Chapter 12
CHAPTER TWELVE
The first sun rays chased away the morning fog, the air crisp and cool against Rowan’s skin as he turned the earth in heavy strokes with his blade. He broke apart damp clods to prepare the ground for replanting.
What remained after the fire last night was not enough. They had to plant whatever they could before the winter came upon them.
If I daenae find who did this, it will happen again.
He had walked through the storehouse ruins before sunrise to see the progress the men had made. They had already finished clearing what they could salvage, but besides the bootprints he had found, there was nothing else to lead him to the culprits.
And yet that wasnae what kept me awake all night.
His jaw flexed as he drove the blade deeper into the earth.
He had lain awake in his bed, feeling restless as Sorcha’s face flashed over and over through his mind. Angry. Hurt.
Even though she tried to hide her feelings behind her pride—Nay, I made the right choice. I cannae doom her to the same fate as Elspeth’s ma.
Suddenly, the wind shifted across the field, carrying a sound that did not belong among the scrape of tools or the mutters of his men—a child’s laughter.
Elspeth.
Rowan glanced toward the rise beyond the field, his eyes finding them at once at the pond Elspeth frequented every morning.
Elspeth was sitting by the edge of the pond, leaning over the water. Her voice carried easily across the open space, bright as she pointed toward the turtles. Sorcha’s maid was leaning against the willow tree, watching her.
And then there was Sorcha.
She was kneeling next to Elspeth, the mud on the hem of her dress reminding him of how she had looked yesterday. She said something that made Elspeth laugh heartily.
Elspeth rarely laughs like that. She isnae an unhappy child; I’ve made sure of that. But there is always something missing.
Yet there she was, clapping excitedly, looking at ease next to Sorcha in a way that made him uncomfortable. In a way that pulled at something deep in his chest.
She doesnae cling to most people. What is it about Sorcha that attracts her so?
And then something else rang in the air.
Sorcha’s laughter.
The sound struck him in his chest before he realized what it was. It was not loud or forced the way he would expect her to sound. It was light. Unrestrained.
Rowan went still.
I didnae think her capable of laughin’ like that.
She had thrown her head back slightly, one hand pressed against her ribs as Elspeth said something that clearly delighted her.
He straightened slowly, wiping his hands on the rough linen of his sleeves. The sound pulled him forward before he thought to stop himself.
Elspeth caught sight of him as he approached. “Da!”
She scrambled up and hurried toward him, stumbling as she ran. He bent down, catching her before she collided with his legs. He rested his hand on the back of her head, his palm nearly covering half her hair.
“And what mischief have ye been up to this mornin’?” he asked quietly.
“I was showin’ Lady Sorcha and Flora Mr. Turtle’s home!” she replied proudly, pointing to the pond.
Rowan followed her finger, his grey eyes meeting blue.
Sorcha stood close to the pond, her blue eyes catching the sunlight glancing off the water.
But they were devoid of the joy he had seen in them earlier.
Her mirth had vanished entirely, replaced by her usual gentle but tight composure, which made her feel suddenly distant.
She drew her shawl closer around her shoulders, watching him cautiously.
He found the change difficult to ignore.
Elspeth tugged on his sleeve, dragging him toward the pond. “Come see them, Da,” she insisted.
He let her drag him, listening patiently as she pointed to each turtle and explained the family hierarchy. A small smile tugged at his mouth before he could stop it.
Behind him, Flora cleared her throat gently. “Lady Elspeth,” she said brightly. “Would ye show me which one is Mr. Turtle’s ma? I’m afraid I still cannae tell them apart.”
Elspeth’s attention snapped instantly toward her. “She’s over there!” she declared, tugging on Flora’s sleeve as she pulled her to the other side of the pond, leaving Rowan and Sorcha alone.
Neither of them spoke at first, Elspeth’s chatter in the background filling the silence. Then Sorcha spoke, polite as always.
“Ye’ve been busy this mornin’.”
Rowan glanced down at his hands. They were still stained with dirt from working the fields. “Aye. There is always work to be done.”
