Page 50 of Plaid Attitude
Slowly, he turned.
Coira knelt in the mud, holding Bessetta’s cheeks and speaking to her in a low, firm voice. Doughall couldn’t hear what she was saying, but he saw his daughter’s tears running over Coira’s fingers, and his knees suddenly gave out.
Which was stupid, because fifty percent of knees’ job was to keep him upright when he needed to be upright.
But one moment he was standing over Edgar, and the next he was kneeling beside the two humans he loved most in the world. His hands shook as he reached for them, only to realize he still held his sword.
As he sheathed the blade—took him three tries, thanks to the damn tremble—he focused on Coira’s words.
“’Tisno’yer fault, love, I swear it. No’ yer fault, Bess.” She shook the lass slightly. “Do ye understand?”
Bessetta sniffed. “I believed him. I thought he loved me.”
Coira shook her again. “No’ yer fault. Edgar is an opportunistic bastard with a nice smile and a talent for lies. Ye’re achild. Bess, a grown woman would’ve fallen for his deceit.”
“Ye’re saying I’m naïve.”
“Of course I’m saying yer naïve!” Then Coira shook her head and pulled the lass to her, wrapping her arms around the smaller body. “Ye’re supposed to be naïve, Bess. This wasnae yer fault. Do ye understand me?”
Unable to hold back any longer, Doughall wrapped his arms around both of them. “She’s right, sweetheart.” His voice was rough, and he knew he was still shaking. “Coira is verra wise, so yemustbelieve her. Do ye?”
With a sniff, Bess pushed herself upright enough to peer at both of them. “Aye,” she finally agreed. “But I did give him all the Oliphants’ secrets.”
“No’ all of them,” Coira corrected with a crooked grin, “and we did get them back.”
The lass bit her lip and twisted, trying to see Edgar. Doughall shifted, blocking her view, praying she wouldn’t wonder about Arnold. Edgar’s friend had been seconds away from tearing off the rest of her gown and inflicting horror on her no person should have to endure.
Doughall would go to his grave grateful to Coira for her swift and decisive action today.
“Bess,” Coira said gently, turning her away so she couldn’t see either body. “Ye were so brave today. Ye remembered yer lessons.”
Just like that, any progress Doughall thought they’d made in building Bessetta up…was reversed. With a sob, the girl flung herself into Coira’s arms once more.
Doughall exchanged a look with Coira over his daughter’s head.
There was sorrow, aye, in those beautiful eyes, but something more…
“What is it?” he asked gruffly, his large hand dwarfing his daughter’s back. “What’s wrong, sweetling?”
“I wasnae strong!” sobbed Bessetta against Coira’s shoulder. “I should have fought back!”
“Nay, nay!” Coira insisted, before Doughall could. “Bess, listen to me.”
She pulled the lass away so she could meet her eyes, but Bessetta bowed her head, her continuing sobs heart-wrenching.
Coira hesitated, looking helpless for a moment, then placed one hand beneath the girl’s chin to raise it.
“Bess, ye remembered yer exercises. Remember me telling ye how strong ye’ve become?” She paused, moving her hand to Bessetta’s back, but the lass continued to sniffle. “When the time was right, ye fought, just the way we needed ye to.”
His daughter took in a great, shuddering breath and held it. “I…wanted to be strong.”
Coira’s expression melted into something soft.
Somethingloving.
“Bessetta,” she whispered, “love…Ye dinnae always have to be strong when ye’re with people who love ye and support ye.”
Her words shothopethrough Doughall’s chest, even as she looked up and met his eyes.
