Chapter 14
Finn studied the darker shadow of Genevieve’s shape where she sat on the steps. He was overwhelmed by her kindness, and did not trust his emotions. She was, after all, the first woman to approach him, speak to him, touch him, in nearly seven hundred years.
But his emotions hadn’t kept him from eagerly gulping down the food she cooked every night. He definitely preferred her cooking to the raw meat he or the wolves brought down.
And now she was waiting for him to return from his romp with the wolves.
His blood rushed through his veins, and his heartbeat quickened at the sight of her. Her smile and greeting had other areas of his body quickening.
“I’ve been doing some research on the internet, trying to find out more about your circumstances,” she said. “There was a sculptor Ian Ciar paid to create the base for your statue from the stone floor in the castle great room, but there is no record of Cinead MacLeod.”
Finn struggled to tame his willful cock and carry on a rational conversation with her, though the urge to move in close enough to breathe in her scent tormented him. “Cinead wasn’t a workman, lass. He was a Druid. He cast spells on Ian Ciar’s enemies, and divined the future. Do ye ken what a fine line Ian Ciar treaded to use him and not be condemned by the clan for it? When Ian Ciar was away and the man made me the monster, they saw his fearsome power and wanted no part of it. Even his daughter wanted nothin’ more to do with him.”
“So what do you think happened to his historic record?”
“If his name was ever on anythin’, it might have been removed. If he could turn me into this monster, what more was he capable of? And just speaking his name would have been a fearsome thin’ for the clan, at that time or any other. He had a power none of us understood.”
“I see.”
She fell silent for so long he shifted on the concrete bench.
“Do ye not believe me?” he asked, his temper rising. He had suffered enough for his mistakes. He would not be labeled a liar.
“If I hadn’t witnessed Juliet and Miranda’s gifts before you and I met, I would find it hard to believe. But yes, I believe you.”
Finn shifted his shoulders and bent his head, releasing the anger. Drawing in a deep breath, he raked his fingers through his hair. It had taken him years to conquer the rage that came with the beast, and he couldn’t afford to allow one slight to destroy this opportunity to rid himself of this curse.
When he heard the soft padding of Genevieve’s feet upon the concrete as she approached him, he looked up. When she sat down beside him on the stone block, his heart leapt and hammered inside him. She smelled like honeysuckle, and when her arm brushed his, his body quickened again with need. The pants she had given him were truly a godsend.
“I contacted someone on Skye and asked them to look up the information about James MacFadden. Would you like to know what happened after his death?”
Her changed of subject was sufficient to quell his desire. Finn swallowed against the thickness in his throat. “Yes.”
“Seven months after his accident, his young wife had a child, a boy. She named him Finlay, because it was what his father wanted. You must have had as big an effect on James as he did on you.”
The breeze carried a strand of her dark hair against his bare chest, tickling him. She seemed determined to crack through his determination to keep his distance.
He was torn between his hunger for interaction with her and his wariness of the feelings it inspired. If he should lose control… With slow care, he tucked the long strand of hair behind her shoulder where it belonged.
He dragged his attention back to their conversation. “I did very little. James and I talked of history. How things were during my time and others. He helped me keep my sanity. To be so solitary…” He could not even begin to think of that with her smell, her presence so close. He shook his head as though it would clear the feelings and thoughts from his mind.
Genevieve had too tender a heart, much like Isabel. He had learned well how one thoughtless act could have repercussions that resonated for centuries. He would never again be the cause of someone else’s grief. Genevieve protected him, provided for him, and showed him numerous kindnesses. He owed her more.
“I’m going to contact Juliet and Miranda and ask them to come back out to the house to talk with you. Will you be comfortable with that?”
How would the two women react to him? “They may be frightened of me. I know I am a fearsome sight.”
“I’ll prepare them for their meeting with you. Out of all the other people I know, the two of them are probably better prepared to meet you, and less likely to be frightened, than any others I know.”
Probably so, since they were witches. Their weapons could be lethal to him. He’d have to be cautious. “I will bow to yer judgment, mistress.”
