CHAPTER TWELVE
LIZZIE
It was late, almost three in the morning. Brochan hadn’t stayed. After exhausting both of us, he went back to his room. The man didn’t want me touching him, so actually sleeping with him wasn’t going to happen. My body ached. It was a good ache after the hours we spent fucking. I didn’t usually like that word when describing sex, but that was what it had been. There had been very little emotion; it was biology, pure and simple. Contradictory and curious because the man I had been spending time with felt things, deeply. He didn’t show it, had a nearly bionic control on his emotions, but he wasn’t the cold, unfeeling man people believed him to be, who I believed him to be once upon a time. For whatever reason, he held back earlier. What would it be like if he let it out? My body gave a pleasant shudder thinking about it. Perhaps it was wiser to keep that reined in. I might not live through it.
Brochan said he wasn’t looking to be saved. I wasn’t looking to save him. I understood some wounds cut too deep and his seemed to cut right to the bone. My mother was cold and manipulative, but I believed his father had been evil. The fact that Brochan could care about anyone—and he cared about Brianna, Fenella and Finnegan—showed the resiliency of the human spirit. His father hadn’t broken him, dented up and damaged, but that sweet boy Fenella remembered was still in there. He was just hiding. I wasn’t about to bring him back into the light. I lived in that darkness too. Sometimes people didn’t want out. Like he said, sometimes we just wanted to know we weren’t alone in it. But what would his life have been like had his mother lived? Who would he be had she lived? I didn’t know, but I did know I liked the man he was.
Perhaps his father’s grief broke him, but one had to wonder if he didn’t have that ugliness in him all along. People lost people every day, every second. Most didn’t turn into what Finlay McIntyre had. I think it could even be argued that what he felt for Abigail hadn’t been love at all. It was obsession. Love stemmed from something good and healthy. Obsession stemmed from something ugly. Brochan didn’t want love. He made that very clear during our hours of sex. He refused the intimacy of a kiss; and though he touched and tasted every inch of me, he wouldn’t allow the same to be returned. What was sad, he had love from Fenella and Finnegan, from Brianna. Maybe one day he’d realize that.
In the morning, I finished packing when there was a knock at the door. My hands shook and my stomach flip-flopped. “Stop being silly. It was just sex.”
Reaching the door, I pulled it open on Brochan. My heart hammered in my chest. Would he be different after last night? He didn’t enter; just stood in the hall and asked, “Are you ready?”
Not really the greeting I was hoping for. “Yes, I was just finishing packing. Do you want to come in?”
“No.”
I tried to hide my reaction to his decisive no and turned to close up my bag. “I’ll meet you outside in a few.”
“Lizzie.”
It was the first time he called me Lizzie. I looked back at him.
“If I come in, we won’t be leaving today or tomorrow…for the whole fucking week. If you’re okay with that…” He stepped into the room.
The wave of lust started with a tingling of my scalp and moved right down my body, but a week with him and I would fall too fast and too deep. If I had any chance of surviving him, I had to be smart.
“I really do want to see Culloden.”
He reached for my bag that sat at the door. “I’ll meet you at the car.”
“Brochan?”
He glanced back.
“I wouldn’t survive a week.”
His expression softened, but he said nothing and walked away.
It was awkward. Sitting in his car, so close to him I could touch him. I wanted to touch him. I had to link my fingers to keep myself from giving in to the urge. He hadn’t wanted my touch last night; I felt fairly certain he didn’t want it now.
A half an hour of complete silence and I was going mad. We had two and a half hours left. I wanted to ask him what he was thinking, but that was a classic mistake. Asking a man about his feelings. He’d probably toss me from the car. I didn’t want to think about mine because I wasn’t sure I knew any better than him how I felt. We had to talk about something though. The silence was maddening.
“Do you think the Loch Ness monster is real?”
He turned his head to me. My eyes moved to those lips, remembering how they felt on my skin, wishing I had felt them against my own.
“What if it really is some prehistoric creature? So many people have claimed to see it. And if he is real then are the creatures of myth and lore real?” I turned toward him because this was something I had pondered and often. All those stories written and passed down, they had to stem from something. I wasn’t convinced humans had good enough imaginations to make it up.
His focus was out the window when he asked, “Like werewolves?”
“I have it on good authority that werewolves do exist. Mrs. Wilson was quite adamant.”
“We’ve had a full moon. I didn’t change.”
