Off Kilter (30 page)

He pressed a steady, gentle stream of kisses against her hair, as much to console himself as her. He stroked her back, and held her when she sobbed so hard she couldn’t breathe. He wanted to cry with her. And he, the eternal pacifist, had a primal, visceral urge to hunt down anything and everyone who had done this to her. Except he knew he was already holding the only person responsible.

Why? Why had she let it get so bad? Why hadn’t she gotten out sooner? He still didn’t have the full story, but it was fairly obvious to him that her work could easily take a toll on her as it would anyone fighting a war. She’d been in a war zone for years. It wouldn’t surprise him at all if she’d been suffering some kind of traumatic stress. Who wouldn’t?

It made sense that she couldn’t keep doing the very thing that was torturing her. How it must have thrown her, hurt her, to be denied the only path she’d pursued, the one thing she’d allowed herself to want. Given all she’d been through, it seemed unfair. She needed to give herself a break, and most certainly not feel like a failure. Her career would stand forever as proof of her success.

But he knew it wouldn’t feel that way to her. He reminded himself over and over she’d told him she’d found a new path.
And he prayed, selfishly, that whatever she’d discovered, it wouldn’t take her away from him. He’d only just found her.

As he held her he was making all kinds of bargains with himself, with God, with whoever would listen, that if she was willing to try to find a life that included him, he’d do whatever it took to make it work. He could compromise. She was making huge changes in her life already. He knew, even in that desperate moment, that Kinloch, in and of itself, simply didn’t have enough to offer someone like her. She might not ever go back to war, but he couldn’t imagine she’d find something lasting and fulfilling there. Not long term.

She’d gone there to heal. And it looked like maybe that was happening. But she didn’t intend to stay.

Her sobs quieted, even if her body was still wracked with heaves and shivers. He rocked, he stroked, and he simply held on.

Finally, she pressed lightly against his chest, and he loosened his hold enough for her to straighten slightly away from him, though she remained in the cradle of his body. She didn’t look up, and he wouldn’t rob her of that basic privacy.

“I-I’m sorry,” she choked out between gulps of air, as she tried to find her way back to some semblance of normalcy.

“Dinnae ye dare think to apologize for crying,” he said, almost tersely. “Dinnae ye dare. Take your time, luv,” he continued, more gently. “I’m no’ going anywhere.”

“I don’t—do—that.”

“I know. But you’ve needed to,” he said. “You’ve needed to.”

“It’s”—she hiccupped air, and had to stop, still working to get her breath back to a steady rhythm—“mortifying.”

He shifted his body around, so she was leaning her side against him, and he tucked her more fully against his chest, allowing her to keep her tear-streaked face averted from his. “No’ with me. Never with me.”

She was tense in his arms, and he thought she was going to
argue, or simply pull away, but then she sighed. A ragged, broken, hiccupping sigh … and finally gave up and leaned against him, pressing her cheek against his heart.

He held her like that until the wracking breaths finally subsided to an occasional shudder. “It’s plaguing ye, isn’t it?” he asked.

He felt her nod against his chest.

He stroked her hair, her back, and continued the slow rocking motion. “When you’re asleep?”

There was a pause, and then she nodded.

“Ye canno’ go back.” He didn’t make it a question.

“No,” she rasped. “I can’t.”

“I’m sorry that hurts you,” he said. “I’m sorry you’ll lose something that means so much to you.” He leaned back a little, and urged her swollen, tear-streaked face up to his. She was reluctant, but he gently persisted. It tore at his heart, the ravages he saw in her sad, sad eyes. “But I’m no’ sorry you willnae be going back. Someone else can take up your cause. Ye’ve literally given it everything ye have. And that’s something to be proud of, Tessa. Yer leaving the field of battle, but yer leaving it alive, and thriving. And I know you’ll find another way to contribute, to do what you want to do, what drives you … but in a way that won’t tear you apart.” He kissed the swollen lids of her eyes, kissed the splotchy red of her cheeks, then gently, very gently kissed the corners of her mouth, and the softness of her full lips. “One that allows you to finally be you … and to be happy.”

She sniffled all over again and slid her arms around his waist, holding on tightly as she buried her face against his neck. “I know it might not seem like it,” she managed, her voice still so raw it was more whisper than words, “at the moment. But… I am, Roan. I’m not whole yet, but since coming here …” She made herself look up, and broke his heart all over again.

“I’m so sorry it did this to you,” he said, stroking her cheeks. “But I am so proud of you for letting go, for trusting yourself to handle falling apart, and finally letting it all out.”

“I’m not sure I could have done it on my own. Maybe … but … thank you.” She held him more tightly. “Just … thank you.”

If he’d felt humbled before, he felt triple that now. He pressed his cheek to her hair, and felt as if he’d run a marathon himself. He hated having to remind himself that it was far from over yet.

