Page 37 of Here in Your Arms
“The United States,” he said, his voice cutting through the still air. “Ye said ye were born there.”
Rose blinked, caught off guard, focusing briefly on the way he pronounced ‘united’. He pronounced it oddly, hitting the ‘U’ hard—U-nited.
Of all the things he could have asked or said, she hadn’t expected that. “Yes,” she said hesitantly. “It’s... far from here. Across the ocean.”
Tiernan’s gaze flicked toward her, skeptical. “There is naught but water across the sea.”
She exhaled, already sensing how this was going to go. “That’s what people here believe, but it isn’t true. There’s an entire continent—an entire world—that hasn’t been discovered yet. At least... not by anyone in this...time.”
He cast her a sideways glance, and though his expression barely changed, she could see the doubt in his eyes.
“Ye would have me believe there are lands beyond the sea, filled with people nae man here has ever laid eyes upon?”
“Well, frankly, you can believe whatever you want,” she said simply. “I’m simply telling you what the truth is.”
He made a short, incredulous sound, not quite a scoff but close. “And how is it ye know this?”
“Because—as I just said—that’s where I...came from. That’s where I live. Hundreds of years from now, people will have sailed there, across the ocean. Colonized it. Built cities on it.”
Rose wasn’t sure if or why she cared whether or not he believed her. It wasn’t like she could prove it. And honestly, what did it even matter?
Silence fell between them again, filled only by the sounds of the world around them.
Then, just when she thought they might speak no more, he asked, “How did ye come by yer scar?”
Her steps faltered for half a second before she forced herself to keep walking. It wasn’t the first time someone had brought it up—how could it be, when it was so visible? But most people hadthe courtesy to pretend they didn’t see it, to let their gaze pass over it without remark.
He had done so up until now. She wasn’t sure what had changed.
His tone was too direct, too blunt. Of course, it was foolish to expect him to tiptoe around the subject—he was the sort of man who spoke plainly, without concern for how his words landed. Still, it felt oddly rude, as though he had simply decided that whatever sense of decorum kept others from asking was of no consequence to him.
She turned her cheek away, staring at the horizon. “A car accident,” she said simply, but then realized he would have no idea what a car was. Rose exhaled, adjusting her pace to keep up with him. “It’s... a kind of carriage, but without horses. It moves by itself, with an engine. My mother was driving the car. There was ice on the road. We crashed.”
The words came out heavier than she expected. She had told the story before, had lived with the memory for so long that it should have been numb by now. And yet, it still sat like a stone in the pit of her stomach.
“She died,” she added quietly. “I lived.”
She didn’t want to look at him, didn’t want to see whatever expression he might be wearing—whether it was disinterest, discomfort, or something else entirely. But then she couldn’t help herself and she shifted her gaze sideways to him.
He was watching her.
Not with pity, nor with the vague politeness most people offered when they heard something tragic. His eyes were sharp, steady—assessing in a way that made her stomach twist. He wasn’t looking at her as if she were fragile. He wasn’t looking at her like she was broken. It seemed he was merely trying to figure her out...or make some judgment about her scar.
Butterflies flittered in her stomach, unnerved by his prolonged scrutiny, and before she could stop herself, words spilled out, too fast, too eager, trying to fill the space between them.
“It’s ugly. I know that,” she said, making her voice light, dismissive. She forced a small, humorless chuckle. “People try to be polite about it, but I know what they’re thinking. It’s obvious. And I hate it. Not just because of how it looks, but because every timeIsee it, I remember—like this is the last thing I remember of my mother, or the only thing she left me,”
For a long moment, he said nothing. So long, in fact, that she assumed he had decided not to respond at all. That was fine. She didn’t know why she had said so much to him in the first place.
But then, after possibly an entire minute had passed, his voice came, low and gruff, as though he was reluctant to have the words leave his mouth. “It dinna distract from ye.” He hesitated, then added, almost begrudgingly, “It dinna make ye uncomely. Nae at all.”
Rose jerked her head toward him so fast she nearly stumbled. He wasn’t looking at her. His eyes now were locked on the path ahead, his jaw locked as well it seemed, as though he regretted saying it the moment the words left his lips.
She stared at him, completely thrown. For a moment, she didn’t know what to do with it. Her heart gave an odd little thump against her ribs, and she quickly turned her gaze back to the road ahead, searching for something, anything, to fill the sudden tension between them. Just as quickly, she swung her gaze back to his arm, having caught sight of the continued bleeding in her periphery a moment ago. Blood now stained the sleeve of his tunic past his elbow.
“I should... um...” She swallowed. “Should we do something about the bleeding?”
He let out a slow breath, almost as if relieved to have a change in subject. “It’ll be fine.”
