Page 72 of Here in Your Arms
If there had been more outlaws, Brody had said, there was no sign of them. Arailt suspected that two or perhaps more had slipped away in the chaos, but he and Ruairidh had decided to find and follow the path their laird had taken, not the reivers’, “unwilling to lose ye in the forest’s tangle,” Brody had relayed, “even if it meant letting those bastards escape.”
Tiernan had thanked Brody with a short nod, and Brody had grunted a reply before an argument ensued over Tiernan’s leavetaking. Brody had cut him off, unusually forceful, refusing outright to provide an escort until morning. His tone, sharp and unyielding, had surprised even Tiernan. It wasn’t often that Brody denied him anything outright, but tonight, there had been no room for negotiation.
In truth, Tiernan hadn’t fought the decision as hard as he might have. He’d been bone-weary, the pain in his shoulder a dull, dragging ache, made heavier still by the grim news of the day—Thomas lost beneath the rockslide, Eòghann cut down by outlaws.
And another reason to delay... Rose was here.
That truth circled back to him now as his gaze drifted toward her. He studied her for a long moment, something in his chestloosening just a little as he watched her. Of all the strange turns his life had taken of late—or in years—her presence remained the most unexpected.
And the most impossible to ignore.
He watched her in silence, his eyes again tracing the soft lines of her face, the gentle set of her mouth, the way the firelight touched her hair. He wasn’t sure what had brought her here tonight. Was it concern for him, to see how he fared? Or had the storm unsettled her, pushing her toward the one place in this strange and ancient world where she might find something—someone—familiar? Was he that to her? A familiar entity in the midst of the unknown?
The question lodged itself in his chest, taking on an unaccountable importance, causing him to wonder why the answer was suddenly so significant.
Admittedly, she had taken up space in his thoughts, whether he liked it or not. Of that, he was certain.
He stirred beneath the covers and shifted just enough to ease the strain on his shoulder, then turned his gaze back to her. Her soft, inscrutable expression was marred now with a frown.
He cleared his throat quietly, and when she glanced over, surprised to find him watching, he murmured, “What has yer brow furrowed as it is?”
Rose blinked, lowering her feet to the floor. “How do you feel? I thought you seemed a little warm moments ago—Agnes had me worried that you were in danger of having a fever.”
He waved off her concern with a flick of his hand, though something in him tightened at her answer. She’d come to check on him, it seemed. Had touched him while he slept. The knowledge left him more affected than he cared to admit. He sat up, careful not to let the pain show, determined not to wince as his shoulder pulled. “Nae fever,” he said. His voice was even, though he hadn’t taken proper stock of his condition. Whateveraches remained, he’d not let her see them. He’d not play the invalid before her.
As the fur slid down into his lap, he reached with his uninjured arm toward the bedside table, fingers closing around the small wooden cup he found there. He lifted it, expecting water or perhaps ale, and found himself not disappointed to discover it was the latter. He took a long sip and lowered the cup.
“What had ye frowning as ye were?” He asked again.
Rose sighed, as if she supposed he might keep on until she did answer him.
“I was thinking about sightseeing,” she said after a pause.
Tiernan lifted a brow, but said nothing, unfamiliar with the word.
She shifted in the chair, facing him more fully around the side of the arm. “That’s why I came to Scotland, originally. To study, yes—but also to explore. I’d planned to see castles and battlefields, to walk along the cliffs, to visit old ruins and museums. I wanted tofeelhistory, not just study it in books. I had this whole list of places I wanted to visit, little things I wanted to try. I thought if I justsawenough, if I immersed myself in the right places, in the right moments, I’d come away changed.”
Only then did Tiernan stir, his brows pulling together, his voice thoughtful. “And what is it then?” he asked quietly. “This... sight-seeing as ye ken it?”
Rose turned her gaze back to him, the faintest shadow of a smile pulling at her lips, though her eyes remained tired, shadowed with thought. “It’s just what it sounds like. Traveling to a place to take it in with your own eyes.” She hesitated, then added more softly, “But for me—for historians—it’s about more than just looking. It’s aboutseeing. Noticing what most people don’t. The burn marks on old stone where a fire once lived. The wear on a step that tells you how many feet have crossed it. Aname carved into a church door no one’s bothered to notice in six hundred years.”
Tiernan took a moment to absorb what she was saying, his attention wholly fixed on her. “And ye feel,” he said slowly, cautiously, “that ye’ve nae seen so much as ye wanted?”
Her smile faded. She shook her head once, her voice quieter than before. “Just the opposite. I think I’ve seen too much.” She exhaled and looked toward the fire. “I thought if I stood where something important happened, it would change me. That I could come home and say, ‘I saw it. Ifeltit.’ But nothing prepares you for the reality of living in a time like this. Sightseeing isn’t safe here. It isn’t clean, it’s not clinical. There’s no wonder when you’re standing in blood or watching someone...die.” A bitter smile curved her lips. “It feels so naive now. So small. I used to think seeing something beautiful or old or meaningful would be enough. That standing somewhere history had touched would somehow change me. But here... now...” She shook her head. “Living here isn’t about wonder. It’s not so much fascinating as it is frightening. Nothing’s simple, nothing’s safe. Sightseeing, in this world, means noticing the right thing fast enough to survive it.”
A beat of quiet passed between them, and she looked back to him. “I’m a historian,” she said, voice steadier now, more sure of the words. “Or I was training to be one, before all this. At university, I studied the past, the people in it—what people left behind, what we could learn from it. We used books, artifacts, sometimes ruins. Letters, if we were lucky. We’d stitch together a picture of how people lived, what mattered to them, what they struggled with.”
Tiernan’s brow drew together. “Ye study people who lived hundreds of years before ye? Dead people?”
Rose gave a faint, almost self-conscious smile. “Yes. We try to bring their lives back into focus. We tell ourselves westudy the past so we won’t repeat its mistakes—but I think I misunderstood the whole point. Before this, everything I learned came from books or was delivered in monotone lectures. It was all so removed. I never truly tried to imagine what it was like to live in this world—the fear, the exhaustion, the decisions people had to make just to survive. You. Brody. Margaret. The villagers. I never thought about the weight of it all. And honestly?” She looked away for a moment. “I think I was happier not knowing what I was missing.”
He tilted his head slightly, watching her. “And now ye wish ye hadn’t learned it?”
Rose shrugged, her expression thoughtful. “In some ways, yes. I used to find history fascinating—like a puzzle you could slowly put together. Now I know it’s messy. Brutal. Sometimes beautiful, but mostly...it’s hard. It’s painful. And it’s real in a way I wasn’t prepared for.”
Tiernan didn’t pretend to understand her need to sift through lives already lived. The present had always been more than enough to contend with. For him, survival was a full-time burden, and there had never been much space for nostalgia or speculation about what came before. Still, he couldn’t ignore what her words stirred in him.
He didn’t care for the history itself, or for crumbling ruins or the long-dead names she carried in her thoughts. And yet, despite himself, despite a voice in his head telling him it was foolish, mayhap profane and improper, he cared about her. He could see her wrestling with the history she’d once loved—what had once been curiosity and wonder was now giving way to disillusionment, discomfort, and finally a raw, personal truth: that what she was learning wasn’t at all what she’d hoped to find.
