12. Chapter 12

CHAPTER 12

T he wind sweeping in from the sea whipped at his chest, cutting between the lapels of his coat and through the weave of his lawn shirt to bite at his skin.

There.

Feeling. Cold.

The skin along his upper chest prickled.

More. More of it.

His eyes closed and he pulled the sides of his coat alongside his torso, baring more of his thin lawn shirt to the cold, and he leaned into the wind.

More feeling. Something to make him feel alive, rooted to this world.

Or not, if the wind decided to change. If it decided that his body would better serve the purpose of food for the seabirds that circled the jagged rocks below the cliff.

At least it would be purpose.

He leaned farther forward.

“Your toes are hanging precariously off the edge of the cliff.”

The words came to him, almost like a whisper in the wind carried from some place far from here. But no. Those words, unconcerned and nonchalant, had just come from his right side.

He opened his eyes to see Izzie standing next to him, her fingertips clutching a dark blue shawl wrapped around her shoulders that made her eyes look all the deeper blue under the overcast sky. Her stare set far out on the sea, she didn’t acknowledge him, except for the words she’d just spoken.

He looked down.

His toes were precariously off the edge of the cliff, the balls of his feet just barely gaining purchase on the crumbling edge.

His look veered slightly to the right, only to see the toes of Izzie’s boots hanging off the edge of the cliff, just the same as his.

What the hell was she thinking?

His left arm thrust out, slamming across her waist as he twisted, tackling her away from the edge of the cliff.

They both went flailing, landing on the hard scrub of the ground. Her flat on her back. Him half on top of her.

His palms scrambled along the dirt and he shoved his torso up away from her so he could set the full wrath of his glare onto her. “What in the hell are you doing?”

Shock ebbed from her face, replaced with confusion. “What am I doing? What are you doing?”

“Saving you from yourself—that was pure idiocy, letting your feet dangle over the edge of the damn cliff. The wind could have swept you off the precipice and I wouldn’t have had even a second to grab you. Is that what you wanted? Certain death?”

Her look dipped down to the edge of the cliff by her upturned feet. “It wasn’t what I was thinking when I came out here, but you were standing there, serene, and I don’t think I’ve ever seen you serene, so I joined you. I wanted to know what it was about.”

A growl erupted from him. “Don’t join me on anything—you’ll learn nothing from me, except how very atrocious I can be for you.”

Her mouth pulled to the side, her brow wrinkling. “I’m sorry, did I say you looked atrocious? I was pretty sure I said serene. And if it is so bad to hang one’s toes over the edge of a cliff, then what were you doing?”

He heaved a sigh and spun, sitting on his butt next to her, pulling his legs up to rest his arms on his knees. “I didn’t know I was that close to the edge.”

“Then it was a good thing I appeared when I did.” She pushed herself upright, smoothing down the wild strands of dark hair the wind had captured and adjusting her shawl around her shoulders. “The wind could have changed direction and swept you off the cliff and I wouldn’t have had even a moment to grab you.”

She said the words without a hint of humor, and that made it all the more absurd.

A chuckle jutted up from his chest, somehow easing the instant anger he had at her for straying too close to the cliff’s edge.

Arranging her skirts, she mirrored his posture, resting her forearms on her knees, her right fingertips picking at the nail on her left thumb.

Silence drifted over them, both of them looking out at the seascape. Great sandstone cliffs jutted up from the water on either side of the cove, as though the fingers of a titan of lore, one made of ancient bedrock, was trying to escape the tentacles of the sea.

“It is striking, a beautiful thing, this view.” She lifted her forefinger to point out at the sea.

He looked down at her, studying her profile. Her face had tilted up, with strands of her dark hair whipping about her face, the cold tinged her cheeks pink, her eyes wide open as she stared out at the angry seas.

Bloody beautiful. And bloody dangerous.

He needed to get up and leave her here.

Yet his butt stayed in place, his mouth managing normal words. “I think, beyond myself, you are one of the few people to have that opinion of this place.”

She shook her head, her gaze not moving from the sea. “I cannot believe anyone would visit here and not love this land.”

“The land, the castle, many are partial to.” He pointed downward. “But this here, on the cliff’s edge with the biting gales and the mist of salt constantly in the air, it is to very few people’s liking. Especially on dour days like today.”

She looked up at the grey skies, watching the churning clouds for a long moment. “How can one ignore how wonderful the tempest is in front of them? Not love how the sea digs away at the land in this cove, carving it to its will, rock by rock. It is magnificence slowed down to a snail’s pace, so slow the wonder of it is hard to comprehend because we only get to witness it for a breath in time. The sea nibbling away at the land, hungry for it.”

“You talk as if the sea is a living creature.”