“Yes, but I didn’t see you on the full moon. Next full moon.”
He glanced over and dropped his voice to a seductive whisper. “Are you thinking of keeping me preoccupied during the next full moon?”
It was how he said it that caused the ache between my legs. “It’s a plan.”
“A good plan,” he deadpanned.
I laughed out loud.
BROCHAN
Lizzie was getting her sketchpad. We didn’t find an inn before we stopped at Culloden. I leaned against the car and waited for her to collect her things. Last night had been a mistake and one I wanted to repeat. She didn’t need the kind of trouble I would bring into her life. I didn’t need the kind of trouble she would bring into mine. Acknowledging that didn’t do shit because it wasn’t just lust I felt for her. I wasn’t a werewolf, but I was a monster. For the first time in my life, it didn’t claw to get out and that was because of her.
She walked passed me, her focus on the field and the monument. Small stone grave markers dotted the open field, the markers of the fallen clans.
Bright eyes turned to me. “Can you feel it?” A noticeable shiver went through her. “It was brutal. You can still feel it.” Her hand shook as she flipped open her sketchbook. “The cruelty man does upon themselves. It was the end of a way of life, wasn’t it?”
How she could feel such passion for something that happened so long ago, I didn’t know but I admired it. “Aye.”
“Warriors, proud of their heritage and they were forced to conform, to become something they weren’t.” Her eyes turned to me. “Why try to tame something into being what it isn’t? I don’t understand that.”
It was then, hearing those words from her, that I stopped trying to fight it. She’d found a way in. Rocked by the significance of the moment, my voice was rough when I answered her. “It all comes down to power and control.”
Silence followed as I watched her work and how easily she brought the pain and the beauty to life. It was another aspect of her that could grow addictive…she didn’t give up. She took the hits and yet she got back up, brushed herself off and kept going, kept finding the good in the bad and the beauty in the ugly.
Hours later we were in the car on the way to the inn. Her focus was somewhere else and I didn’t try to engage her. I brought her bags up to her room after we checked in. I had intended to give her time, despite the gnawing need to touch her; she had other plans. The door had barely closed at my back and she was pulling off my shirt. Hot eyes looked into mine, a challenge as her hands found my abs. I shouldn’t allow it, especially not with her when her touch actually had power over me, but I wasn’t in control. She had it, maybe she always did. Her eyes stayed on mine as she lowered her head and pressed soft kisses down my body. I was so fucking hard. She worked the snap on my jeans, yanking them down so my cock sprung free. Her small hand closed around me and I bit my lip and curled my hands into fists as I struggled to stay sane.
She dropped to her knees and I almost fucking wept. Stroking me softly, she touched her tongue to the tip. My legs went weak. I’d never been more turned on.
Her lips closed around my cock as she pulled me deep. Squeezing the base, she sucked then ran her tongue along the underside, swirling it around the tip. Her heel pressed against my balls as she squeezed. She kept up the onslaught until I couldn’t hold it back.
“I’m going to come.”
She replied by sucking harder. My fingers curled into her hair as my hips twitched and I blew…the best fucking orgasm of my life. She swallowed hungrily, like she was savoring my taste. I yanked her to her feet, thrust my hands into her hair and for a second I acknowledged I was stepping right off the edge before I slammed my mouth down on hers. She tensed in surprise before she grew as hungry as me. Her tongue warring with my own as I thrust it into her mouth, tasting her and me. I worked off her shirt, flipped open her bra and palmed her breasts. They fit my hands perfectly. Her nipples were hard as I twisted them and tugged. She straddled my thigh to ease the ache. I carried her to the bed. Her back hit the mattress as I yanked off her jeans and panties then thrust two fingers into her. Her back arched, her tits rising up to meet my mouth. I tongued her nipples, thumbed her clit and curled the fingers in her pussy, hitting the spot that made her moan.
“I want you inside me when I come,” she pleaded.
Grabbing the condom from my jeans, I rolled it on. Lifting her hips, I settled myself between her thighs. Her eyes opened, desire stared back. I thrust forward, my own eyes closing as she closed around me like a velvet fist. She linked her feet behind me and moved with my thrusts. Our gazes locked, her hand moved down her body where she played with her clit. She was close when she bit her lower lip. She came on a cry. I came seconds later.
LIZZIE
“Haggis. You need to keep your energy up,” Brochan teased as we checked out the room service menu.
