Page 91 of Bargaining with the Devil

His words hurt—not the words themselves, but because they were true. And she felt everything these days. Every drop of bitterness, ugliness, pain, loathing that had been stored up inside—she felt all of it now. And it had unlocked the rest of her emotions as well. She hated Quinn for forcing her to feel everything . . . and she loved him for it.

I love you. Oh God, what even am I to do with that?

It was untenable. It was better when she’d felt nothing. Better than this pain. But her heart was beating again, finally, for the first time in months.

And living hurt.

Sunset was gilding the hills and cliffs and painting the water red. The sky was bleeding along with her heart.

He tipped her chin up. “You stay here at the edge of the water from now on, you hear me? You don’t go far out on the mudflats. You don’t tempt the tide ever again. Promise me that much, a ghrá.”

Once, not so very long ago, she’d have fired off angry words at his presumptuousness, at his highhandedness. Now all she had for him was a “Yes” so soft it had no sound.

His hand moved tenderly along her jaw, fingers threading into her hair. He brushed the other along her forehead, down to her cheek. His thumb caught the tear beside her eye.

A last kiss—she wanted that, at least. Tilted her face towards him, seeking it.

But he released her and stepped back. Smiled at her in a way that broke her newly-beating heart. Turned and walked away.

And in the morning, he was gone.

Chapter 26

Lá Fhéile Bríde, 1st February 1819

Auchencairn, Kirkcudbrightshire, Scotland

He’d realized last night that today was Lá Fhéile Bríde, St. Brigid’s Day. The first day of spring so long as the Cailleach slept through it.

He’d more or less said his goodbyes last night. He meant to slip out before first light, but that plan was thwarted when a shadow detached itself from the corridor: Blackmore, pulling a shirt on.

“Give me a minute for my boots, and I’ll walk with you.” Part request, part order.

He waited just outside the cottage. No luggage to gather, really; he’d not brought much with him to Scotland apart from his weapons and some of what he’d had burned up in Lucy’s cottage.

The weather was chilly with a bit of drizzle, not dissimilar to the day he’d first set foot here, although not near so cold. A breath of spring sighed every so often.

He and Blackmore struck silently off for the Arms, from which he’d take a public coach westward. ’Twasn’t a difficult silence, but he was a bit on edge all the same.

“Will we see you again?” Blackmore asked after they’d walked a ways.

“I’m planning to stay this time in County Dublin. I’ve been thinking, even before now, that ’tis time for me to leave the work, with a family that could use me home.”

Blackmore nodded.

“Have you missed it?” he asked Blackmore. ’Twasn’t something they’d discussed, what with other more pressing concerns.

Blackmore was silent a while, considering his words. “Life has a very different sort of pattern here. I won’t say there aren’t parts of the work that don’t still call to me at times. The mental challenge, mainly. But then I look at what I have now in its place, and it can’t hold up to that. Living here with Isobel, making a family of our own—and sharing that with Lucy too—and working the sea for a living rather than bloodying my hands at someone else’s directive . . . It has been fulfilling in a way the work never was or could be.”

That’s what he was looking for, for himself. And seeing Blackmore with his family had underscored that.

“I never envisioned it for myself,” Blackmore added softly. “A life like this. Not till I met Isobel. But I’ve never doubted since that it’s where I’m meant to be.”

Blackmore had something he was moving towards, leaving the work: A woman he was willing to change the course of his life to stand beside. Love.

For himself, well . . . He had love of family, but sometimes love of another sort wasn’t enough. He cleared his throat. “Lucy doesn’t want what I have to offer. Which, in case you misunderstand me, would be marriage if she wanted it. But ’tisn’t what she wants. Not for a few reasons.”

Blackmore said nothing, just waited.