Page 64 of Bargaining with the Devil

He’d never tried to force her into conversation about it in the eighteen or so months since he’d come. But he was also willing to prod her a little, more so than Isobel. Admittedly it was usually after she’d been sharp with him first. He didn’t hold the same boundaries with her that her sister did.

He was a good man, the very best husband she could imagine for Isobel and so very in love with her. An adoring father to Rachel. A good brother-in-law to her—and a friend, although the events in France were an extremely odd way to have begun a friendship. She’d been uncomfortable around him at first after he came to Kirkcudbrightshire, but she’d also quickly recognized how deeply he loved Isobel.

At the moment, she and Nathaniel were walking the shore together as they sometimes did. He didn’t mind rambles along the dunes with her, even when it meant getting sand- and mud-coated. Just now he’d been letting the silence grow between them in the way he had of waiting on answers to questions he hadn’t asked. Waiting because he knew that she knew that if she didn’t come to it on her own, he’d ask the questions aloud.

“I know what I’m doing,” was what she finally settled on opening with.

“Aye.” A seemingly noncommittal response, except it wasn’t.

“I’m a woman grown,” she felt compelled to add.

“Aye.”

Truly, how had Nathaniel and Isobel ever become acquainted enough for him to seek her out months later? Issy must have borne the lion’s share of conversations. “He’s not taking advantage of me.”

“You would tell me if he was.” Nathaniel’s voice was even.

“Yes, I would.” She scuffed at a rock and then stooped to inspect the edge of a shell she’d uncovered in the process, carefully working it free of the sand. “It was unsettling at first having him here. It’s still unsettling given why he’s here.”

“I imagine it’s brought back memories of France.”

“Yes. But . . .” She straightened with the shell. “Perhaps that’s not bad. Perhaps it was time I remembered. Although . . .”

“Although . . .?” he prompted when she didn’t immediately speak again.

“Although it’s more what came before France that I’m thinking about now.”

“So long as he’s helping that. Not causing you fresh hurt.”

“He’s not hurting me.” She allowed herself a small smile, aimed at him. “I would tell you if he was.”

The corner of Nathaniel’s mouth lifted in acknowledgment. “Aye.”

They walked farther before she said, “I thought, after the day you told me about . . .” It was still hard to say his name; she’d carefully locked that away for so long. “. . . the day you told me about Compton’s death, that I need never think of it again. I was wrong. And perhaps I needed something to—to force me into doing it.” Or someone.

“Quinn told me where you were the day he arrived.”

Had he also told Nathaniel about that bitter day on top of the headland? “I wasn’t entirely myself.”

Nathaniel was silent a moment before asking, “And are you now?”

“I don’t know.” She looked out across the bay to Heston Isle, to where she’d resolved to be a woman who faced difficult things rather than freezing them out. “I think . . . I will be. Perhaps not yet. But yes. I think I will be.”

“I’m glad to hear it.”

She had reached the limit of what she could discuss today though. “It’s rather chilly despite the sun. Chillier than I realized.”

Nathaniel accepted the redirection. “It is that,” he said drily. “I will admit I’ve thought more than once about the fire likely going in the parlor.”

She smiled. “And now I’m thinking about it as well.”

He offered his arm. “Shall we then?”

On their return to the cottage, they met Isobel just coming down the stairs, yawning. A glance into the parlor revealed Rachel asleep, thumb in her mouth, head nestled in the crook of Quinn's arm. He was dressed casually: no coat, no waistcoat, just a soft linen shirt open at the throat and shirtsleeves rolled up.

Her sister stepped forward, reaching for her daughter and saying softly, “Here, I’ll put her to bed. I was exhausted,” she added, looking towards Nathaniel.

“And little wonder,” he said, kissing the top of her head, one hand briefly cupping Isobel’s belly.