“Fish and chips.”
“Haggis has more protein.”
“Then you should get it. I wouldn’t want you getting tired.”
The glance he threw me was wicked.
My body warmed even as my heart sighed. Earlier hadn’t been a fuck and it hadn’t been impersonal. He had let me touch him; he’d kissed me. Whatever had held him back our first night together, he’d willingly crossed that line. I didn’t know what that meant, if anything, but I knew I was in serious danger of falling for him.
While he placed our order, I climbed from the bed to get a robe. I felt his eyes on me, glanced over my shoulder to find his eyes were on me. I walked back, pulled the sheet down, climbed onto the bed and straddled him. He continued placing our order, his voice deceivingly neutral considering I was rubbing myself against his hardening cock.
I moved slowly at first, pressing down to feel him pushing against me before tilting my hips to rub my clit against him. He dropped the phone in its cradle, but he didn’t reach for me. He just watched as I pleasured us both. Dropping my hands on his shoulders, I brought my breast to his mouth; his tongue touched the tip and still he didn’t touch me, only his tongue. He teased the one breast before I guided the other to his mouth. He grew harder, my hips moved faster until I felt the first tingles of my orgasm.
“I’m clean,” he growled. “I want inside you. Are you on the pill?”
“Yes.”
He reached for me then, almost brutally his fingers sank into my hips as he lifted me up and brought me down at the same time his hips jerked upward. It felt like he was tearing me in two.
Glorious.
He flipped us, pulled my hips higher and really started moving, driving into me in hard, deliberate thrusts.
“Reach for it,” he demanded. I felt his body tensing with his own orgasm, but I was already there. He buried his face in my neck as we rode out the pleasure. The knock at the door came sooner than either of us expected.
His head lifted and he gifted me with a smile. My heart hiccupped at the sight. “We need clothes.”
I couldn’t answer since I was stunned speechless seeing him smile.
He bit my lip before he climbed from the bed and tugged on his jeans. I watched as he moved to the door. I wasn’t falling. I had already fallen.
We sat on the bed eating. It felt so natural. I was feeling a little off because I had never thought I’d find myself here, happy, but I was. Brochan gave me that.
“What did you think of Culloden?”
“Poignant and terribly sad. I read a little about it, knew how brutal it had been. I didn’t think I’d feel anything, but I did. It lingers, all that death haunts it.”
He was thoughtful before he asked, “What’s next on your list?”
“I don’t know. Do you have any suggestions?”
“There are a few scenic spots on the way home that you’ll want to see.”
The change in him was almost as profound as the change in me. Funny that two damaged people could find what they lacked in each other. “Okay.” I hadn’t realized I intended to say what I did next. “You kissed me.”
“I did a hell of a lot more than kiss you.”
Despite his words, his expression wasn’t quip.
“Why?”
He looked me right in the eyes and answered simply, “You make me feel.”
As if to prove his point, he pushed our empty plates to the floor, grabbed and rolled me under him. We spent the rest of the night doing nothing but feeling.
We stood on a cliff of green, the transition from land to water was blunt—a nearly vertical cut through the rock down to the beach. Water stretched out for as far as the eye could see. The colors, the grass wasn’t emerald or pine, it was a blending of them, a blanket that was vibrant and lush. The water was sea foam green close to the shore before turning sky blue at the horizon. As a painter, the palette took my breath away.
“It’s like someone just cut this part off.” I glanced over at Brochan whose focus was on me. “I’ve seen pictures, but seeing it in person…I don’t have words. If someone told me as a kid I’d be standing here looking at this, I’d have thought they were insane.”
“I felt that way the first time I stood here.” His focus shifted to the horizon. “Beauty to rival the ugly I grew up with.”
My heart broke because if this beauty rivaled the ugly, his childhood had been really, really ugly.
I didn’t want to push him to talk about it and I had the sense he wasn’t ready to talk about the ugly, so I asked instead, “You never did say how you became a hitman. Is there like a school or online training?”
His focus shifted to me, humor in his eyes. I liked seeing that, liked knowing he was willing to show me that.
“I met Mac. I was a young kid with a lot of anger. He helped me channel it.”
“Mac?”
“My mentor.”
“You had a hitman mentor?”
He turned to me and actually smiled. Like last night, the sight of his smile distracted me, but it also inspired me. “Don’t move,” I almost shouted. I reached into my bag and pulled out a small pad of paper and a pencil.
