Page 73 of The Wolf Laird's Obsession
“All at once, like candles snuffed out in a storm,” he said, his voice hollow. “And me brother…” He stopped, his jaw clenching. “Me brother was sent away to our uncle, to keep him safe from the sickness. He died there anyway. Alone. Far from home.”
He lifted the scotch and took a long sip, the firelight catching the scar on his face, making it look deeper, darker.
“Then me wife.” His voice roughened. “Because she bore Elspeth. The birth was very difficult. The bleedin’ wouldnae stop, and I stood there uselessly, watchin’ her die.”
Sorcha’s breath caught. She had known that his first wife had died in childbirth. Morag had told her that much. But she had not known the rest, had not known that he had watched it happen, that he had stood by and been unable to stop it.
“Everyone dies, Sorcha.” He finally turned to look at her, and his grey eyes were dark with a grief so old and so deep that it seemed to have no end. “That is the truth I live with. Every day. Every night. Everyone I have ever loved has been taken from me, one way or another.”
The weight of his words pressed against her chest, heavy and suffocating. She wanted to speak, to say something that would ease the pain in his voice, but the words would not come.
Rowan set the scotch down and rose from the chair, moving toward her. He stopped when he was close enough that she could feel the heat of him, could see the pulse beating in his throat.
“I willnae see it happen again,” he said, his voice fierce. “Nae to ye, nor to the heir ye will bear.”
The heir I will bear?
Her heart was pounding so hard that she could feel it in her ears. She opened her mouth to respond, to tell him that she did not need his protection, that she wanted more than just safety, that she wanted?—
“Home, free all!” Elspeth’s voice shattered the moment.
Sorcha started, stepping back from Rowan, her cheeks flushing.
Rowan closed his eyes, his jaw tightening. She saw him gather himself, saw the walls come back up, saw the warmth in his gaze fade into something colder.
“Elspeth,” he called. “We are in here.”
The door burst open, and Elspeth ran into the room, Mr. Turtle held aloft like a banner. “I found ye! I found both of ye! That means I win!”
She skidded to a stop in front of them, looking between them with suspicion. “What were ye doing? Were ye sharin’ secrets?”
“Nay secrets,” Rowan said, reaching down to ruffle her hair. “Just grown-up things.”
Elspeth wrinkled her nose. “Grown-up things are boring.”
“Sometimes,” Sorcha agreed. “But they are necessary.”
Elspeth considered this for a moment, then shrugged. “Can we go eat now? I am hungry, and I didnae find Morag. Mr. Turtle is hungry too.”
“I am sure Mr. Turtle can wait a few more minutes,” Rowan said.
“Mr. Turtle cannae wait. He is very impatient. He gets it from his maither.”
Sorcha laughed, and the sound seemed to break the tension that had been building in the room. Rowan looked at her.
“Come,” he said, taking Elspeth’s hand. “Let us find ye somethin’ to eat.”
He walked past Sorcha without looking at her, and Elspeth skipped along beside him, chattering about Mr. Turtle’s family and the pond and the honey cakes she hoped Cook had made for supper.
Sorcha stood alone in the chamber, the fire crackling beside her, Rowan’s words echoing in her mind.
She pressed her hand to her chest, feeling her heartbeat.
What am I going to do with this man?
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
The castle hummed with life in a way it had not in years.
