Chapter One #2
But it was the sword, elegant and aged and mounted with care and reverence above the fireplace, that made me pause.
The hilt was wrapped in a worn material that looked almost like…
roots? But that couldn’t be right. It had to be leather.
When I leaned closer, I saw that four symbols I didn’t recognize had been etched onto the blade.
All had two lines which were either wavy or straight.
I had an odd, disconcerting sense of being repelled by the sword that intensified the longer I examined it. I averted my eyes and read the small, engraved plaque below: forged in fortingall, 1963.
Maybe all I was feeling was envy. I pushed it down. What a life Marion and Charles had lived. What stories they could tell. The places they had seen, the adventures they had had…the love they had shared. Would my life ever be as happy or fulfilling?
Through a window, I could see Charles in the backyard, situated comfortably in a chair under the leafy branches of a large sycamore tree. A blanket covered his lap. He was surrounded by loved ones, and though his expression was one of sorrow, he hugged everyone who approached.
The tree branches seemed almost as if they were sheltering and encircling him, too. I did a double take. Were they bending toward Charles? Comforting him? Paying their respects, perhaps? Was it a trick of the light, or a reflection of the window? Did anyone else notice this?
I shook my head and went to look again, but a shout of “Hey! Not fair!” and a small weight barrelling into my legs made me stumble. My red punch sloshed onto my light floral sundress. Two children stared at me with wide-eyed horror, then fled. I cursed under my breath and went in search of a cloth.
As I entered the kitchen, an older woman glanced up, her kindly eyes taking in the stain spreading across my chest.
“Oh, no! You’ll want to rinse that off quickly before it sets.” Her Scottish accent was strong. She took my cup and pointed down a hallway. “There’s a loo down there if you need it.”
I squeezed my eyes shut and bit back my rising frustration.
Why did I always have such bad luck in social situations?
I considered going back to my house to change, but I would need to weave through a crowd of grieving people with a bloodred stain on my chest. Pitying looks were the last thing I needed.
“Are you okay, dear?”
“Yeah,” I managed to say, nodding my thanks as the woman handed me a tea towel and I began wiping furiously at my dress. “Just been having a run of bad luck lately.”
“Ah. Well, the thing about luck is that it can turn in an instant. You never know when you might bump into the good kind. I’m Freya. My husband, Shamus, and I are old friends of Charles and Marion.”
“Kira. I’m Charles’s next-door neighbour. We just met and he invited me… I never knew Marion…” I trailed off feeling foolish, but Freya only smiled, giving no indication that my presence was at all unusual.
“It’s lovely to meet you, Kira. Charles is going through a difficult time right now, and I’m sure he appreciates you being here.
Now, why don’t you go and give that dress a quick rinse?
” She nodded toward the bathroom again. As I left the kitchen, an older man approached Freya and wrapped an arm around her waist.
The stain was stubborn, and all I managed to accomplish was getting more wet.
I’d have to leave after all, then return to pay my respects.
As I exited the bathroom, however, I paused.
Two angry male voices drifted out of one of the rooms, its door ajar.
I wasn’t one to eavesdrop, but I felt immediately comforted by the low timber of one of the voices.
In my presently flustered state, it was a welcome respite.
“I can’t do this. Not again. Especially not today.”
“We need to talk about this, son. You ignore my calls. My texts.”
A flash of irritation replaced the comfort I’d felt. What kind of son ignored his father? What I wouldn’t give to speak to mine again.
“Why would I answer? Our conversations never change. What’s the point?”
The father made a sound of frustration. “I’m trying. You need to meet me halfway.”
“Funny how your idea of halfway is me meeting you where you want and you making no effort to see my perspective.”
I should have walked away. It was a private conversation. But that voice…
“You had such potential in the military. I can pull some strings…get you back in—”
“I was wounded, in case you forgot. Honourably discharged.”
The father continued like his son hadn’t spoken. “An office position, perhaps. You should be a major. Like Jace.”
“Hell. You hear only yourself.”
