Page 39 of Trust In Love (Love Mark 2)

His grief filled me until I had tears in my own eyes. “I’m so sorry,” I said, feeling his loss as if it were my own. He still mourned for her greatly. I knew exactly how it felt to lose a parent, yet I think he missed his more than I ever had my own.

Clearing his throat, he removed a cup from his supply satchel and poured a liberal amount of water into it before holding it my way. “Here,” he offered. “This way you won’t have to touch anything that’s been charmed.”

His consideration was so thoughtful, my heart skipped a beat. What a sweet, sweet man. If I hadn’t already known he was my true love, I think I would’ve gotten an inkling right then.

“Thank you.”

He turned away with a grunt.

And he seemed to withdraw into himself even more.

If he’d seemed distant and quiet with me last night while helping me load my things onto the horses, he was doubly so now. He ignored me completely as he bent and dug through his satchels, searching for something.

I focused on his back as he worked, watching the stretch and pull of muscle with each shift of his shoulders. Such powerful shoulders. So thick and massive. The sun-bronzed color gave his skin a nice, healthy, masculine glow.

I licked my lips as I wandered closer. But the nearer I drew, the more detail I could take in, like the whitened marks that crisscrossed over the backs of his ribs.

My lips parted on a silent gasp when I realized what I was seeing. He’d been whipped. A lot. And running up the back of his neck, a symbol of two twisted vines facing each other—Far Shore’s crest—had been branded into the skin with what could only be a hot iron.

Boiling anger poured through me; I wanted to hurt whoever had hurt him. But when I reached out, my touch was soft and gentle. I wished my lips could heal this. But a wound had to be fresh for it to mend under true love’s kiss.

I placed the tips of my fingers against the old scars, anyway, needing to share them with him in any way I could.

He jolted at the contact and sprang to his feet, spinning around so abruptly that I lurched back, snapping my hand to myself in guilt.

His gaze glistened with reprimand, but he said nothing, just stared at me until his breath settled. Then he held out a bundle of cloth. “To pillow your head while you rest.”

“Oh! Um, thank you.” I took the lump and returned the cup. “And here. You can have this back now.”

Our fingers grazed when we exchanged items, but he didn’t seem to notice, or maybe he chose to ignore the sensations it wrought. It certainly made my heart beat hard in my chest, unable to ignore even the slightest contact. I kept sending him glances as I sat on my bedroll and braided my hair for sleep, preparing for a day of rest. But he kept his attention avidly away, punching at his own bale of clothes that was doubling as a pillow and lying down on his side, facing away from me.

He must’ve been having a very hard time accepting that we were mates.

I hoped he didn’t try to reject it; he’d find out he had an equally stubborn and relentless partner, if he did. I wouldn’t easily give up on him.

But still, my mind worried through it all, anyway, wondering what was going on in his head. He was still a muddle of emotions; it was impossible for me to put a bead on him and figure out what he was thinking.

I flopped onto my back and studied a small hole in the tent covering where daylight began to stream through. Sleep eluded me, causing my brain to stir. I was so intent on trying to discover if he was pleased or upset or even disappointed by learning of our match that it took me far too long to question one major point. But suddenly, there it was: the most important question of all.

I bit my bottom lip. “Farrow?” I said uneasily.

“Hmm?”

He was still awake. Thank God.

“If you don’t believe me,” I star

ted, “about the love mark, and you weren’t even aware of its meaning until I told you the significance this morning, then you didn’t come to take me away to your home and marry you. Did you?”

He was so silent my heart began to beat hard.

Because oh…

No.

This couldn’t be good.

“Why did you come to Donnelly, Farrow?”

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