“And that’s another thing, Finn. I’m no one’s mistress. A mistress today is someone who is a companion to and sleeps with a married man for money. Which I’ve never done, nor will I ever.”
Finn chuckled at her fierce attitude. “I didna realize I was insultin’ ye.”
She waved a dismissive hand. “Gen or Genevieve will be fine.”
He tipped his head. “Genevieve.”
She started to her feet, and he stood to offer her a hand. When she took it, he smiled again. “I am in yer debt, Genevieve.”
“Six hundred and sixty years is an unfathomable punishment no matter how terrible the crime.”
“Aye. It has proven a cruel penance. What I did affected four people most, but my whole clan for years. I took a woman to me without love and gave her a bairn, and I didna offer to wed her when I learned she carried my child. I had nothing to give her or the bairn. Ian Cair paid me for m’ skill with a sword. I was a warrior, not…” he raised a brow, “husband material, as the magazines I’ve read say. I didna have a house of m’ own. I slept in the barracks with the other men. I had only the coin I was paid to protect the Laird’s property and people. Tearlach would have been a better husband to her than I, had he been given the chance.”
“Who was Tearlach?”
“Another soldier. He was good with a bow. He loved Isabel, but I didna know until ’twas too late. Had I known, I would never have touched her.”
“Why did you, Finn?” The dull light highlighted her earnest features. “You knew who her father was. You probably knew what he was. Why would you take that risk?”
He paused to give it some thought. “I was full of m’self. Arrogant and prideful. I was cousin to Ian Ciar, so why couldn’t I?” He grimaced, shaking his head.
“What happened to your son?”
“Cinead ordered my friend, Tearlach, to beat me. And because of Tearlach’s love for Isabel, he was aggrieved with me as well. So he did. Afterward, I was dying and knew it. Tearlach knew it too. But Cinead didna think that a just enough punishment. So he made me the monster.
“Tearlach took m’ son to raise because he had a hand in my punishment. But he loved the lad. I never got to look into m’ son’s face, one man to another. Never got to speak to him as a father or a friend. Never got to ask my friend’s forgiveness or thank him for what he did for m’ lad.
“All because of my actions.”
He looked up to find her face wet with tears and longed to brush them away. Would she be horrified if he reached out to touch her? His attention snagged on his rough hands with their inch-long claws. Aye, she would, and rightly so. “Dinna cry for me, Genevieve.”
“When you speak of your friend and your son, you speak with love and grief, Finn. It moves me to tears.” She wiped away her tears flashing a smooth stretch of flesh across her belly in the process.
Her skin appeared so smooth and creamy, he would dream of that small glimpse for days. Her smell, her voice, her long, slender legs, her eyes as green as the glens back home, and the way she approached him, as if it was he who was wary of her instead of the other way around. Everything about her combined to draw him in and make him crave more. If being the monster hadn’t destroyed him, caring for her, needing her, and never being able to touch her, surely would.
“I’ll contact Juliet and Miranda to see if they can meet tomorrow night.” She moved toward the house.
“I am grateful. And grateful for the food ye share with me each night, the books ye leave for me, and the trews.”
* * *
Genevieve paused at the door and looked over her shoulder. “Thank you for the flowers.” The small bouquet of wildflowers he picked for her to show his appreciation sat in a vase on her kitchen table. She’d been moved by the humble gift.
“You are welcome.”
Was she being thanked or wooed? Sometimes when he looked at her, the man outweighed the beast. And what did it say about her that she felt less wary of him than she had of Simon earlier this afternoon?
What would she do if this went on for years? By taking custody of the statue, had she taken responsibility for the man? And how would Finn feel, knowing she was wondering about it?
She had to find someone who could help him and set them both free. And then what? If he survived the transition, if there was one, where would a fourteenth-century man go from here? She couldn’t imagine just cutting him loose without helping him find his place.
He was strong, resourceful, and quick to learn. Otherwise he wouldn’t have survived this long. But what if he just walked away once he was free? The idea set off unexpected feelings of loss she didn’t want to acknowledge. She needed to try to keep her distance. But every time she looked at him, she saw the vulnerable, human man beneath the monster.