Page 28 of Here in Your Arms
“Oh, for God’s sake,” she snapped, throwing up her hands again. “Do youenjoythis? The whole brooding, silent intimidation act? Because I have to say, it’s getting old.” She planted her hands on her hips, shifting her weight. “I get it—you don’t believe me, you’ve made that abundantly clear. But do you really think sitting there glowering at me is going to change anything? I told you the truth. You don’t have to like it, but stop acting like I’m a villain or... like I caused all this.”
One dark slash of a brow lifted over his right eye, but he said nothing.
Though her heart hammered wildly in her chest, Rose soldiered on. “You think you’re the only victim? The only one who’s pissed off? Do you think Ichoseto be here? Trust me, if I had the slightest clue how to fix this, I’d already be gone. But I don’t. And I sure as hell don’t need you staring at me like I’m some kind of criminal or... or science experiment.”
For a long, agonizing moment, he didn’t respond. The silence stretched, and Rose feared she’d gone too far. This wasn’t some debate with a random person in her time—this washisworld, and she was standing inhiscastle, talking to a man who could probably snap her in half if he felt so inclined.
She swallowed hard, her bravado faltering just as he finally spoke.
“Then what am I to do with ye?”
The question was softer than she expected, laced with something that almost sounded like resignation.
Rose let out a sharp breath, her brows knitting again. “How should I know? Maybe...maybe we just chalk it up to one big mistake, and... I don’t know, forget it ever happened, that I was ever here.” Her stomach flipped a bit, wondering if that were actually possible for the man so tortuously grieving his beloved.“Tomorrow, I’ll be gone—I can skip supper tonight if you want. I’d rather not return to the hall anyway,” she said, thinking it wise to avoid any more of his heartless scrutiny, or that of Margaret’s father, or—maybe worse—more of Leana’s wishful thinking.
To her utter shock, he replied by saying, “Ye dinna look as if ye can afford to skip a meal.”
For a moment, Rose just stared at him, unsure if she’d heard correctly.
Had he just—was that an insult?
But then, as she searched his face, she faltered. His voice—though still gruff—had been the softest she’d heard from him yet, and something in his expression had shifted. He still looked cold-blooded, every inch the harsh and imposing Highland warrior, but there was no bite to his words this time. No sharp edge.
Was he...trying to be kind?
The thought sent a sudden, unexpected ache through her chest, and before she could stop it, her throat tightened.Oh, hell no.She was not about to cry in front of this man.
Briskly, she straightened her spine, forcing a quick breath through her nose. “Well then, if you’re done interrogating me about something I had nothing to do with,” she said, lifting her chin, “then you can go. I need to lie down before supper.”
His brows lifted slightly, as if surprised by the sudden dismissal.
She waved a hand toward the door, barely holding onto her already fractured composure. “Please. Feel free to brood elsewhere.”
He nodded and subjected her to one more lingering perusal, his gaze seeming to trace specifically over her scar, before he finally gave a slow nod and turned toward the door.
“I expect to see ye at supper,” he said, turning back to her when he’d reached the door.
Rose nodded stiffly, holding her breath as he stepped out of the room, only exhaling when the heavy wooden door clicked shut behind him.
The moment he was gone, she pressed her fingers to her eyes, willing away the stinging threat of tears.
God. What was wrong with her?
She wasn’t even sure who she was angrier with—him for suddenly seeming almost human, or herself for being moved by it.
Chapter Seven
The food was very good, but Rose could hardly enjoy it for all the wary and watchful gazes attuned to her.
She had been stared at before—she had gone to a high school with over a thousand students, where the halls were crowded with some really mean kids, whose eyes lingered unabashed on her face, on the jagged scar running from the edge of her nose to her ear. She had known the weight of scrutiny, of whispers behind cupped hands, of eyes darting away just a second too late. She had endured the awkward, lingering glances from teachers and students alike tryingnotto look at her scar, their expressions often twisted not with sympathy, but with discomfort. Disgust, even.
But this? This was something else entirely.
This wasn’t pity or fleeting curiosity.
These people weren’t merely curious—they wereunnerved. As if her very presence unsettled the natural order of things. As if she waswrong, an eerie distortion of someone they had lost.
Rose swallowed hard, shifting in her seat, resisting the urge to lift a hand and cover the mark. She had long since stopped caring about her scar—or so she’d thought. But there was something about the way theylookedat her now, something about the silent, creeping revulsion in their stares, that made her stomach twist.
