The day I told my family about my engagement to Bruce had been far more uncomfortable than any such announcement should have been.

I'd been ecstatic about the prospect of marrying my high school sweetheart, silently riding a high throughout the day as I had contemplated just how to share the news with the rest of my family. It had been during dinner, when everyone was sitting quietly around the table, offering bits and pieces of conversation about random topics. Ennis had just started talking about the most recent paper he was working on when I blurted it out, like pulling off a band-aid, and the entire table had gone terribly quiet.

I remembered the smile on my face, wide and cheerful, as I'd waited for the rest of my family to congratulate me, to show the same joy as I felt. Finally, my smile had faded as Ennis and my mother had tried to say something, anything, remotely encouraging. Their words had been a mix of mumbles and stutters, my sudden outburst having taken them completely by surprise. They, at least, were trying.

My father was the only one frowning at me, clear disapproval written on his face. He'd never been fond of Bruce, and that night my dad hadn't sugar-coated anything. He'd told me exactly what he thought of my choice, but even if he hadn't said it, I would've known by the expression on his face. I could still remember the way my father had looked at me that night, furious, his hands clenched into fists as he fought hard not to burst out in anger.

Gracen was giving me that same look now.

I sat completely still on the bed, my hands clenching my shirt as I covered myself, just as lost for words as he was. I was barely aware of the pain in my body, only focusing on the man in front of me. His eyes darted from my face to my chest and back again as his lips flattened into a thin line.

“I can explain,” I started.

He raised his hand in a gesture that clearly meant that I should stop talking. I could sense his anger from across the room, could almost hear his mind working. I needed to figure out a plan, a story, something to explain the deception.

He whirled around, his back toward me. “Cover yourself,” he hissed.

I was about to say that the important bits were covered but thought better of it. Modesty wasn't really the issue at the moment. I pulled my shirt on as I played various scenarios through my head, wondering what this sudden discovery might mean for me now. Whether I liked it or not, I needed Gracen and the shelter of his home, at least for the time being.

I coughed, and Gracen looked over his shoulder at me. Seeing that I was now decent, he turned back around and marched right up to me.

“You lied to me!” His voice was low, but that didn't detract from how pissed off he clearly was.

I sighed. “I didn’t lie to you. I just never corrected you.”

“You’re a woman!” His voice began to rise, his eyes searching my face as if seeing it for the first time.

I pushed my hair back from my face. “Yes, I am, but if you’d just let me explain.”

“What can you possibly say that would make this lie better?” he yelled. He quickly looked over his shoulder at the door, and then lowered his voice. “Do you even understand the consequences of your deception?”

“Consequences?” I asked, frustrated at how much he was blowing this out of proportion. “I saved your life! You said that yourself! How is my being a woman relevant to keeping you alive?”

“You put yourself in unnecessary danger,” he hissed. “You could have been killed!”

I stopped my retort, taken back by the concern I could hear mixed with the anger in his voice. Here he was, this man who I barely knew was berating me for putting myself in harm’s way, when my own fiancé never even bothered to tell me to be safe. In Bruce's mind, it was pointless to say something like that to someone in a war zone. I had told him that I understood, but I didn't realized until now how much I missed the concern.

“What were you thinking?” he asked as he paced the room. He ran his hand through his hair.

“I can take care of myself, Gracen,” I said, deciding not to remind him how I had helped him as well.

“What was I thinking? How did I not see this?” he muttered, and I couldn’t quite tell if he was talking to me or to himself. His eyes were fixated on the floor as he paced back and forth, his hand rubbing the nape of his neck. He stopped suddenly and looked at me. “Is Daviot even your name?”

“It is,” I said quickly. “It's Honor. Honor Daviot.”

“Honor,” he rolled my name across his tongue as if he was testing it. “How ironic.”

“Need I remind you that it was you who tied me up last night?” I spat. “I was content with going my way on my own. You’re the one who kept me by your side like a prisoner!”

“I was protecting you!” he snapped. “I found what I thought was a hurt man lying in an empty field, out in the open, and decided to help. In retrospect, maybe I shouldn’t have!”

“Protect me?” I scoffed. “If I remember correctly, we’re here right now because of me.”

“You’re a woman!”

“What the hell does that have to do with anything?” I'd put up with a lot of shit in the army for being a woman, but this was testing my last nerve.