“Ah! Don’t walk away again!”
The door swung open to reveal a tall, scarred man. My face flamed at being caught eavesdropping as he came to an abrupt stop in front of me. Behind him, an older man with the same hard jaw scrubbed an impatient hand over his short grey hair.
I noticed the son’s scars right away. How could I not?
Angry, old wounds twisted from his brow, across his left eye and cheekbone, and down his neck where they disappeared under the collar of his shirt.
The skin was uneven, a landscape of puckered scar tissue and smooth, shiny burns that caught the light, a stark contrast to the rough planes of his face.
He drew himself up to his full height, and my breath hitched at the challenge I saw in his storm-blue eyes. He expected me to flinch. I didn’t. We all had scars. Some of us just carried them on the inside.
“I’m sorry,” I stammered. “I was just leaving the bathroom, and I heard voices…” I realized I had no good explanation. It wasn’t like I could tell him his voice had brought me comfort at a time when I felt so very, very alone.
His gaze travelled from my head to my feet, lingering on the red stain.
“I’d better go,” I mumbled before dashing down the hall into the living room. I squeezed between two groups of people blocking my escape route, then looked up to see the last person I expected standing near the front door.
Todd’s grandmother, Sylvia, gazed around the room as if looking for someone.
My heart leapt into my throat. What the hell is she doing here?
I groaned as I realized she probably knew Charles and Marion through the university.
Sylvia had worked as a sessional lecturer in the archaeology department. Seriously, can my luck get any worse?
I spun around and immediately smacked into a hard chest. Strong hands reached out to steady me, and I looked up at the man who had caught me eavesdropping.
His expression was a blend of amusement and exasperation.
His gaze drifted down to his once-pristine white button-down, now wet and stained pink.
His expression turned decidedly toward exasperation.
“Sorry! I forgot something.” I chanced a quick glance over my shoulder at Sylvia, who thankfully hadn’t noticed me. Yet.
“I need to…” I tried edging to the side, but the man was quite large, and we were boxed in on all sides by groups of chatting people.
His hands still clasped my shoulders, and the warmth of his skin against my bare arms caused my pulse to flutter.
His eyes narrowed like he was studying a rare specimen he couldn’t quite identify.
Perfect. Exactly how every woman wants to be viewed by a mysterious man with muscles for days. I inwardly rolled my eyes and vowed to never leave my house again.
I could not be seen by Sylvia. If she saw me, she would insist on speaking to me, and then I would cry. I refused to shed another tear over Todd, and I would rather die than cause a scene at Marion’s celebration of life. I needed to leave.
But first I needed to pass Mystery Man.
“Where are you going in such a hurry?” His deep, soothing voice washed over me, and I forgot all about leaving.
Nowhere. I’m going to spend the rest of my life in your arms, gazing into your perfect blue eyes.
I shook off the silly thought even as I continued to admire his athletic and powerful build.
His size made me feel safe rather than intimidated, and a sudden, strange impulse made me want to lean into him and borrow his strength.
I couldn’t tear my eyes away.
His expression shuttered, and he dropped his hands, turning his head so I could no longer see his scars. “Wounded in action. Five years ago,” he muttered. “You don’t have to look at them.”
“What? Oh no…I wasn’t—”
“It’s fine,” he said brusquely, and my shoulders sagged, knowing he would never believe I had been admiring him.
“Is the lady with the red scarf looking this way?” I asked instead.
He looked back at me and then over my head, his brow furrowed. “No. Has she done something to offend you?”
“We have…history. I’d rather not speak to her. I need to leave.”
“Why? Eavesdrop on her, too?”
I huffed. “You are—”
“Hideous?”
“What? No. Aggravating.”
“Never been called that before.”
“Never? Seems unlikely.”
He glanced over my head again. “You’re quite vexing yourself. Before we met, my conversations were not public knowledge, and I wasn’t sporting a pink stain.”
I could apologize again, but what was the point? “Look, I need to get out of here. Are you going to let me pass or not?”