Chapter 27
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Amelia took her leave from the great hall, feeling less sure of her decision to leave with each moment she stayed. Even though Darragh had been absent from the meal, she had still eaten surrounded by people who had come to be constants in her life.
Am I really willin’ to risk me safety for the keep? For Darragh?
She sighed, realizing that if she went straight to her quarters, she would only pace a hole into her floor. And as amusing as it might be to have Isla chastise her once more, it wouldn’t be good for her mind. A few hours in the library would be a better use of her time.
It’s been a long while since I allowed meself to get lost in a story.
When she entered the library, she came to an abrupt halt. Sitting in an armchair near the fire was Darragh. A book was spread in his lap, and his back and shoulders were straight.
It was the way he held himself when he worked. His attention was sharp enough to cut. Something in her chest ached quietly at the sight. Placing her hand over her heart, she rubbed it as though it were a physical pain that could be rubbed away.
Dropping her arm and clearing her throat, Amelia put a challenging smile on her lips. “Ye promised to show me more of yer drawin’s,” she said, resting her palms on her hips.
Darragh looked up immediately, his eyes readjusting with a predator’s quickness. His surprise was evident, his brows raised, his mouth carefully neutral. Notably, though, he wasn’t displeased.
“When,” he began, taking in her form as he visibly weighed the request, “did I promise ye that?”
He closed the ledger and set it aside. As he stood, he studied Amelia. She could tell he was looking for the reasoning that underlay the request. It would have surprised her if he found anything there, as Amelia couldn’t articulate why she’d asked.
Perhaps I’m tryin’ to prove somethin’. To him or meself, I’m nae sure.
“Just now,” Amelia said, keeping her tone playful. She wanted to know more about him, but she didn’t want to scare either of them away.
Darragh chuckled, low and amused. He gestured toward the door as he said, “Ye daenae say…”
With a genuine grin on her face, she left the library. Once they were in the corridor, he took the lead, a candle in his hand. She had to stifle a laugh as he squeezed himself through the narrow servants’ stairs up to the attic.
The candle cast long, dramatic shadows along the stone as they climbed higher. He kept his pace slow and steady, his steps sure as if he were no stranger to walking this path. She kept up with him easily, absorbing his careful, contained awareness.
“One moment,” he said, holding his palm out to keep her from wandering too far into the room.
Methodically, he lit several candles gathered around the space. The golden-orange glow washed over everything, making the moment feel more private. If she were more inclined to whimsy, she might have even called the atmosphere magical.
“Watch yer step,” he said as he placed his candle on a side table. “This room could use some of yer attention.”
“I do suppose I could dedicate some time up here,” she mused, walking into the center of the room.
There I go, sayin’ I’ll be here. Actin’ as if I’m a part of the keep.
Darragh laughed, a singular punch of amusement.
His back was to her, his hands deftly sorting through the stack of canvases and parchment that she’d been drawn to the last time she visited this place.
Without bothering to conceal her interest, she shuffled forward, watching as he deliberated over which pieces to pull.
“I’ve nae painted in years,” Darragh said reflectively as he pulled out a painting of a gorgeous spring landscape.
She was too enthralled by the detailed hunting scenes that were interspersed between rough sketches of hills and rivers. Even the pieces that were nothing more than scraped ideas were beautiful. His talent was unmistakable.
“Ye painted all of these,” she said, awed that a man so gruff, so skilled in tracking and fighting, also carried the patience and finesse to create something so beautiful.
“Aye,” Darragh said, setting the paintings he had chosen in a line for her to observe.
Amelia took a moment to walk down the line of them, taking in each detail and precise brushstroke. Each scene seemed to focus on the contrast between dark and light, good and evil. If given the chance, she thought she could spend hours in here interpreting each of the pictures.
“Why do ye keep these hidden up here?” she asked, finally looking away from the painting of the white deer and golden wolf that had sparked her curiosity. “They’re beautiful.”
Darragh went quiet, something in his expression shifting. His gaze was intense and unreadable, fixed on a point just behind her shoulder. She realized then that she was asking him to reveal something private, something he didn’t want to share.
I’m sure he’s seen that look on me face quite a bit since I arrived.
