’ve already told you that you were free.”
Tara glared at him. She hadn’t spoken her thoughts aloud, had she?
“Don’t you remember how we would talk without talking?”
“I thought it was simply the way between us because you could not speak.”
“I didn’t speak for the longest time,” he said. “I was too busy listening. With you, however, it had been different. I found it easy to hear your thoughts and was surprised that you could hear mine. But you don’t want to talk about that.”
