He lifted his stump to further portray exactly what he meant.
“I mean, I know why I did it, that young man is still alive and well, and home with his family. That provides some sort of comfort, but…” His voice trailed off slowly.
“You are a selfless man, and not many people can say that” she reminded him. “I think you are too harsh on yourself.”
“Yes, I have been accused of that,” he nodded, with a faint smile. “Harsh with myself, and harsh with others.”
“I think the two are delicately intertwined, and one issue cannot be solved without directly solving the other as well.”
“You may have a point, Miss. Blake.” He allowed that smile to shine now and enjoyed the sight of her shyness.
The girls were having fun, and strangely, Edmund himself felt at ease, for the first time in a long while. But that look of fear in Miss. Blake’s eyes did not escape him, nor did he forget it.
It was a look he recognized often in the eyes of his fellow soldiers. Fear for one’s very own life. He wondered if she was so afraid of something, or someone.
Watching her as she approached the girls, and wrap her arms around them, Edmund silently vowed to protect her against anyone and anything. Something deep inside told him that would be necessary.
Very, very necessary.
Chapter 15
It was well after the girls’ bedtime, but Rosalie found herself unable to sleep. The whole house was silent, wrapped in a veil of darkness. Her eyes have adjusted to it, but every time she endeavored to keep them closed, they would open once more, against her will, as if there was a reason for her to remain awake on this particular night.
Rosalie sighed. The soft sound echoed in the noiseless room. Through the window, she could see there was a full moon.
She’s a witch! A witch, I say! She’s as white as the full moon, and on a night like that, she will do something terrible, mark my words!
Rosalie remembered what one old lady told her when she was a little girl, too little to yet understand the wicked ways of the world, but still old enough to know what it meant to be so strikingly different.
The market was full of people, all of whom stopped to see who the old lady was shouting at. Rosalie was on the verge of tears. Mr. Goosevelt wrapped his coat around her, and brought her back to the orphanage, without a word. She needed no explanations.
Rosalie suddenly got up. Her own mind was a traitor this night, and she wanted no part in this revisiting of old days. She needed a distraction. Getting up from the bed, she lit the candle first, then put on her robe, wrapping it tightly around her thin waist. She slipped into her shoes, and silently started making her way down the staircase and towards the library.
The house was as silent as a tomb, but Rosalie wasn’t afraid. She had faced more frightening places than a slumbering house. Much more frightening.
She finally reached the library door, and pushed it open gently. The moment she opened it, a light from inside merged with her own. She was caught off guard, but the moment she saw who it was seated in the armchair, she released a sigh of relief.
“My Lord,” she smiled, pressing her hand to her beating heart. “I had no idea someone would be here.”
He got up, putting the book on a small table to the side. She felt a little strange, being with him here, dressed in only bedclothes and covered with a robe. Most importantly, with no one else around. Her heart was beating with increasing rapidity, which made it difficult to catch her breath.
“I couldn’t sleep,” he explained, reading her mind. “Judging by your presence here, I suppose you suffer from the same malady.”
He smiled at her, obviously glad to see her. She wondered if he would be the man who could understand her suffering, and all she had been through, without the slightest judgment of her actions. She was on the verge of telling him the deep, unspoken source of her sleepless nights, but she changed her mind in the last minute.
“Indeed,” she smiled back. “I was hoping a good book might lull me to sleep.”
“So, you wouldn’t have to see the images your mind kept showing you over and over again?” She genuinely thought he knew everything about her, only refused to reveal it yet. He continued immediately, not waiting for her to reply. “My mind never sleeps, Miss. Blake. It is a never-ending torture; one I inflict upon my own self.”
“My Lord, you are so fortunate,” she assured him. “All you have to do is look around you.”
“I remember your words, about focusing on the good,” he said. “It sounds so easy, and yet, when one has to do it, one finds it a challenging task.”
“If you wish to obtain something worthy in life, you cannot expect to get it easily,” she reminded him, even though she was certain he was already well aware of that truth.
“I am not afraid of hard work, Miss. Blake. Although everyone is afraid of something.”
She was on the verge of asking him what that was for him. Her own fear she knew well. So, well that it even haunted her dreams. For some reason, she sensed his fear was the same.