He had moved, the smile was gone and he was looking at me like I was crazy.
“I wanted to sketch your smile. It’s so rare, I needed to document it for proof.”
He moved in and my body went weak.
“Maybe we shouldn’t stand so close to the edge. You make me feel off balance,” I whispered.
That smile returned. I would sell my soul to see that smile replace the blank look he’d mastered. He dragged me farther away from the cliff then he dragged me to ground.
“People might see.” There was no one around and we hadn’t passed a car in forever, still we were right out in the open.
His hand moved under my shirt, up to my breast. He tugged on my nipple. “Do you really care?”
His mouth replaced his hand. Nope, I really didn’t care.
“I can take that off my bucket list.” We made love outside. If there were any satellites directed in our area, whoever was watching would be getting an eyeful. Instead of embarrassment, I wanted a repeat.
We reached another scenic sight, Brochan parked and climbed out. “That was on your bucket list?”
“No, but it should have been.”
He laughed; the sweetest sound.
“You need to do that more often too,” I said.
He ignored me. “What else is on your bucket list?”
“Seeing the pyramids. Bungee jumping and skydiving, though I don’t know I have the guts to do either. Getting shot.”
He stopped walking and his head jerked to me. “Getting shot?”
“Yeah, to see what it feels like.”
“Why the fuck would you want to know what that feels like?”
“It’s a bucket list.” I suppose he had a different perspective since he likely was shot at often.
“And punching my mother. Knocking that critical and dismissive look right off her face.”
He grinned. “That one I get.”
I looked around as we walked along a winding path through a forest of old trees, the branches twisted, gnarly and covered in moss. Wildflowers grew in the grass. The way the sun diffused through the foliage looked like mist. In the distance was a stone cottage. Smoke from the chimney curled up into the evening air. I expected to see sprites and fairies darting out from the cover offered by the trees. “It’s like we stepped into a fairy tale.”
“Maybe a Grimm brothers one. I’m a werewolf, remember.”
In this setting, I could believe he really was.
“How did you find this?”
Some of the easiness faded. “Years ago, I wanted to see more of Scotland than my part of it.” His expression grew serious. He touched my hair, rubbing a few strands between his fingers. “I told you I wasn’t a good man. I’m not, Lizzie.”
“And I told you doing bad things and being a bad person are not the same. I’ve spent time with you. You’re not a bad person.”
He looked almost boyish and my chest ached seeing again the glimpse of who he could have been. He conceded, “Okay, then I do bad things. Very bad things.”
“Like I said before, I’ve thought about doing those bad things too. My mother and Nadine, I’ve spent countless hours thinking of the most gruesome way to kill them. But it isn’t just them. Tomas, Ms. Meriwether, Ms. Beddle.”
He looked up at the sky. “You’re a witch, woman.”
Out of character for him and utterly charming, I teased, “I thought only I talked to myself.”
“She was a witch.”
“Who?”
“Brianna.”
“Why do you say that?”
“Because she gave me you and damn her, she knew I would want to keep you.”
No words would come. He had rendered me speechless. He knew it too. “I’ve left you speechless.”
He had. Completely.
So we didn’t talk, he kissed me instead.
I hadn’t been able to think of anything but Brochan’s confession. He wanted to keep me. He was in luck because I wanted to keep him too. Even riding the high of his confession, I noticed the closer we got to his home the quieter he became. Had he ever talked about it? I found talking about it made it less than it was, smaller, easier to let it go. Maybe if I shared, he would too.
“My mother used to think I was fat.” Even looking out the window, I saw his attention shift to me. “I wasn’t. I’m not rail thin like her, but I wasn’t fat. She would have our cook prepare meals that were mouthwatering; mashed potatoes with a pool of butter in the center, juicy cheeseburgers and grilled cheese that just oozed with cheese. She’d have the table set with the fancy dishes and linens. The first time she did it I thought things were going to be different, better. My younger self believed I had finally gotten a mother. She came to dinner in one of her designer gowns, and asked me to dress up too.” Remembering even her small acts of cruelty had a humorless laugh moving up my throat. “She always bought me dresses one size too small. It was her way of convincing me I was fat. Her dinner was a martini, a bottomless martini. And me, I sat at that table laden with food but I wasn’t allowed to eat it. Our conversation consisted of her saying ‘you’re fat…you can feel how fat you are because that dress barely fits you’. For an hour I was forced to watch her get drunk while all that delicious food went cold. The cook tossed it. Such a waste when there were people right down the street starving, but my mother insisted it all be tossed out.”
