Page 45 of Here in Your Arms
Tiernan had stepped away from his conversation, his focus now turned toward Brody and Emmy. Though he stood a short distance apart, his presence was impossible to ignore.
“All right,” Emmy said, forcing a wide smile, “Give me a hug and let’s not drag this out. I’m already sad that you’re not coming with us. I don’t want to start bawling in the middle of the courtyard.” She wrapped Rose in a quick, fierce hug before stepping back. “Take care of you.”
“You, too,” Rose said, having one late-blooming twitch of regret, wondering if sheshouldactually be going with them. But then Emmy pushed away and climbed up in the saddle of her mare, making it look ridiculously easy.
Brody swung up into the saddle at the same time, offering one last nod to Tiernan. “I appreciate the extra men.”
“Better to be safe,” Tiernan acknowledged.
“Try not to cause too much trouble,” Emmy teased, her grin impish, her green eyes darting briefly to Tiernan.
“I make no promises,” Rose shot back.
Emmy laughed, shaking her head before turning her horse toward the gate.
Within moments, the party was moving, the sound of hooves striking damp earth echoing through the courtyard. Rose watched them go, a dull ache settling in her chest as she stood there, her throat tightening for a moment.
And then, as the last rider disappeared through the gates, the bustling energy of the courtyard faded.
The few others who’d come to see off the MacIntyres dispersed, leaving Rose standing alone in the courtyard with Tiernan.
Almost immediately, an awkwardness settled thick and heavy between them, their last conversation having been last night, upon the battlements, where he’d essentially labeled her a liar.
He surveyed the departing group a moment longer than Rose had.
And then he turned his attention to her, and she realized that in the bright morning sun, his eyes were different. Inside the dimly lit hall, they were a colder shade—deep, stormy, almost gray. But out here, under the clear light of day, they were strikingly pale, like glacier-fed waters, bright and sharp against the tanned planes of his face. His lashes were impossibly dark, thick and long, framing that piercing blue in a way that would have been enviable on any woman.
“What will ye do with yer time here?” He asked.
The question caught her off guard.
“I have no idea,” she admitted, then tested out a small but irreverent grin on him. “I imagine a good part of it might be spent trying to remain outside of Leana’s clutches.”
He didn’t smile—of course, he didn’t—but he tilted his head slightly, a small, considering motion, as if to acknowledge that her expectation wasn’t entirely unfounded.
She couldn’t help but wonder how much more beautiful he’d be if hedidsmile.
The thought startled her. She had spent so much time caught in the intensity of his inscrutable expressions that she had never even considered what he might look likeunburdened. Maybe joyous, or simply pleased about something.
The idea was almost too foreign to imagine.
Before she could stop herself, she asked, “Do you ever smile?”
The moment she asked, she regretted it. But then, part of her reasoned,what the hell do I have to lose?
Rather than answer, he turned the question back on her. “Canna say I’ve seen too many smiles on yer face, lass.”
Purposefully, she beamed at him, a deliberately sweet, exaggerated expression. “Yes, well, harrowing time travel, being hundreds of years and thousands of miles from home with no certainty that I’ll get back—those thingscandampen a girl’s spirits.”
“Let’s nae forget yer unnatural likeness to Margaret.”
“How could I?” She challenged lightly. “I’m reminded of it nearly every day, in some fashion, as if it’s the most remarkable fact to ever exist.” Her smile faded as she studied him, searching for something in his face. “But is it? A fact, I mean. Do you think I look like her? Not justsomewhatorin passing, but do I resemble Margaret enough to have provoked such... drastic and overwhelming reactions from nearly everyone?”
She wished she’d have thought that question out before speaking it. It invited him to study her face at length, apparently in great detail. Those magnetic blue eyes roved leisurely over her face, seeming to miss not one inch.
“Aye,” he finally said, his voice quiet but firm. “Ye do resemble her strongly—almost perfectly. But I can see what others refuse to acknowledge.” He shook his head. “Ye are nae her. Nae at all.”
The way he said it left no doubt in her mind—he did not, could not, and would not see her as anything close to Margaret. Not in spirit, not in substance, and certainly not in worth, she imagined.
