“I willna leave ye alone, Evie. Not now. Not ever.” He had already decided Mistress Evie Wortham was under his protection. He’d toyed with the idea before. Might as well make it clear to her now. “From this day onward, ye are under the protection of Clan MacTaggart—and more importantly,myprotection.”
She held up a hand as though to stop his words, spun away, and stormed back up the hillside to the source of the falls. Back to the same spot where she had stepped out onto that ledge and scared the living shite out of him.
He trudged up after her. She might be stubborn as the devil, but he so was he, and she’d do well to learn that about him straight off. When he reached her side, she didn’t acknowledge his presence. Just stared at the water cascading over the edge of the cliff. Even he noticed a difference in the arc of the falling deluge. With the breaking away of the ledge, the stream tumbled flush against the remaining stones, swift and wicked as any fast-flowing river.
“It really is gone. There is no space left at all.” Her shoulders sagged, and she stumbled back a step.
He caught her up against him. “What is gone, lass?”
“The space. The ledge.” She made a weak motion toward the water. “The way I got here.”
“Ye came through behind the falls?” Few had the courage to attempt such. Too many myths and lore about cruel trickery from water spirits.
She nodded, then shifted with a deep inhale. “For the first time in my life, I have no idea what to do.”
He held her for a moment longer, then turned them away from the water. Ever so gently, he walked her back down the hillside to the pallet. “For now, ye shall sit and rest whilst I build a fire. Then ye shall dry out. We both will.”
“And then?” She didn’t look at him. Just stared at the burnt earth and ashes from last night’s fire.
“We shall see tothenwhen then gets here, aye? Battle one moment at a time, lass. One moment at a time.”
She didn’t answer. Just went silent again and stared off into space. He liked it better when she argued with him. Nagged him. Told him things he didn’t understand. At least then, the fire flashed in her eyes. A fire sorely missing from her now.
He kept her in sight as he gathered wood, not trusting her alone. It occurred to him she mourned for something. But what? He had no idea. All he knew was she had somehow suffered a significant loss that sent her reeling. Mourning folk sometimes harmed themselves. He prayed she didn’t have that in mind.
“Evie?”
She didn’t move.
“Evie, lass?” He crouched down in front of her, blocking her view of anything else.
Her hazel eyes, greener than gold this time, finally focused on him. “Yes?”
“I’ve laid the wood. If ye’ll show me how to work yer wee tinderbox, I’ll get the fire going, aye?” He had to get her engaged in some sort of activity, connected with something other than the pain inside her. Teaching him how to light a fire as if he hadn’t done it thousands of times before seemed like a good place to start. “Ye need drying out, lass. We’re both soaked to the bone.”
She cast a disinterested look at the wood he’d prepared, then went to her bag and rummaged through the pockets until she found the small shiny box of metal.
“Here.” She held it out.
Instead of accepting it, he took hold of her hand and gently pulled her closer. “Show me,” he said, tugging her down to kneel with him beside the wood.
She shot him an irritated glare, but at least she reacted. A hopeful start to her journey back to herself. With the metal box held out to him, she opened its lid and revealed a small wheel inside that nudged against a smaller bit of metal with blackened holes. “You put your thumb here and spin the wheel with a downward rub. That strikes the flint and makes the flame.” She demonstrated, then slapped the lid shut to douse the flame and flipped it open again. “You try.”
“The lid snuffs out the flame?”
“Yes.” She sounded weary enough to drop. He needed to get the fire going and get some of her tea into her.
He studied the thing. Smelled it. Its stench reminded him of pitch. When he rubbed his thumb on the wheel, nothing happened.
“Rub it hard and fast,” she said, showing him a second time.
“Hard and fast,” he repeated, closing the lid to douse her flame and give it a try. He did as instructed. The thing made the same crunching sort of sound as it had with her, and the elusive fire returned. “I did it!”
A hint of a smile teased across her mouth, then disappeared as quick as a wisp of smoke. That pleased him more than learning an easier way to make fire.
“Well done, you,” she said quietly with an approving nod. “You are now a fully trained fire starter.” A wistfulness filled her eyes. “At least while the flints and fluid hold out.” She stood and meandered over to the pool. With a despondent huff, she lowered herself to sit cross-legged at the water’s edge.
Quinn had never been one to tiptoe around a problem. Hence the reason he went through so many advisors, and few survived his trusted inner circle. Time to unravel the mystery of Evie’s sorrow. He joined her, picked up a stick, and started drawing in the mud. “Why did ye try to pass behind the falls, Evie? Were ye trying to end yer life?”
