Chapter 6 #2
“I think you’re the strongest person I’ve ever met.” His grip on my hand tightened slightly. “And I think Alasdair MacKenzie is lucky he’s not standing in front of me right now.”
A startled laugh escaped me. “You would fight him?”
“In a heartbeat.” His expression was fierce. “No one hurts you and walks away without consequences. Not while I’m breathing.”
I stared at him, this strange man from another time who spoke of defending my honor as if it were the most natural thing in the world. As if I were worth defending.
“You barely know me,” I said.
“I know enough.”
The words hung between us, heavy with meaning neither of us was ready to examine. I pulled my hand back and busied myself collecting the empty cup, needing the distraction of movement.
“Tell me about the camel,” I said, my voice steadier than I felt. “This morning, you mentioned a camel. And a trade agreement. Where have you traveled?”
The shift in topic wasn’t subtle, but Dawson accepted it with grace. I noticed that he moved more easily now as he shifted on the stool—the tea was already beginning to work, loosening the knots in his abused muscles.
“Everywhere, really. I’ve been to every continent—that’s the large landmasses that make up the world. I’ve climbed the highest mountains, crossed the largest deserts, dived to the bottom of the ocean.”
“The bottom of the ocean?” I paused in my tidying, genuinely startled. “How is that possible?”
“We have... vessels. Machines that can withstand the pressure of the deep water.” He smiled at my expression. “I know it sounds like magic. It felt like magic, honestly. Swimming alongside sharks the size of horses, seeing creatures that have never known sunlight.”
“You swam with sharks?” I could not keep the horror out of my voice. “By choice?”
“Great white sharks, specifically. Off the coast of a place called South Africa. They’re apex predators—the most dangerous hunters in the ocean.” His grin turned boyish, almost sheepish. “It was exhilarating. Terrifying, but exhilarating.”
I stared at him. “You are either very brave or very stupid.”
“I believe we’ve established it might be both.”
I shook my head, returning the empty cup to the shelf where it would wait to be washed. “And the mountains? You said you climbed the highest ones.”
“Everest is the tallest. Almost thirty thousand feet high—that’s...” He paused, calculating. “About five miles straight up. The air is so thin at the top that you can barely breathe. Most people need special equipment just to survive.”
“And you climbed it. Why?”
The question seemed to catch him off guard. He was quiet for a moment, his gaze drifting to the small window where the last light of day was fading. I noticed that his shoulders had relaxed, the tension draining from his frame as the valerian and willow bark did their work.
“Because it was there, I suppose. Because I wanted to prove I could.” His voice had gone thoughtful, almost sad. “Because standing at the top of the world seemed like it should mean something. Feel like something.”
“Did it?”
“For about five minutes. Then I started thinking about the next mountain, the next adventure.”
I studied him—this man who had conquered peaks and oceans and still seemed hollowed out by some hunger he couldn’t name.
“You are very strong,” I observed. “I noticed it when I pulled you from the sea. If you are wealthy in your time—and I assume you are, from what you have said—why do you work so hard? Do you not have servants to do such things for you?”
“I have... staff, yes. People who work for me.” He shifted on the stool, and I was pleased to see the movement came without the grimace that had accompanied it earlier.
“But the physical work—the climbing, the swimming, the expeditions—that was always my choice. I trained for hours every day. Pushed my body to its limits.” A rueful smile crossed his face.
“I think I was trying to outrun something. I just never figured out what.”
“And now you are here. Mucking out stables and mending fences.”
“Now I’m here.” He met my eyes, and something passed between us—an understanding that went deeper than words. “Doing work that actually matters. Work that keeps people warm and fed and safe. It’s different from climbing mountains, but it’s not... less.”
“Most wealthy men would disagree.”
“Most wealthy men are idiots.” He said it with such conviction that I laughed—a real laugh, startled out of me before I could stop it. The sound was rusty from disuse, and I immediately pressed my lips together to suppress it.
But Dawson had heard. His eyes lit up with something like triumph.
“There it is,” he said softly. “I knew it was in there somewhere.”
“I dinna know what you mean.”
“That laugh. You’ve been so careful, so controlled. But just now, for a second—” He smiled, and it was different from his usual charm. Warmer. More real. “You let yourself enjoy something. It looked good on you.”
My cheeks burned. I turned away, pretending to check the level of water in the pot over the brazier.
“The tea should help you sleep tonight,” I said, my voice steadier than I felt. “You may feel some drowsiness as the valerian takes hold. That is normal—do not fight it.”
“Yes, ma’am.” There was gentle mockery in his voice, but also something else. Something that made my pulse quicken despite my best efforts.
“You should rest,” I said, standing abruptly. “Your body is still recovering, and Angus will expect you at first light if you want to finish those fence posts.”
Dawson stood as well—more easily now, I noticed, the stiffness in his movements already beginning to fade—and suddenly we were too close in the small space, the fading light casting shadows across his face. He smelled of hay and honest work, and I found myself holding my breath.
“Elspeth,” he said, and my name in his mouth sounded like something precious. Something worth keeping.
I realized I was in danger. Not from him—from myself. From the way my heart was racing, the way I wanted to step closer instead of back, the way I could already feel the inevitable pain of caring about someone who would leave.
“Good night, Dawson.” I stepped around him, putting the workbench between us like a barricade. “I will see you in the morning.”
He watched me for a moment, something unreadable in his expression. Then he nodded slowly.
“Good night, Elspeth. And thank you. For everything. For the salve, for the tea, for the conversation.” He paused at the door, rolling his shoulders experimentally. “Whatever was in that tea—it’s already working. My back feels almost human again.”
“That is the point.”
“I’m starting to think you might actually be magic.”
“I am a healer,” I said firmly. “There is no magic in it. Only knowledge, and practice, and paying attention to what the body needs.”
“If you say so.” But his smile suggested he didn’t entirely believe me. “Thank you. For trusting me with your story. I know that wasn’t easy.”
He left before I could respond, and I stood alone in the stillroom as the last of the daylight faded.
My hands still smelled of salve. The bitter scent of willow bark still hung in the air. And somewhere in the darkness outside, MacKenzie riders were making their way toward a market where Malcolm would be waiting with his poison tongue and his endless cruelty.
I had survived Alasdair’s leaving. I had survived the loss of my child, my reputation, and every dream I had ever been foolish enough to have.
I would survive this, too.
But as I snuffed the candles and made my way to my cold chamber, I could not help remembering the warmth of Dawson’s hands in mine.
The way he had said my name. The light in his eyes when I had laughed.
The fierce protectiveness in his voice when he spoke of defending me.
The way he had obediently drunk every drop of that bitter tea simply because I had told him to.
He will leave, I told myself firmly. They always leave.
But for the first time in years, a small, treacherous part of me whispered back, what if he doesn’t?
I buried that voice deep and pulled the blankets over my head, determined to ignore it.
But sleep was a long time coming.