Chapter 9 #2
Ronan sighed, his shoulders sagging. He put down the hammer and wiped the back of his hand across his sweaty forehead. “Aye.”
“Do ye remember when ye first arrived?”
Unfortunately he did, far too clearly, although it had been many years ago now. He’d been hungry, exhausted, bleeding. Determined to disappear, he’d thought he’d reached the end of his road. Then he found this place and Faye had found him.
“Aye, I remember.”
He was a different person now from the na?ve youth who’d walked away from the only life he’d ever known. And yet, he didn’t regret what he’d done. Not for a minute.
Faye raised an eyebrow. “Ye were half-dead.”
His lips quirked. “Perhaps a quarter dead.”
“A generous estimate.”
Despite himself, he laughed. “Aye, most likely.”
The healer smiled. “But look at what ye built.”
Ronan glanced around at the smithy, the cottages he could see through the open doors, the people going about their lives.
“What we built, my old friend,” he corrected her.
She waved away his statement. “I would have sent them all away and ye know it. In fact, I almost sent ye away if ye remember? But ye convinced me otherwise. I’ve never been the sociable type.”
He met her gaze and saw the old pain written there. With good reason, he thought. Who would have welcomed strangers after what was done to ye?
“But ye listened to my hare-brained scheme anyway.”
“I did,” she agreed. “And look at what came of it. A home, a community, when we all thought we’d never find such again.”
He turned his head to stare in the direction of the uplands.
Faye followed his gaze. “Ye are worried about this Lord and Lady Murdoch?”
“Aye. Them or others like them. It’s getting more lawless out there, Faye. It’s all getting too close. I dinna know if I can keep us safe for much longer.”
The healer was silent for a long moment. “Ye know there is another way.”
He looked at her. “What way?”
“Ye know what I’m talking about. Perhaps it’s time—”
“No,” Ronan snapped, cutting her off. “Not that. I know what ye are going to say and the answer is no, just as it’s always been. I willnae go down that road. I left it behind a long time ago.”
Faye studied him for a long moment. He thought she was going to press the matter—they’d argued about this enough over the years—but then she abruptly changed the subject.
“Elodie came storming home last night.”
Ronan blinked at the sudden change in topic. “Did she?”
“Aye. She seemed upset. In fact, she looked just like ye do now. I take it the two of ye had words?”
Ronan didn’t answer but this seemed to be confirmation enough for Faye.
She sighed. “Ye should talk to her.”
“About what?”
Faye rolled her eyes. “Dinna give me that nonchalant act. I’ve known ye too long to fall for it. I’ve seen the way ye look at her. I’ve seen the way she looks at ye. So for the love of God, go talk to her.”
Ronan glared but the healer just snorted then patted his arm. She walked to the door but paused on the threshold and looked back. “Some things havenae changed, ye know. Ye are still as stubborn as the day I met ye.”
She walked out, leaving him alone. Ronan stared at the doorway. Then at the hammer. Then at the flattened piece of metal in the water barrel.
Ah, damn it. He swore softly, wiped his hands on a rag, then strode out.
It didn’t take long to find Elodie. He tracked her down to one of the storage barns helping organize building materials.
As he stepped through the door, he saw several piles of timber had already been sorted into neat stacks.
Tools hung from pegs. Bundles of thatch occupied one corner.
Three villagers were busily following instructions while Elodie pointed at things.
The villagers noticed him before she did, bobbing their heads in greeting. Elodie turned and saw him standing in the doorway. The warmth vanished from her face immediately. That hurt more than he expected.
“Elodie.”
“Ronan.”
The formality made him wince.
“Can we talk?”
For an instant he thought she might refuse. Then she nodded. “Fine.”
They walked away from the barn together and neither spoke until they reached the edge of the village. A small stream trickled through the grass nearby and birdsong filled the silence.
Ronan stopped and Elodie folded her arms, waiting. He rubbed the back of his neck, trying to think of something to say. Apologizing shouldn’t be this difficult. Perhaps Faye was right and he was still just as stubborn as he’d always been.
He sucked in a breath. “I owe ye an apology. I shouldnae have spoken to ye like that yesterday.”
Her expression softened slightly. “Ronan—”
“Wait. Let me finish. Ye were right.”
Surprise flickered across her face. “I was?”
“Aye. The villagers need to learn how to defend themselves.” The admission tasted strange, as though the words had scraped something raw inside him. He’d been resisting this for a long time, resisting dragging anything out of his past into the light. But now it seemed he had no choice.
Ronan met her gaze, and damn him if the sight of her didn’t make his heart beat a little faster. “I said things I shouldnae have. I’m sorry.”
She studied him. “Why did my suggestion make you so angry?”
He considered lying. Normally he would have said whatever was required to keep his past buried. Instead, to his surprise, he found the truth tumbling out of his mouth.
“Because I dinna like to remember who I used to be. Aye, I know how to fight. Aye, I could train others how to fight. But it was something I’d hoped never to have to do again.
” He inhaled deeply, met her gaze. “I am the fourth brother out of five. A spare brother, an unneeded heir, I was always destined to be a soldier. As a result, I was trained for war since I was a lad. And I hated every moment of it.” Something uncomfortable twisted inside him.
“Although according to my tutors, I was very good at it.
Elodie remained silent, her big eyes fixed on him. Listening.
He scrubbed a hand through his hair. “I always preferred the smithy. Creating rather than destroying.”
“But sometimes you don’t get a choice,” Elodie said quietly. “I get it.”
He had the strongest urge to reach out and run his fingers through her hair but forced himself to keep his hands at his sides. “No,” he agreed. “Sometimes ye dinna get a choice.”
She smiled faintly. “We all have things in our past we’d rather leave behind.”
Aye, they did, and Ronan found himself wanting to know what she was leaving behind, what past she was running from. He wanted to know everything about her. Yet he knew better than to ask. She would tell him when she was ready or not at all.
“Well, apology accepted,” she said with a smile.
He noticed the sunlight in her hair. The way her eyelashes curled. How close she was standing. How easy it would be to reach out—
He stepped back. “I should go.”
She nodded. “And I should go check on the work over at the main barn.”
Yet neither of them moved. Ronan felt drawn towards her like a fish on a hook. It took all of his strength to nod then walk away without looking back.
He went looking for Eamon and found him sitting with Tam, playing a game of dice.
“Eamon!” Ronan called.
The lad brightened when he spotted Ronan and scrambled to his feet. “Chief!”
Ronan folded his arms. “We need to have words about yer talent for tale-telling, lad. But that can wait. I want ye to round up everyone who wants to learn.”
“Learn what?”
“To fight. To defend their homes.”
A grin spread across Eamon’s face. “Really?”
“Aye, really. Anyone who wants to learn. I’ll teach them. Tell them to gather after the evening meal.”
Eamon’s grin somehow grew larger. Then he whooped loudly enough to startle some wood pigeons out of a tree and took off running.
“Everyone!” he yelled. “I’ve got news!”
Ronan watched him go, trying to figure out what he was feeling. Anger that he’d been forced into this. Disappointment that he’d not been able to avoid it. Resignation that he had no choice. Aye, all of those things and others besides.
He glanced down the lane and saw Elodie standing there, watching him. Their eyes met and she gave him a small nod.
And despite everything, he found himself smiling.