Page 40 of How to Heal a Highland Heart
She smiled. “I’ll remember that. So, did ye truly earn the name ‘the Savage Slayer’?”
He held her gaze. “Some would say I have.”
She arched her eyebrows. “What would others say? Those who truly ken ye.”
“There are few people who truly ken me, Patience.”
“Me either,” she said glumly. “Only one. My brother.”
“And where was yer brother when ye needed protecting from Kincaide?” he asked, his tone hotter than he’d intended. Devil take it, why did her brother not protect her as he should have? He knew her father, and the man only had his gain in mind, despite what the king hoped.
Her brows dipped together. “He has tried. Is trying.”
“He’s a little late if his intent was to stop this marriage.”
“Aye,” she said, a blush coloring her cheeks once more.
“I ken ye did nae wish to wed me.” It was not a question, but a recounting of what she had said earlier. “I did nae wish to wed ye, either,” he said.
She glared at him. “Oh, yer pretty compliments do make me want to swoon.” The flash of inner fire his wife possessed but had buried deep made him grin. “Why are ye grinning at me?” she demanded.
“Because ye are nae scairt of me in this moment.”
“I’m nae,” she said, her voice full of her amazement. “What’s to be done? We did nae wish to wed each other, and we are nae certain we can trust each other.”
“We are wed, and ye will learn to trust me,” he said, almost as if he was commanding it.
“What of ye? Will ye nae learn to trust me?”
“That depends,” he said, teasing her now.
“On what?”
“Would ye say ye are like the Greek goddess Apate?”
She smirked at him. “I’m nae deceitful.” The moment the words left her mouth her blush turned crimson. “I do sometimes hear Silas’s voice,” she said, giving Brodee a worried look.
“We all hear the voices of those that hurt us the most,” he said to her, forcing himself nae to say more. He’d become entangled enough, much more than he’d meant to.
“In that case,” she replied, “I should be hearing my first husband Ivan’s voice, as well. And my father’s. His lack of care stung the most. I am his daughter, but he cares only for how he can use me.”
The pain in her voice gutted him, and it rang so similar to the pain his own father’s callousness had caused him that he winced. He could tell her. He could tell her they shared a common past, but that would intertwine them more. So instead, he simply said, “One day his voice will disappear.” It was a truth he knew from his own experience, but he would not reveal that. He could not. He went on, the desire to share his secrets suddenly clawing at him. “I need to get to training and ye need to go to the kitchens. Come.” And before she could share more, he was tugging her back the way they had come.
