Read Online Jack: A Scottish Outlaw (Highland Outlaws Book 1) by Lily Baldwin - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Lily Baldwin
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to laugh. “If your victims could see you surrounded by little girls, they would no doubt fume over being duped into believing you were a villain.”
“What do ye think of my lassies?” he said.
“They are lovely girls.”
“They are kept hidden in the monastery while I continue to find them homes.” A shadow of worry passed over his features. “It has been five years. Many of these girls came to me as babies. I fear they will spend the remainder of their youth with the abbot, and likely will go to a convent when they are old enough.”
She stopped then and turned to look at the water rushing past. “It really has been five years, hasn’t it?”
“It has,” he said.
“It feels as though it has been only five minutes.”
He grabbed her arm and turned her about. Brows drawn together in a frown, he said, “Ye were there? Ye were in Berwick durin’ the Massacre?”
Confused by his sudden harshness, she tried to yank her arm free, but his grip tightened. She winced. “I was. Now release me.”
He looked down at his hand squeezing her arm. His eyes widened, and he let go. He stepped back and raked his hand through his hair. “I thought ye’d come to Berwick after Edward had claimed the city for England.”
She shook her head. “I was born there. My mother and father met among the market stalls.” She turned away and cast her gaze towards the trees alongside the stream. Their small spring leaves shone in the sun, and she wondered how such destructive hate could exist amid such wondrous beauty. “I loved Berwick.” Her voice broke. “It was a great city.” Tears stung her eyes. “No!” she shouted at herself. Fighting to ignore her aching heart, she stormed away, but he caught her arm and once more swung her around. Her hands covered her face. “I don’t want to cry anymore.”
He had glimpsed the barren ache in her eyes the instant before she hid her pain behind her hands. His own eyes squeezed shut against the reminder of loss. When his mind had quieted, he once again looked at Bella, but it was as if for the first time. He no longer saw the spoiled daughter of a lord. He saw her desperation and the yearning echoed by his own heart. It was a struggle to move beyond the rubble and blood, to find a life worth living again. He reached out and grazed his fingertips down her hands still covering her face. Then he gently pulled her into his arms. “Who did ye lose, Bella?”
Her hands fell away. She pressed her lips together tight and swiped at her wet eyes, but she still did not meet his gaze. “My mother,” she whispered. And then her eyes locked with his. “And my father.”
“They were both slain in the chaos?”
She shook her head. “My mother was stabbed through the heart and her head split open.” A sob tore from her throat and she covered her mouth with her hands. “My father survived those days, untouched by blade or fire. His body lives, but he does not reside inside of it. Every day I lose a little more of him to his grief. He shuts out life and me along with it.” She sagged in his arms. “Five years have passed, but it has not truly ended. The world is still on fire.”
He lifted her into his arms and carried her further down the bank of the stream to a slope, shaded beneath a large oak tree. He sat, cradling her in his arms and rocked her gently. Then he pulled away just enough to see her face.
“Our youngest sister, Roslyn set out that morning to help my mother sell apples.” His voice cracked. “My parents were also slain.” Expelling a long, slow breath, he rested his head back against the tree and stroked her soft waves. The song of the stream surround them. He swallowed the remainder of his lament and waited for the familiar numbness to return. After a time, she sat up and dabbed at her eyes with the edge of her tunic. Still holding her in his lap, he grazed his hand down her thigh, touching the tattered fabric. “Forgive me for givin’ ye such an ugly tunic to
“What do ye think of my lassies?” he said.
“They are lovely girls.”
“They are kept hidden in the monastery while I continue to find them homes.” A shadow of worry passed over his features. “It has been five years. Many of these girls came to me as babies. I fear they will spend the remainder of their youth with the abbot, and likely will go to a convent when they are old enough.”
She stopped then and turned to look at the water rushing past. “It really has been five years, hasn’t it?”
“It has,” he said.
“It feels as though it has been only five minutes.”
He grabbed her arm and turned her about. Brows drawn together in a frown, he said, “Ye were there? Ye were in Berwick durin’ the Massacre?”
Confused by his sudden harshness, she tried to yank her arm free, but his grip tightened. She winced. “I was. Now release me.”
He looked down at his hand squeezing her arm. His eyes widened, and he let go. He stepped back and raked his hand through his hair. “I thought ye’d come to Berwick after Edward had claimed the city for England.”
She shook her head. “I was born there. My mother and father met among the market stalls.” She turned away and cast her gaze towards the trees alongside the stream. Their small spring leaves shone in the sun, and she wondered how such destructive hate could exist amid such wondrous beauty. “I loved Berwick.” Her voice broke. “It was a great city.” Tears stung her eyes. “No!” she shouted at herself. Fighting to ignore her aching heart, she stormed away, but he caught her arm and once more swung her around. Her hands covered her face. “I don’t want to cry anymore.”
He had glimpsed the barren ache in her eyes the instant before she hid her pain behind her hands. His own eyes squeezed shut against the reminder of loss. When his mind had quieted, he once again looked at Bella, but it was as if for the first time. He no longer saw the spoiled daughter of a lord. He saw her desperation and the yearning echoed by his own heart. It was a struggle to move beyond the rubble and blood, to find a life worth living again. He reached out and grazed his fingertips down her hands still covering her face. Then he gently pulled her into his arms. “Who did ye lose, Bella?”
Her hands fell away. She pressed her lips together tight and swiped at her wet eyes, but she still did not meet his gaze. “My mother,” she whispered. And then her eyes locked with his. “And my father.”
“They were both slain in the chaos?”
She shook her head. “My mother was stabbed through the heart and her head split open.” A sob tore from her throat and she covered her mouth with her hands. “My father survived those days, untouched by blade or fire. His body lives, but he does not reside inside of it. Every day I lose a little more of him to his grief. He shuts out life and me along with it.” She sagged in his arms. “Five years have passed, but it has not truly ended. The world is still on fire.”
He lifted her into his arms and carried her further down the bank of the stream to a slope, shaded beneath a large oak tree. He sat, cradling her in his arms and rocked her gently. Then he pulled away just enough to see her face.
“Our youngest sister, Roslyn set out that morning to help my mother sell apples.” His voice cracked. “My parents were also slain.” Expelling a long, slow breath, he rested his head back against the tree and stroked her soft waves. The song of the stream surround them. He swallowed the remainder of his lament and waited for the familiar numbness to return. After a time, she sat up and dabbed at her eyes with the edge of her tunic. Still holding her in his lap, he grazed his hand down her thigh, touching the tattered fabric. “Forgive me for givin’ ye such an ugly tunic to
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