More desperate.
Lost.
I am your uncle.The last of her family resurrected from the dead, flesh and bone. Why had she refused to speak with him downstairs?
She didn’t know what to say.
More than that, she didn’t know what to think of him. He was coarse, direct, and grumbly—all the things Tom had described. But there was a peculiarity in his manner no one had warned her about. Something about the twitch of his eyes. The lack of light.
The rocking chair ceased groaning.
Jenny left.
Meg left too, dragged away by the black sea of sleep. She dreamed of pinning floral wool fabric to a wingback chair in Tom’s cottage. She hummed. The braided rug was littered with playful kittens, the boots she thought she lost, and the metal comb Tom used to brush her hair.
A hand feathered down her cheek.
She blinked, sleep fading, and wondered if it had only been a figment of her dream. “Tom?”
His silhouette dropped closer. His fingers brushed her lips.
“What are you doing?” She tried to sit up, but he guided her back down. “How did you know?”
“Och, but ye’ve nae sense to hold yer tongue.” He palmed her cheeks. Just as gently as he’d done to Joanie the night she’d been injured. “Close yer eyes and rest.”
“My uncle—”
“We’ll talk on the morrow.”
“Everything is wrong.”
“Nay.”
“I am so confused.”
“We’ll set it all to right together.”
She allowed her eyes to drift shut again, but she caught his hand before he withdrew. “Tom?”
“Hmm?”
“Promise you shall return in the morning?”
“I’ll do better than that.” He squeezed. “I willnae leave this room.”
She was faintly aware that he crossed the chamber in the darkness, grabbed a chair, and pushed it back against the door. He sank into it with his arms crossed. Like a wall, strong and solid and impenetrable.
Comfort burst inside her. Tom McGwen was here. For the strangest reason in the world, she was glad.
“So it was ye.” Tom shut the door behind him. Energy stampeded his guts like hundreds of thundering hooves.
Mr. Foxcroft sat in the corner of the room, nursing a pipe. He’d opened a window, and morning light burned through the blue draperies, highlighting his rings of smoke. “Least one thing turned out right. You didn’t marry her.”
Tom was overpowered with the desire to turn over the man’s chair—or embrace him. He did neither. “I’m still trying.”
“And I’ll still stop you.”
A grin tried to pull Tom’s mouth, but he scowled it away. “I see a knife to your stomach did nothing to rid yer devilment.”