So, even though she hadn’t anticipated doing so, she took a deep breath. It was time, she thought, that he knew the truth. If there was even a chance that she’d flee before her father had a chance to come looking for her, Darragh deserved to know everything that she’d kept secret.
And I ken I willnae leave this room without speakin’ this.
* * *
Amelia was quiet beside Darragh for so long that he wondered if she was truly waiting for an answer. Her gaze was fixed on his artwork, something contemplative in the furrow of her brow. When she slowly turned to face him properly, her face was more open than he’d ever seen it before.
“Me father…” she began quietly, stubbornly keeping her eyes on the canvas in front of her. Darragh’s attention sharpened, noticing the new stiffness in her stance, the way she swallowed hard enough that her throat clicked in the quiet. “He sold me to them.”
The entire world seemed to stop. Fury rushed through Darragh.
His theory, the one that he’d known to be true but hadn’t allowed himself to fully believe, admitted so freely with Amelia’s nervous voice, made his vision go red.
The blood pounding in his ears was so loud that he almost missed the next part of her quiet admission.
“He sold me because he finally had a son.”
Her words hung in the air between them. It seemed as though she were unable to look at him, shame and impossible pride radiating off of her in waves. His jaw clenched so tightly he thought his molars might break.
That bastard.
“He needed the money,” she continued when a response didn’t come.
Her voice was steady despite the underlying tremor.
“And once the boy was born… I was nay longer necessary. In fact, I was a problem. Me brother… he’s nay from me mother.
Me mother died when I was a wee lass. Her bloodline was higher rankin’ than me fathers. ”
Darragh went completely still. The ease with which she seemed to accept her fate was horrifying.
It was almost as if she truly believed that she was nothing more than her father’s bargaining chip.
His stomach turned at the thought of someone viewing women, especially a woman as fiery and spirited as Amelia, as something to be tossed aside or sold when it suited him.
“I daenae think he thought about it much,” she continued, seeming unable to stop now that she’d begun. “It was just another transaction. The highest bidder won, and I was shipped off as if I were cattle. He dinnae even say goodbye.”
The silence that followed was heavy enough to break the backs of lesser men. Darragh stayed frozen for a beat, the words echoing in his head with devastating impact. When he finally moved, the motion was abrupt.
He took a step away, then another. Turning, he saw a table and moved toward it. His hands landed on the edge, gripping on so tightly he was surprised the wood didn’t crack. His breath was tight as fury burned through his limbs.
Amelia watched him. He could feel her eyes glued to his back. Even with the audience, he was no longer in control. This anger didn’t feel like that of a laird correcting a problem. It was something far more primal.
“He sold ye,” Darragh finally gritted out, his voice low and dangerous.
“Aye.”
The response was small. There wasn’t any attempt to hide the disgusting truth of her reality. Her acceptance just made him more furious. His entire body tightened, winding into a coil about to spring forward.
“I will kill him,” he stated, turning to face her, one hand still gripping the tabletop.
For a beat, the air crackled between them. His righteous anger was a physical presence, filling all of the empty spaces in the room. Then, all bravery and confidence, Amelia stepped away from the paintings and crossed the floor, coming to a stop in front of him.
She reached out, looking up at him through her lashes. The candlelight flicked across her features, giving the shadows on her face a featherlike appearance. When her hand landed on his chest, his senses heightened, snapping to her.
“Darragh,” she said softly, pressing her palm more firmly against him.
Warmth bled through the thin layer of his doublet separating them. She guided each one of his breaths in time with her own. The pressure decreased, and his inhale chased her contact. The pressure increased, and she pushed the air from his lungs.
“Ye deserved better than that,” he said quietly, allowing her calming touch to settle the anger into something manageable, something directable. Her fingertips dug into his skin, and when their eyes met, he couldn’t stop himself from saying, “Ye deserve everythin’ this world holds.”
The muscles in her throat tightened, her lips parting slightly. His hand rose, covering hers where it rested. A shiver she couldn’t hide ran through her as his thumb lightly brushed against her own. Her eyes darted from the point of contact to Darragh’s face. She didn’t pull away.