Page 52 of The Wolf Laird's Obsession
The boy hesitated. “Aye,” he responded, his voice meek.
“Anyone hurt?”
“Me da.”
He recognized the boy’s expression—deeper than grief. He had felt it before. Not as a man, but as a boy who had come home too late.
His brother had not even been there when he got back from battle. He had been sent away in the hope he would be spared the disease that had taken the rest.
Rowan had believed that would be enough. It had not been.
His jaw tightened, the memory cut short before it could settle.
“Me ma says that we were lucky,” the boy whispered, his eyes trained on the ground. “That the house didnae catch fire too.”
He looked, seeming surprised as Rowan took a seat beside him against the wall.
“Yer ma is right.”
“It doesnae feel lucky.”
“Nay.” Rowan leaned forward, resting his forearms on his knees.“Most things daenae. Nae when they’ve just happened.”
The boy studied the scorched earth. “What if they come again?”
Rowan followed his gaze. “They willnae touch this place again.”
“How can ye ken?”
Because I’ll tear this land apart before I let them. Because nay child under me protection will bury half his life for another man’s quarrel.
Rowan kept those thoughts to himself and looked out toward the distant hills. “Because I’ll be waitin’ for them.”
The boy was silent for a moment, then he nodded.
Rowan pulled out a small knife with a bone handle from the leather pouch at his belt and held it out to the boy.
The boy stared at it, bewildered. “Me Laird, I cannae?—”
“Aye, ye can.” Rowan closed the boy’s fingers around the hilt. “Use it well.”
The boy looked from the knife to Rowan, his eyes wide.“Thank ye.”
Rowan gave a short nod, but the simple words moved something inside him. For a moment, he saw a different boy, smaller, thinner, and with the same wide-eyed hope and far too much fear. A boy who had once been handed a blade and told the same thing.
He was reminded of himself.
He was reminded of how easily a child’s world could shatter and never right itself again.
He looked away first, his jaw tightening as he forced the memory back into the shadows where it belonged. The last thing he needed was to let the past bleed into the present.
“Keep it hidden until ye need it,” he added gruffly, turning away.
CHAPTER TWENTY
“Come!” Elspeth’s small hand caught Sorcha’s sleeve, tugging with more determination than strength. “We’ll miss the best spot.”
Sorcha’s lips curled into a gentle smile as she followed her, cradling her morning harvest of rosemary sprigs, lavender blossoms, and mint stems against her chest.
