She brushed a tendril of her burnished chestnut hair over her shoulder, the movement graceful and completely unaffected. Unfortunately, it pulled her bodice tight and drew his gaze to the forbidden mounds.
Wood choppin’. Cuttin’ trees down. Stackin’ wood.
There was a bloody forest outside. He’d chop enough firewood to keep the lodge heated until the next century if it kept him out of the cottage. Kept him away from this alluring woman with her innocent, seductive eyes the color or caramelized sugar. Then, he’d fall into bed so exhausted each night, dreams wouldn’t even disturb his slumber, let alone a lithe siren enticing him in ways he hadn’t been tempted in years.
After a frigid soak in yonder stream.
They finished their simple meal in silence, and just as he was about to ask if she’d like to take a walk, she blurted, “I’m so verra sorry about yer daughter.”
Liam clasped his hand so tightly around his spoon, his knuckles turned white as he clamped his jaw against the grief that yet possessed the ability to steal his breath and stall his lungs. “She’s been gone for over five years.” He hadn’t meant to share something so private with her. He didn’t discuss his children with anyone, not even his mother or sister.
It was simply too damned, gut-wrenchingly painful. Countless times, his mother had begged him to talk about the bairns. She vowed he couldn’t keep the grief pent up inside; that it would corrode away at him from the inside and destroy his soul.
Kendra had said the same, and even though he knew his mother and sister mourned, too, he couldn’t talk about the tragedy that had stolen both of his beloved bairns the same day. The calamity that would never have happened if he’d been the father he should’ve been. If he’d protected them instead of being compassionate.
God, even now, he wanted to smash his fist into the wall and keen his anguish.
Last night, when Emeline had picked the same name as his daughter’s, her choice had so stunned him, he’d blurted that Mareona had been his bairn’s name. His wee cherub of a son, scarcely one years old, had been called Joseph.
Each child had possessed their mother’s golden hair but his slate-gray eyes. And he’d adored them beyond comprehension. Hadn’t known he was capable of that depth of love and devotion. Even thinking about them now brought a rush of biting moisture to his eyes.
“I’m sure ye understand, if I dinna want to talk about it,” he mumbled.
The plump pillows of her lush lips thinning, she conceded with a slight dip of her dainty chin. “Aye, I can understand. No’ about losin’ a child, because I’ve never had a bairn, but I do ken about losin’ a relative. Every time it’s brought up, it feels as if the wound has reopened.”
“Aye.” And he feared he’d never heal. He’d never be whole again. Never see a wee blond girl or boy and not feel as if his heart and lungs were being torn from his chest. Never, ever, wanted to feel that kind of pain again.
He glanced to the window and the vivid blue sky shimmering between the greenish-black treetops. Such a contrast to the hellish heavens that had buffeted them yesterday. But then again, he lived in a sort of hell for five years now.
Suspended in place, mourning. Always—God help me—mournin’. He couldn’t seem to move on, to put aside his anger.
Such scorching anger.
At Kristin, the devil’s daughter. At God. At himself for yielding to temptation that fateful night nine years ago and accepting the invitation he naively believed she offered. Only to learn it had been a calculated trap. He’d been played like gullible, malleable fool all along.
His appetite gone, he pushed the bowl away and took up the cup of tea. Apparently, the same was true for Emeline, for she leaned back in her chair, her cup poised near her soft lips.
“Have ye any other children?” she softly asked, a hint of hesitancy in her husky voice.
Closing his eyes for an agonizing blink, Liam swore a thousand curses beneath his breath. “I had a son.”
As comprehension dawned, air exploded from her in a harsh whoosh. “Och, my God, Liam.” She thumped her cup down hard, jostling the table. “Please dinna tell me ye lost him, too?” Her words emerged, strangled and tight, as if tears and emotion clogged her throat.
He couldn’t look at her. Couldn’t stand to see his own anguish reflected in her tormented eyes. Instead, he stared fixedly at the coin-sized stain beside his cup. “Aye. At the same time.”
Her harsh respiration slashed his heart. His composure.
He glanced up then, knowing he’d see pity and sympathy and compassion. They only fueled his agony. His mother and sister, friends, the clan members, the staff at Eytone Hall, the tenants and villagers—all had turned that sorrowful, helpless expression on him hundreds and hundreds of times.
Odin’s teeth, he’d been offered platitudes and condolences and banalities and commiserations until he wanted to break something. To smash his fists into a stone wall and tear the pennants and portraits from Eytone Hall’s galleys. To shout his rage to the heavens until he was hoarse.
But none of that would help.
Nothing…nothing would repair Joseph’s and Mareona’s wee broken bodies.
He’d never again see their precious faces light up as they giggled or smell their sweet essence as he held them, his face nestled in their downy hair. Never grin as they capered about the house and lawns, or sigh in immeasurable contentment as they snuggled on his lap.
Shaking her head, her eyes luminous, Emeline put a trembling hand to her bosom. “My heart aches mightily for ye, Liam. Words canna express my sorrow,” she whispered brokenly. “How ye and yer wife must suffer.”
He lowered his brows thunderously, familiar bitter lines hardening his face as he slammed his fist upon the table, rattling the dishes and utensils.
Emeline jumped, her expression equal parts dismay and confusion.
His good sense and control had flown in the face of the rage resulting from Kristin’s actions. Rancor made his voice razor sharp. “My wife is dead. I dinna ever speak of her. Ever.”
Lower lip trembling, her face white as the lace edging her bodice, Emeline swallowed. Her doe eyes huge and alarmed, she regarded him warily before casting a less-than-covert glance toward the door. She thought him utterly and completely mad.
He had been off his head for the first few weeks after his children’s deaths.
Gaze leery, she folded her hands, shadows of doubt and fear stamped upon her face.
Dammit. Now he’d succeeded in frightening her.
But ever since yesterday, he’d been thrown into a lather. He despised this lack of self-control. Loathed feeling. Sighing, he scraped a hand over his eyes. “Forgive me. ’Tis no’ somethin’ I can speak of or think about without becomin’ angry. But ye’re in nae danger from me, lass. I give ye my word.”
Marked uncertainty was engraved upon her features. “I believe that’s for me to decide, and in order to do so, I fear, I shall have to impose upon ye further.” Her eyes the color of warm dark honey, she courageously notched her small chin slightly higher.
No’ so brave, after all.
“How…” She licked her lower lip. “How did they die?”
Chapter Five