“It is, is it not?” She glanced up at him, then set her look back out to the frothy waves. “I’ve never thought of the sea as anything but a beautiful, complicated living being. Benevolent and greedy all at the same time. She gives…and she takes. And you never know what mood she is in until she tells you.”

Izzie was genuine when she said she adored it. Of that, he had no doubt. Not like her governess that said any and everything that came to her mind that she thought would please him.

Izzie wasn’t that type. He doubted she had a true disingenuous bone in her body—not a single thought on how to use her womanly wiles to garner his attention or pander to him.

No, it was quite clear she felt things—felt them deeply and in her soul. She’d clearly suffered profound sadness in her life—the ever-present haunted look in her eyes told him that. Yet she could still appreciate something she found beautiful.

She glanced at him, a shy smile sending a peculiar lightness to her face. “You kept my hair.”

“I what?”

“After you bathed me, you kept my hair when it was impossible, and not only that, you untangled it—why?”

The question took him aback and he had to look away from her. He considered for long seconds giving her a non-answer, but the moment didn’t seem to call for it. Out here, in the raw wind on the cliff’s edge, truth seemed to be in order. “It did not seem right, cutting it off. Like I would be taking something from you that I had no right to take. But I couldn’t very well leave it in the mess that it was.”

She nodded, her gaze studying his face as though she was trying to figure him. “It was kind of you. Thank you. Though I could have done without you drugging me and locking me in my room for days.”

He cringed. “You did not leave me much choice.”

Her stare shifted to the churning sea, her voice quiet. “There are always choices.”

His instinct to argue, he swallowed back words, following her lead and staring out at the seascape. Sitting here with Izzie was unusually peaceful, and peace didn’t come to visit him very often.

They sat in silence for some time, each lost in their own thoughts until Thomas looked to her. “Why did you run at Springfell Manor?”

“Run?” Her right eyebrow lifted, quizzical.

“From the carriage, from me.”

Her mouth fell into a circle, then her tongue shifted to the side, poking into her cheek as she looked down at her fingernails picking at her thumb.

Avoidance. He knew that one well and he wasn’t going to let her get away with it.

“What are you not saying? Tell me. Tell me or I find a farmer tomorrow and marry you off to him.” Unfair to threaten her so, but he was entirely too curious why she had run from him at Springfell.

Her head gave a slight shake. “I was not running. I was setting my shoulder back into place.”

“You were what?”

“Setting my shoulder back into place.” A quick glance up at him, then her look dropped away. “When you pulled me out from under the table in the library, you yanked my arm out of its socket. I was merely using the tree to help fix it.”

Thomas stilled. He’d done that? Injured her? His stomach flipped. Yes, he’d done that to her. He remembered how hard he’d jerked her out from under that desk. Then dragged her to the coach by that arm and tossed her in. He’d caused her searing pain—hell, she had ridden the whole way to Springfell Manor in that state—no wonder she hadn’t trusted him.

Disgusted with himself, his hand ran over his face. “How? How did using the tree help you?”

“It has happened before. I have to throw my body into an immovable object—like a tree. It knocks the arm back into the socket.”

“That is bloody well painful.”

Both her eyebrows lifted. “You’ve had your arm out of socket before?”

“I have.”

She nodded. “Then yes, you know it was painful. I screamed.”

“I heard.”

Her head tilted to the side, her lips pulling back in half a smile. “But it was fine after it was back in place—there was the low hum of a pain in my shoulder for a few days, but as you locked me into my room when we returned to Ravenstone, it had some time to rest.”

His nostrils flared at his own actions. “I have grievously wronged you on this score.”

She shrugged. “Yet you kept my hair, so I am not aggrieved so far as you believe. You could have been worse.”

“I could have been better.”

She chuckled. “I don’t disagree, but still, thank you.”

“For?” He didn’t see how she could possibly be thanking him for anything.

“For taking me in.” Her dark blue eyes sliced into him. “You did not need to do it, as the relation is so far flung.”

“I did. It was the right thing to do.”

“It was honorable.”

His head shook, instant denial of anything honorable. “Do not start to think that of me.”

Her lips pursed, and she stared at him for a long moment, then smiled. “Then I will strive to continue to think of you as an ogre.”

He laughed. In spite of himself, he laughed, unable to stop the sound. “That will do.”

His laughter was the thing to stop him. So foreign on his tongue, he had to turn his head from her and be silent.

He couldn’t enjoy her. Couldn’t discuss anything real with her, as he needed that uncrossable line distinctly in place between them.

For the more he talked with her, learned of her, the more he wanted to touch her. Almost an insatiable need to set his palms against her skin.

But that wouldn’t do. He needed to keep his hands off of her.

It was the only way he could give her the life she deserved the chance to live.