It had been too late by then to do anything. She told Tavish but he didn’t tell anyone. He kept it to himself. All of this was his fault. If he’d only told his father, they could have isolated Sasha and her father before it was too late, prayed for God to help purify the village.
It was all his fault. He’d killed them all. He almost staggered as he walked down what was the main road to the village green. All dead because of him. No matter what he did to save the clan, he had killed an entire village.
He got closer to the green and had to wipe his eyes before he could see what was there, his vision blurring slightly.
Then he saw it. Kneeling down where the entrance to the chapel had been, he saw it and he knew at once who’d done it.
He turned and marched back out of the village, not stopping for breath before he was back at the house, panting slightly as he marched inside and found her pulling the fish from the spit. “Are you hungry?” she asked.
“Did ye do it?” he asked, ignoring the fish.
“What? Why are you so angry?”
“Answer me. Did ye do it?”
“Do what?”
“The village green. The carving, it was ye wasn’t it?”
She blushed, unable to look him in the eye. “You weren’t supposed to see that. Are you angry?”
“Angry?” he said, sitting in the chair opposite her. “You placed a carving of my mother with a wreath of bluebells on sacred ground and you think I might be angry?”
“Please, don’t be cross. It was just meant to be a tribute to your mom. I know it’s weird but when I saw you asleep I had a vision of what she looked like. It was like she was standing right where you are now, so close I could see the coloraturas of her eyes. The carving was easy. I marked it with an S for Sinclair, like the one on the stairs.”
He rubbed his eyes, leaning forward, his hand stretching out toward her. She looked down at his hand, looking scared before finally letting him hold it.
“It is the most beautiful tribute I could ever imagine,” he said quietly. “Ah thank ye.”
He held onto her fingers for another moment before letting go, shutting the emotions down that threatened to bubble up inside him. “Is that fish ready yet?”
“Huh?” she said, blinking as if unsure what he was talking about. “Oh, yes. Here you go.”
As they ate he kept stealing glances at her. She’d not only listened to him talking about his mother. She’d carved a tribute to her and to all those who’d died in the village.
Had she known she picked the chapel entrance to lay down the bluebells? No, of course not, that was impossible. All the same, something had guided her there. Quinn was right. There was something special about her.
At that moment he made a vow to himself. He would not rest for a single moment until he had repaid what she’d done for him. Whatever it might be, whatever it might take, he would repay her for the tribute to his childhood and his home.
Together, they ate their breakfast in silence.