“You lied to me,” he repeated. “You knowingly deceived me and led me to believe I was in the company of a gentleman in need of assistance. I risked my own life to defend you. I killed that man to defend you.”

“I never asked you to!” I said in retort.

“You never needed to!” he said through clenched teeth. “It was the right thing to do! The honorable thing to do! And now I find out you’re a woman.”

“So it’s only honorable when you thought I was a man? How does that make any sense at all?”

“That is not what I said.” He sounded exasperated.

“You’re sure as hell implying it,” I countered.

“Then you’re just as foolish as you are a liar!”

I took in long and deep breaths, knowing that my own spike in temper wasn't helping matters. We both needed to calm down, or things would keep escalating, which wouldn't go anywhere productive.

“I want the truth,” Gracen said.

“Excuse me?”

“I want the truth, all of it,” he repeated. “I believe I’m entitled to complete honesty after all this.”

I looked up at him, our eyes locking as I tried to weigh my options. How was I supposed to tell him the truth when I didn't even understand it myself? How could I explain to him where I was from, or when I was from for that matter? Considering his clear opinion of women, I had no doubt that he'd instantly dismiss the truth as some sort of hysteria.

But I had to think of something, and he was clearly getting impatient.

“I ran away,” I said simply, feigning discomfort, stalling to further develop a fake story in my head.

“From whom?”

“My father,” I blurted out, saying the first thing that came to my mind. “I was to be married to a man I didn’t love, and when I objected, I was beaten and told that what I wanted didn't matter.”

Gracen’s expression softened, and I knew I'd chosen the right angle. I watched as his jaw unclenched and the furrows on his forehead relaxed. I felt guilty at having to lie to him again, but the alternative was out of the question. I'd be lucky if I wasn't locked up in a madhouse.

“I couldn’t stay,” I continued, pushing deeper into my lie. “I had no other option but to run. I knew I wouldn’t be able to travel alone as a woman, so I stole clothes from one of my brothers and escaped. I was on my way to Canada, with no food or water, and probably lost consciousness when you found me.”

“You were on foot?” Gracen asked, his look showing slight skepticism.

“I couldn't risk taking a horse.” I assumed what I hoped was a hurt expression. “My father would be more likely to search for a missing horse than a missing daughter.”

Gracen eyed me for a moment, and I could see him trying to decide whether or not to believe me. I prayed he would since I'd reached the end of my endurance. I was tired, my leg ached, and I was worried that if he didn't let this go, I'd pass out before I knew whether or not he planned to turn me over to the British...or just dump me somewhere outside and leave the rest to chance.

I winced as I shifted, and he looked down at my leg, then at the bowl.

“Do you need help?” Color suffused his cheeks.

“I can do it myself. Thank you.” I managed not to blush at the thought of having his hands on my thigh.

He nodded, then crossed his arms over his chest. “You shouldn’t have lied to me,” he said, his voice barely audible.

“I didn’t know if I could trust you.” That, at least, was honest.

He frowned, an expression of hurt flitting across his face before it vanished. Our eyes locked for a few seconds before he turned away.

“What do we do now?” I asked.

“I cannot condone your actions,” he said. “However, I will not meddle in things that do not concern me. Come morning, you can decide for yourself what you wish to do.”

I felt panic creep up on me. I couldn't let him kick me out. Not in this condition. I didn't think I'd survive. I needed at least a couple days. “I can cook.”

His head snapped up in surprise as he looked at me. “I beg your pardon?”

“I can cook,” I said. “I can help out here.”

He shook his head. “You have a destination.”

“Until my leg gets better, I won't be going far.” I pleaded with him with my eyes. “At least let me be useful.”

He eyed me for a moment longer before nodding. “As you wish.” He turned to leave, his hand resting on the handle of the door as he looked back at me. “I’ll send Titus up with proper clothing, and I’ll explain the situation to him. He'll keep quiet about our homecoming.”

“What about your father?” I asked.

He paused before smiling and saying, “I’ll make sure he knows we have a new girl in the kitchen.”

With that he exited the room, softly closing the door behind him.

Great. I was a new girl. In the kitchen.

Then again, that was better than British prisoner and accused spy so I couldn’t complain. Besides, I wasn't planning on staying any longer than I had to. Once my leg was healed and I figured out how to get home, I was gone.

I didn't belong here, and there was nothing that made me want to stay.