And then he saw her. Rune emerged from the barn in loose drawstring pants, an ancient T-shirt, and oversized wellies. A metal pail swung from her hand. She paused to rub at her back, then turned slightly, distracted by something he couldn't see. For a moment, he simply took in her glowing skin, her familiar features that braid of long brown hair down her back. The world shrank to the sight of her. He realised, with a jolt, that he had been holding his breath for days, weeks even, and only now, seeing her, did it feel like he could finally let it out.
She turned, her blue-grey eyes colliding with his dark ones. She froze, stunned, the pail tilting in her hand. He moved closer, the muck sucking at his feet, the smell pressing in. Every nerve in his body shrieked in protest, but none of it mattered. He lifted a hand, hesitant for the first time in his life, and reached toward hers.
"Rune..." His voice cracked with tension. He swallowed, eyes flicking away and back again, chest rising and falling with deep, steadying breaths.
"I need to talk to you, Rune," he said hoarsely. "Just... hear me out."
There was a pause, the burden of all the mistakes and wrong choices over the years hanging between them. He managed a faint, pained smile, mud streaked up his trousers, hair damp from the mist while his hands were white knuckled fists from holding onto control.
"But first," he admitted, breath shuddering, "I need a bath."
Chapter twenty-one
Chapter 21
Rune blinked, dragging herself out of the fog of shock. Her heart was still hammering, but her voice, when it came, was cool and deliberate. Her gaze skimmed him, the fine cut of his trousers ruined, shoes caked, shirt streaked with mud. Entirely inappropriate for the farm, entirely Dorian. A petty, mean little sense of satisfaction curled through her chest. But then she caught the strain etched into his face, the way his control looked frayed, and realised with a start that he was near the frayed end of his rope. A meltdown was imminent.
"This way, Mr. Albury."
The honorific elicited a flinch, surprising her, but he inclined his head.
"I deserve that," she barely heard him whisper.
She turned toward the farmhouse. The walk back was silent, though every wet squelch behind her and every muffled curse from Dorian made her want to laugh. At one point, he muttered, "Are pregnant women supposed to be carrying heavy things like-" His words cut off with a strangled noise as he stepped squarely into something that squelched more loudly than mud.
Rune glanced back, deadpan, pretending not to notice. "My nana and my mum were fine with this."
But the image of Dorian stepping on a pile of bull manure was forever etched in her brain. His look was murderous, which only made her want to giggle harder. However,, one look at his pale face wiped her smile away.
"How are you doing?" he asked in a strangled voice. Rune stopped, turned just enough to level him with a steady stare. He held her gaze for a beat, an alien expression of nervousness on his face. Then Rune sighed. "Let's get you cleaned up first." At the door, her grandfather came in from the yard, cap low over his brow, built solid as an oak. The dogs swirled at his boots, tails wagging.
"Gramps," Rune said, her tone casual, "can I borrow some clothes?"
"Come on," she said, already making for the stairs, the faintest curve of her mouth betraying her knowledge of his rigid ways. "You can use the upstairs bathroom," she said, showing him into her tidy little room. "There isn’t a bath, but you can use the shower."
Minutes later, she reappeared with a folded bundle, a pair of pants, a shirt, a heavy sweater. "These are Grandpa's. All washed. They should fit."
By then, Dorian was already half undressed, peeling mud-stained fabric from his skin with single-minded urgency, barely noticing her presence as he stripped down and shut the bathroom door. The shoes had been abandoned outside. She heard the rush of water, the muffled 'fuck' when he realized the water was freezing.
"It will warm up", she shouted through the door and shook her head, amused despite herself. When he emerged much later, the air trailing faintly of the smell of roses from her shampoo, he was wrapped in a towel, studying the clothes with forensic attention as though the seams might come apart. He dressed at last, the borrowed garments a little tight but clean.
Rune's gaze flicked to his bare feet. "Your shoes weren't salvageable."
His stern mouth twisted in a grimace, and an involuntary shiver ran through him but he nodded. "I know."
"Come downstairs," she said, and made her way to the stairs.
"Wait," he said, stopping her on the threshold.
Her brows arched.
"I need to say something first."
Dorian's voice sounded strange, unsteady. He hesitated, then gestured to the bed. "I know this may not change things, but I need to try to explain. Would you sit down, Rune... please?"
She hesitated, arms folding across her chest, but finally lowered herself onto the edge of the bed. He took the chair by the window, his posture stiff, eyes fixed on the rain sliding down the glass. For a long moment, he just watched the droplets trail with his jaw pulled tight, until he gave a faint shake of his head, as if forcing himself forward.
"My father and mother... both come from wealthy families," he began abruptly. His voice was low, uneven, breaking at times and hardening at others. "They both were wild in their youth, but when it got out of hand, their families married them off. Damage control, I guess", he snorted, "I can't think of a worse idea. I didn't know until much later that my mother was already pregnant with me... and it wasn't my father's...I...I am not my father's son."