Silence settled heavily between.
Sorcha avoided his gaze, watching Elspeth and Flora instead.
I should leave.
The thought came quickly, but his feet did not move.
“Elspeth seems fond of ye,” he noted. “She doesnae warm up to most people.”
She smiled. “I’m fond of her too.”
The admission stirred something warm in his chest, unfamiliar enough that he did not trust it. He drew a long breath, forcing the reaction back beneath the surface where it belonged.
Whatever stood between us last night hasnae moved. But this is for the best. This is what I want, is it nae?
But when her eyes met his again, the memory of her in the firelight returned with brutal clarity.
“Last night,” he said, his voice low so that only she could hear, “I left things unfinished.”
She stiffened, her eyebrows knitting together. He thought she might lash out, be as angry as she had been the night before, but she did not.
“I’ll come to ye tonight,” he added.
Her eyes widened, clearly caught off guard, and her fingers curled into the fabric of her shawl.
Normally, he would have turned away and left her with the words and the distance between them. But this time, he stayed. He did not realize he was holding his breath until the silence stretched too long.
Sorcha shifted her weight, clearly unsure of what to say. Then she sucked in a sharp breath. “Aye.”
The word barely rose above the rustle of the willow branches, but Rowan heard it. Something tight in his chest eased at once.
“Good,” he said simply.
Then, before the warmth in her eyes could draw him any closer, he stepped back.
He turned and strode back across the field, forcing his thoughts away from the pond behind him.
Tonight.
Sorcha sat on the edge of her bed that night, her fingers curled into the soft linen of her shift as she stared at the door.
I am going to go crazy waitin’.
Flora had refreshed the lavender and rubbed floral oils in her skin and hair. Everything was prepared. And still, he had not come.
Her body felt tight as she forced herself to stay still. But it had been hours, and the night grew late with no sign of him. Anxiety started to fester in her gut.
Stop. He said he would come.
The memory made her heart flutter.
I cannae just sit here. I’m goin’ to go mad!
She got up from the bed, her eyes drifting to the trunk.
She crossed the room without thinking and dropped to her knees beside it.
Digging through her dresses, she found what she was looking for—a small leather bundle.
Relief washed over her the moment she felt the familiar shape beneath the fabric.
There ye are.
She unwrapped it slowly, revealing the small set of carving tools she had had for years, their wooden handles worn smooth from use. A small block of wood rested beside them, already marked with something she had planned on shaping before.
Lifting a small bladed tool, she touched it to the wood with a quiet scrape. With each ribbon of wood she peeled off the block, the tension in her body eased.
A curve began to take shape beneath her fingers, slow and careful. She turned the block with one hand, using her other hand to push away thin curls of wood that gathered in her lap.
Elspeth’s voice echoed faintly in her mind.
“He has a ma, a da, and lots of braithers and sisters.”
A small smile formed on Sorcha’s lips. Elspeth spoke of the turtles as though they were a great clan of their own.
Scorcha’s hands softened in their work, the shape slowly becoming clearer now. A small, rounded shell. A head just beginning to emerge.
A turtle.
For Elspeth.
I want to give her somethin’ of her own. Somethin’ that stays. Maybe a wooden Mr. Turtle that she can always carry with her.
Elspeth had looked so pleased this morning at the pond, so alive in a way Sorcha had not expected. She had not realized how much she needed that, not until it was gone again.
The blade slipped slightly.
Sorcha inhaled sharply, catching herself before it cut too deep. She adjusted her grip, steadying her hand.
Focus.
But she could not. Rowan’s voice echoed in her head.
“I’ll come to ye tonight.”
Her hand went still. She did not understand what made him so earnest all of a sudden. His restraint had been clear the night before.
What changed?
Her fingers tightened around the small carving.
I willnae fail this time. Nae again.
Her gaze dropped to the unfinished turtle, the thought settling deep in her gut. She looked at the door again, listening for footsteps. But she only heard silence.
She sighed, looking back at the wood and continuing to carve.
He will come. He said he would.