Page 89 of Bargaining with the Devil

“I knew I might only have one chance, but if I managed it . . . It would be worth it, even if I couldn’t—” She coughed again. Took another long sip of tea.

He wouldn’t interrupt her, hurry her along, but ’twas hard.

“Even if I couldn’t get myself free afterwards,” she continued, “it was worth knowing Issy and Rachel and Nathaniel were safe from him . . . and that you were too.” She handed him the teacup but kept her hand out after.

He set the cup carefully in its saucer and curled his fingers back through hers.

“He knew you’d come for me when you saw the cottage burning. He was going to wait for you with the pistol.”

“Foolish, foolish lass. You always save yourself first, a ghrá, before you go saving another.”

“Like you did, breaking out a window to get to me?”

“’Twas different, that.”

She shook her head, smiling. “For months now, I’ve thought I wouldn’t mind dying, if only because living was so—hard. But faced with it . . .” Her voice had gone wheezy again, but when he’d have reached for the teacup again, she kept her fingers laced firmly in his. “I do wish to live. See sunrises and sunsets and everything in between. Even when it hurts. But it was an easy decision with the knife. Not because I no longer cared for myself but because it meant those I—loved would survive.”

She didn’t quite look at him on that last part.

“Love is a grand reason, a rúnsearc,” he said softly.

Her eyelids were at half-mast, her limbs lax. And ’twas no wonder.

He squeezed her hand and leaned forward, setting a kiss against her forehead. Her face was floral-soap-scented, but her hair still smelled strongly of smoke.

“Rest now, a rúnsearc. ’Tis important you regain your strength.” He went to release her hand but she kept a grip on it, even with her eyes fluttering shut.

“Will you stay here?”

In this room? Or Kirkcudbrightshire? “I’ll stay with you while you sleep, a mhuirnín. But rest yourself now.”

A ghost of a smile curved her mouth. He scooted the chair just a bit closer, keeping ahold of her hand the while.

And then he watched her sleep, her chest rising and falling softly beneath the covers. The occasional wheeze or rasp interrupted her breathing, but her face was peaceful. Nothing tormenting her, at least at the moment.

She had support here, had a loving family, and she might just be ready to let them in.

’Twas not an easy thing, having been attacked twice by Lymington, but compared to what else she’d lived? Mayhap ’twasn’t much next to that. He couldn’t say, not being in her mind. Could be this would end up tipping her back into that darker place she’d been before.

’Twas no small thing to kill a man for the first time. Himself, he’d done it solo from close range for the first time when he was thirteen. Save a few gruff fellow soldiers who’d stood in a little as father figures, there’d been no one to guide him through it. But she had Blackmore, with his own lived experiences.

But might be she’d take strength from killing Lymington, especially finding peace from the choice she’d made to knowingly save those she loved. Could be ’twould be a step in her fully setting aside the past and moving towards the future.

There was no reason left for him to stay. He had somewhere else to be; somewhere he wanted to be. Plenty of time to make it for Aoife’s wedding, but that was only one of the reasons County Dublin called to him.

He’d stay here just a few more days. Just till Lucy stopped coughing and regained color in her face, till the burn on her arm was starting to heal. Just till he saw for himself her eyes stayed lit from within. Then he’d know she was well on her way to recovery, and he could leave with a clear mind.

’Twas everything, for her, that she’d found the courage to live. ’Twould have to be enough for him to remember her that way.

Chapter 25

Aconsiderable amount of drool was collecting on his shirt. He couldn’t say he minded it.

Rachel was a warm weight on his shoulder, one finger poked into her mouth. He’d volunteered to take her earlier when she’d been fussing. The poor little lass was still teething, more than a little irritable. She’d kept both parents awake all the night before when ’twas already an exhausting time, what with events yesterday. Mrs. Blackmore in particular had dark shadows beneath her eyes like bruises, worn to the bone.

Rachel shared her mother’s and aunt’s fine-grained porcelain skin. Sleeping, she resembled a dolly Mairéad had as a lass. Rachel’s hair, just starting to come in full, was dark like both parents but looked like it had a mind to go a bit wavy like her aunt’s.

Blackmore had immediately offered to take another turn with Rachel when she began squawking again, walking around the room with her so that Mrs. Blackmore could sit quietly for a few minutes. But Blackmore looked weary too, which was how Rachel came to be on his own chest now.