I felt his attention, but I didn’t look over. “One time there was a man, the first one she brought home. I was maybe seven. He made me uncomfortable because even though he was there to see my mother, he spent an awful lot of time with me. On one of his visits, my mother said she had to run out to the store. My mother didn’t shop unless it was for clothes and shoes and most of that she had a personal shopper for. At the time I was too young to truly appreciate what was happening and still I was smart enough to know I didn’t feel safe around the man. I was on the sofa, trying to make myself as small as I could be. He joined me and sat so close his leg was touching mine.” I wiped the tear away, my stomach even now revolting at what my mother had tried to set in motion.
“He brushed my hair from my shoulder, told me how pretty I was.”
“He didn’t…” Brochan’s voice turned my attention to him. He was looking straight ahead but his hands were fisting the steering wheel so hard he could have left finger marks.
“No. I threw up all over his designer clothes. My mother came home, grabbed me by the hair and hauled me to my room. She locked me in there for two days. Screaming that I ruined her one chance at happiness. He was a very rich man, he would have continued to keep her in the lifestyle she had grown accustomed and all it would’ve cost her was her child’s innocence.”
It was a risk, but it was a risk worth taking. “Have you ever talked about your childhood?”
Silence.
“I’m a great listener if you ever find you want to.”
The rest of the trip was made in silence. We pulled around the drive; Finnegan appeared to help unload the car. Brochan threw the car in park then looked over at me. There was something on his mind, but he said nothing, just touched my cheek, the touch was achingly tender. “I have work. I’ll be back in a few days.” His phone had buzzed a few times on the way back, a sound I hadn’t heard during our time together. He’d silenced it or even turned it off. I smiled inwardly.
He brushed his thumb along my lower lip before pressing slightly and running it along the inside of my lip. His eyes met mine when he brought that thumb to his mouth. He climbed from the car and disappeared inside; I wasn’t able to move until Finnegan appeared, pulling the door open.
“Good afternoon, lass.”
Lust made my reply sound like a frog gave it. “Hello, Finnegan.”
“I trust you enjoyed Edinburgh.”
“Yes, it was beautiful.”
“Perhaps you’d like a cup of tea?”
I linked my arm through his. “I’d like that. Give me a few minutes and I’ll join you in the kitchen.”
Reaching my room, I pulled out my cell to call Cait. I moved to the window, my favorite place in the room. “Hey, Cait.”
“Lizzie. How are you?”
“I’m good.” Resting my head on the wall, I couldn’t help the smile. Good was an understatement.
“What’s wrong? You sound funny.”
“I’m happy.”
She didn’t tease because she knew those words rarely came from me. “The place or the man?”
“Both.”
“Hold on. I have someone on the other line. Let me get rid of them.” I turned to Brochan’s painting. It was done and it was absolutely my best work.
“I’m back. Details, leave nothing out.”
“We spent the past few days together. He showed up at the restaurant—”
“When you were dressed to the nines, that night?”
“Yes.”
“Sweet.”
“He took me sightseeing. I wish I could explain that to you, the significance. He’s seen even more ugly than me, Cait, and yet he played tour guide. He even took me to Culloden Moor.”
“There’s more, what are you leaving out?”
“We made love.”
I would have heard her scream even without the phone. “Hot damn. And?”
“I’m in love with him.”
She sobered. “Is that a bad thing?”
“No, but I don’t know when it happened or even how, but I feel things I’ve never felt, Cait.”
“Like colors are brighter and a lightness in your chest that makes you feel like you might float away.”
“Yes. Is that how it is for you and Ethan?”
“I thought it would fade, well not fade but maybe I’d grow used to it. It’s been four years and it’s still the same.”
“You both need to visit. I don’t know how this suit will go, and I’m planning a trip home to see my father, but whatever happens you both need to visit. If you don’t believe in a higher power, this place is powerfully persuasive.”
“And the painting?” Ever practical and the reason I couldn’t do what I did without her. She never lost focus.
“I have a few works in progress, two of them are staying here, but I have enough ideas. I can’t wait to get started.”
“Do you need me to make arrangements for anything?”
