Page 9 of The Hermit

I make a grumbling sound.

Suspicion creeps into his eyes. “Does it really matter which of my daughters you marry?”

“No.”

He holds his hand out to me. “Then it’s a deal. You’ll marry Ciara and have one child at the very least for fifty percent of my business.”

My eyes flick down to his hand, and as I take it, I agree, “It’s a deal.”

A smile spreads over his face, and he pats my shoulder with his free hand. “Now we’ll truly be unbeatable.” Stepping away from me, he says, “Come. I’m sure I have a bottle of champagne somewhere in the house.”

GRACE

Sitting in the armchair by the window, I stare at nothing in particular. My thoughts are filled with everything that happened yesterday.

There are moments when it’s hard to believe I survived.

My face aches, and my bruised ribs and right forearm feel very tender. The slightest movement makes the pain flare up, so I try to keep as still as possible.

There’s a knock at my door, then it opens, and Ciara peeks into my room. “Hi.”

I begin to smile but stop when it pulls at the scab on my bottom lip. “Hi.”

She steps inside while asking, “Feeling any better?”

“Yeah,” I whisper.

She tilts her head, and I soak in the love shining from her eyes. “Tell me if you need anything. Consider me your personal servant.”

My lips move to smile, and I cringe at the sting. “Don’t make me laugh.”

“Sorry.”

Ciara moves closer and comes to crouch beside the plush armchair I’m curled up on. Her eyes meet mine, then she says, “Thanks for shoving me into the shrubs.”

“Of course.” I lift my hand and brush my fingers through her silky, soft hair. “I’ll always protect you.”

She leans her cheek into my palm, her eyes misting up. “I’m so lucky to have you. I just wish I could do more for you.”

Even though it aches, I let a soft smile tug at my lips. “You love me, and that’s all I need.”

Ciara’s my entire life. I’d die for her.

“Sorry to interrupt. Your father asks that you join him in the living room,” Maeve, our housekeeper, says from the open door.

I let out a groan when Maeve leaves to return to her work. She’s only been with us a month after our last housekeeper retired.

When I move to get up from the chair, Ciara asks, “Need help?”

“No. I’m good.”

My body aches all over as I walk to the doorway, and for the hundredth time, Ciara says, “I’m sorry about what happened.”

“It’s not your fault,” I mutter, anger toward Dad bubbling in my chest.

Twice now, he’s placed me in a position where I got hurt.

“It must’ve been so scary.” Ciara wraps her arm around my lower back and gives me a gentle sideways hug. “I’m just glad you’re home and you didn’t get hurt too badly.”

---