“You didn’t have any shipments to take care of?”
I narrowed my eyes. “How do you—” I cut myself off. Kestrel. Of course. The weeks they’d spent together meant she would probably have a good idea of the sort of wealth we smuggled and the amount of shipments completed since she’d arrived at Hawksridge.
“Why can’t you sleep?” she asked. We ran side-by-side, leaving the gloom of the forest and trading mud for the gravel of a pathway.
I looked up. My heart clamoured.
Shit, we’re on the wrong track.
I didn’t want her to see what was up ahead. Not yet. I was sure my father had some sick agenda to show her when she fell out of his good graces, but I didn’t want to break her again. Not so soon.
I’d avoided the place most of my life. It held only terror. So, why the fuck were we running toward it? It was almost as if she’d been summoned by forces outside my comprehension.
A chill darted down my back at the thought. I slowed my pace.
Nila looked back, decreasing her steps to match mine. “Are you going to answer me?”
What, why can’t I sleep?
“No.”
I had no intention of answering. There was no easy response, and she knew far too much about me already. Trying to distract her, I said, “Why do you have to run?”
She ran a hand over her forehead, wiping away glistening sweat. “To re-centre myself. At home, it was the only time I had to calm my mind. The deadlines, the demands—it all stole something that I only found again when I was alone with just my frantic heartbeat to keep me company.”
Shit.
Her answer was fucking perfect.
I swallowed hard as a glow of more than just lust washed over me.
She understood. She dealt with the same pressures, the same expectations. Only her flaws were visible to everyone, while I hid mine as best I could.
Admit it. The moment you saw her on the catwalk in Milan, you knew.
I fisted my hands, trying to stop the conclusion from forming.
But it was no use. My mind delivered the crushing knowledge with fanfare and barely hidden relief.
She’s the same as you. You could tell her.
No fucking way would I ever tell her.
I didn’t want to feel anything for her, but I did care. Enough to stop her from seeing what existed ahead. I might not want her in my brain, but I didn’t want her in pieces, either.
I slammed to a halt. “Nila. Stop.”
Locking her knees, she bounced in place and turned to face me. Her chest rose quickly, panting for breath. “What? Why?”
My eyes involuntarily went to the break in the trees up ahead. Damn sunshine broke through the fog at the exact same moment, spotlighting the one place I didn’t want her to see.
Nila followed my gaze. Her shoulders hunched, feeding off my nerves. “What’s up there, Jethro?”
“Nothing.”
“If it’s nothing, then why are you determined not to let me see?”
My temper fed off her nervousness, creating a sick sensation in my gut. “Because it’s time to get back. You’ve wasted enough of the day doing something as pointless as running.” I snapped my fingers. “Let’s go. Now.”
Her eyes filled with rebellion. She looked back to the hill, chewing her lip.
I moved forward, ready to pounce and drag her back to the Hall. “Ms. Weaver—” I inched closer.
Hesitation flittered over her face.
I tried to grab her. But I was too late.
Darting away from me, she said, “I want to see what you’re hiding,” then bolted down the path.
“Fuck!”
Her hair flew free from her hair-tie as she sprinted faster up the gravel and onto the moor that I wished didn’t exist.
Shit, she’s fast.
I tore after her, wishing I had Bolly and the foxhounds to swoop in and cut her off before she reached the crest.
My feet burned and my socks became slippery as old wounds opened. My lungs were pathetic in delivering enough oxygen as I sprinted the final distance and skidded to a halt.
She’d turned from super-sonic to a statue, staring dumbfounded at what existed before her.
Goddammit, why did she have to be so determined to uncover what I wanted to keep hidden? The truth never helped—it only made things worse.
Her hands flew into her black hair, fisting tightly. “Oh, my God…”
I sucked air, hating the sensation of trespassing on such a sacred site. I wasn’t welcome here. None of my family was welcome, and if I were superstitious, I would admit there was a stagnant force that howled with hatred and pain.
“No!” she whispered. Her strong legs that’d sent her flying into hell suddenly collapsed from beneath her.
Her fingers dove into the dirt, clutching at grass and mud. “This can’t be real. It can’t.”
She bowed with disbelief, kneeling on the grave of her mother.
Her anguish joined the storm of revulsion that never seemed to leave this place. Goosebumps darted down my arms as a gale whipped her hair into a frenzied mess.
“Ms. Weaver—” I moved forward, fully intending to pluck her from the earth and hurl her over my shoulder. I couldn’t be here another fucking second.
Goddammit, this isn’t supposed to happen.
Her eyes met mine, but they didn’t swim with tears—black hate glittered instead. “Is this true? All along, my father said she’d run off. All along, he told us stories of her leaving us for a better life. My brother understood that meant she was dead, but not once did Tex take us to her grave. After what your father said…about what he’d done, I still held onto those childish stories that she was alive. But this…” Her voice sliced through me. “Is. This. True? All this time my mother has been buried, cold and lonely, in the ground of the men who murdered her?!”
I swallowed, rapidly diving into the safety net of my snow. I couldn’t stand there and hear her horror. I couldn’t let her grief infect me. I refused to fucking listen.
“I didn’t do it.”