Page 31 of A Rugged Beauty
He'd been steps behind his cousin, calling out in glee because he was catching up. Unaware of the danger, of what he was about to cause.
"Someone bumped me." He remembered the feel of bodies around, disjointed now. "I would've been right behind him—might've been run over by the horse, too."
He'd been seconds too late.
"I held him," he whispered. "Someone was screaming—I don't know who."
Charles's eyes had already been glassy and empty when H had pulled his body into him. H had begged, had prayed, had screamed when someone had brought his pa and his uncle. When he'd been torn away from Charles's body.
He felt everything he'd experienced that day, all at once. Like being doused in the driving rain, only now it was emotion drowning him.
He didn't know what to do with it. Without warning, he lifted his face to the sky and cried, "aauugghh!"
Sparrow went still beside him, simply holding him.
Charles was gone.
And it was H's fault.
"It wasn't your fault," Sparrow whispered. Had he spoken aloud? He hadn't meant to.
More memories swirled around him, rolling over him like the river water bowling over rocks. His uncle, Charles's father, angry in their kitchen, spittle flying as he spoke to H's father. H watched from a hiding place behind the kitchen doorway. His uncle drowning his sorrow in a bottle behind the livery, where he was supposed to be working. He hadn't told a soul, only went into the livery to muck stalls.
His uncle had disappeared in the bottle, becoming angry and bitter. He'd left the livery, a business he and H's father had run together for years. Had cut ties with their family. H's actions had not only brought about Charles's death but separated his uncle from their family.
"You couldn't have known that the horse would bolt," Sparrow murmured.
When had he taken her in his arms? The rain was softening, moving off—or was it? And they stood holding each other in the dark.
He could hear the flooded river nearby. How close? Or perhaps it was his pulse rushing in his ears, adrenaline fading as he'd lived through the terrible event all over again.
"I should've stopped him," H said. A burst of speed, a hand to pull Charles back.
"You were a child. It was a horrible accident."
But her words offered no real comfort. Her cheek pressed against his jaw, her arms tight about his shoulders. His rib ached where she leaned against him.
He couldn't accept her comfort. It wasn't right, not when he'd cost his family so dearly.
"We need to go." His words were jagged, rough. He pulled away from her body but kept her hand.
The darkness seemed to have grown—it wasn't the middle of the night yet, but no sliver of moonlight made it through the cloud cover or cut through the rain. They'd only taken a few steps when the muddy ground beneath his feet gave way and he stumbled.
He caught himself before he fell, but Sparrow stumbled too. She jerked in his grip. He kept her arm but heard her soft cry.
He steadied her, feeling the way the muddy ground, softer here, gave way beneath his boots. This was a dangerous place to traverse. In the dark, he couldn't see how close they were to the water.
"Are you all right?"
She moved slightly. Taking weight off her leg?
"My ankle—it twisted wrong when I took that step. But I think it's all right."
She took a tentative step. He couldn't see her, other than a dark shape in the darkness, but he heard the soft catch of her breath.
"I can keep go?—"
He gripped her upper arm, only now catching the strength of her shivers. Her entire body shuddered with violent trembling. He tugged her into him, rubbing his hands up and down her arms.