“I don’t want to leave, but I need to follow up with the lawyers, see my father, so yeah. Could you get me a flight back at the end of the week?”
“I understand why you’re dragging your feet with your father; that’s going to be awkward.”
“The enemy of my enemy, right?”
“I’ll send you the itinerary.”
“Thanks, Cait. I can’t wait to see you.”
“Me too. We’ll go out and celebrate.”
I disconnected and absently tossed the phone on the bed. I was in love with Brochan. I did feel like I could float, but more, I felt alive. I had been going through the motions since I was a kid, sleeping through life. He woke me up. I hoped I could do the same for him.
I entered the kitchen to the smell of something buttery. “What is that?”
“Shortbread. I thought we’d have some with our tea,” Fenella suggested.
“I love shortbread. Can I help with the tea?”
Her eyes narrowed. “No, lass. You seem different.”
“I feel different.” I realized I said that out loud by their matching goofy grins.
I tried to play stupid. “What?”
“Take a seat and tell us all about this trip.”
“I don’t kiss and tell,” I teased.
Fenella jumped on that. “But there was kissing?”
Finnegan’s head snapped to her. “Leave the lass alone.”
We settled around the table and while she poured the tea Fenella asked, “Why did you go to Edinburgh?”
I had almost forgotten what had sent me there. “I wanted to do some reach on Brochan’s family.”
“Why?” Finnegan asked.
“I had hoped to give him his father’s family, to show him his father was just one of many and a bad egg to boot, but I realized it’s his mother’s family he needs.” I reached for my tea. “Is there a reason they’re not in his life?”
Fenella placed her cup in its saucer. “Finlay forbade us from contacting them. After the fire, I always had the sense that Brochan believed his past burned in the fire.”
I understood why he’d feel that way, but he hadn’t buried his past. He carried it around with him like a shield. “He didn’t.”
“I know.” Fenella glanced over at Finnegan. He nodded and I wondered why. “I’ve been working on something. Come, I’ll show you,” she admitted.
She took me to a part of the castle I had not yet seen. The servant quarters but her room was no servant’s quarter. It had been redesigned, several rooms turned into one. “This is beautiful.”
“Aye. Brochan had it done for us.”
They were together. I had wondered. “You’re married.”
“Forty years.”
She walked to her bed and pulled out a trunk from under it, opening it to reveal a large leather book. “This was Abigail.”
She flipped the cover and staring back was a beautiful woman, the same black hair her son had inherited. The eyes were the same shape but hers were a deeper blue. “She’s beautiful.”
“She was, inside and out.” Fenella flipped through the book of mementos and photographs of Abigail and Finlay.
“They look happy.”
She smiled as she brushed her fingers over a picture of a very pregnant Abigail. “They were.”
“He loved her.”
“Deeply,” Fenella confirmed.
“That makes his behavior toward his son harder to understand. I’m guessing Brochan hasn’t seen this?”
“No.”
“I started a family tree of the Stewarts. Names and addresses for those still living. Maybe you could put that with this and at some point give it to him.”
“To what end, lass?” Finnegan asked.
“I didn’t want to come here. I thought Brianna would be like my mother and I didn’t need another Norah in my life. But I’ve changed. Learning of Brianna, seeing her life, knowing I’m connected to that. I’m not the same person I was when I arrived. Knowing Brianna has made me part of more than I was. I think Brochan needs that. I caught a glimpse of the boy you knew, he was different in Edinburgh, but as soon as we started back for this place he retreated behind his mask.”
“At least you saw under it. Not many have.”
I wasn’t sure they would answer, but I needed to ask. “What happened to the McIntyre estate?”
She didn’t even hesitate to answer. “Brochan’s version of a cleansing.”
I think deep down I knew Brochan had set the fire, but just how horrendous had his father been to cause him to do that?
“What happened to his father?”
Finnegan ended the conversation. “That’s enough. It should be Brochan that tells the rest.”
Fenella added, “He’s our son in every way that counts. You’re the first woman to break through. Don’t give up on him, please.”
“I have no intention of giving up on him.”
A shudder of relief moved through her and it broke my heart. They were so worried about Brochan, but he wasn’t the only one suffering. The healing needed to happen for them too. It wasn’t much, but it was a start when I offered, “His painting is done and he loves the library...”
“Over the fireplace would be nice,” Finnegan added with a smile.
“Would you help me hang it?”
They answered in unison, “Absolutely.”