She took a deeper breath and sat up, facing him squarely, looking at him directly for the first time since she’d lost the battle for self-control. “I have been healing here. And you’re playing a role in that.” Her breath hitched, and she had to work to speak. “I’d figured it out, my path, that morning when you wrecked your bike—when I made you wreck your bike—I knew then. But you’re the one who has helped me to accept it. To feel more confident in my choices. To push me to allow myself to want, to anticipate that happiness will be there, to believe in joy. My joy.”

He studied her face and saw the truth of what she was saying. “I won’t lie and say I have any idea what I’m doing,” he said. “I don’t. What you’re dealing with scares me—but only because I want to help and I don’t know how.”

She hiccupped again, and gave him a watery smile that tugged at emotions he didn’t know he had. “Your instincts seem pretty good to me.”

His lips curved a little, and it was a welcome relief to feel like smiling.

“I wanted to tell you,” she said, “about what I want to do. But you needed to know—need to know—just how broken I really am. Obviously, it’s not over yet. And I don’t know how long the process will take, or if I’ll ever be free of the nightmares, the terrors, doubting my own mind and ability to control it. It scares the ever loving crap out of me, Roan. It might never be fully gone. So … so, I don’t see how I can expect you to handle—”

He leaned in and kissed her. Short, and tender, but enough to stop her so he could speak. “I know what I expect of me. When
I have doubts, I’ll tell you about them. But it won’t keep me from trying. I just might need help from time to time, too, to make sure I’m giving you what you need.”

“You’re giving me more than anyone ever has. It’s an embarrassment of riches, what you bring to me. What I’m worried about is that I won’t have enough to give back.”

“I’m here, aren’t I? I wouldn’t be if here wasn’t something for me. When we don’t have a clear path, then we’ll help each other.” He tipped her chin up and now that her breathing had smoothed out, kissed her a bit more lingeringly. “Trust that we can figure it out. You’re already giving me more than I thought was possible.”

Like the sun peeking out from a long storm, her lips curved, just slightly. “You have very low standards for yourself, then.”

“On the contrary,” he said, wanting to grin and shout to the world, he felt so triumphant. “I have the very highest of standards.” He kissed her again. “At least I do now.”

She kissed him back, and he felt himself stir. He fought against it; that was the last thing she needed at the moment. Even if it might be yet another cathartic release, he knew he wanted their first time to be joyful, not a bandage on a still healing wound.

As he gathered her and lay down on the padded blanket, he knew there would be a first time. If he was the luckiest man on earth, and he certainly thought he was in the running, there would be many more times to follow.

He rolled her to him and they lay with their legs entwined, her cheek on his chest, and allowed peace to seep back in.

“I want so much,” she said, after a long time had passed. “I’ve expected a lot of me in the past, but I haven’t really let myself want. But I do now. And I can’t seem to stop.”

“Why do ye have to stop?”

“I want to reach for it all. I want to explore this new path. I want to explore you, this, us. I want—”

“This new path of yours, will it take you away from here straight off?”

“No, but—”

“Then we have time to sort through it all. Find solutions.” When she started to respond, he nudged her face up so their gazes met. “We’re already working through this. Together. Trust that, and enjoy it. What just happened, brought us closer together. It’s a turning point, a moment. I want more of those. We don’t have to sort it all out today. Okay?”

She nodded, and the smile flirted again, reaching her eyes. “Are you always so wise?”

“Hardly ever. I’m more of a stumbler. But what I’m no’ is a quitter.”

“I never felt like I was.”

“You’re not one now. Retiring from the field of battle to live to fight another day is not quitting. Your battle strategy might be changing, but you’re hardly running away. You’re going with your strengths. And those have changed. It happens to all of us at various points in our lives. You’re adapting. I don’t know what else you could expect from yourself.”

“A stumbler, huh?” She scooted up and gave him a rather startlingly passionate kiss on the mouth. “I wish I stumbled half as cleverly and wisely as you. But … point taken. I’ll try. I will,” she added when he gave her a doubtful look. “I’m nothing if not motivated.”

He kissed her again, but when his body threatened to talk his mind out of his earlier decision, he gently disengaged himself, then helped them both to their feet.

She took a deep breath and a moment to smooth her clothes, run a still-shaky hand through her hair. “Now what? Calendar shots?”

“We’ve got time to deal with those. I’m thinking an early dinner. And maybe just some time to talk. About … anything or nothing. No pressure, just getting to know more about each other.”

Her expression grew concerned. “I-I don’t know that I’m really up for a public dinner. Not because I’m uncomfortable
being seen with you,” she hurried to add. “But … after that, I’m just not—”

“I didn’t mean in public. I do know how to cook.”

“You. You mean, you cook dinner? For me?”

“We do that here, on occasion. You should try it. Tonight, in fact.” He bent down and quickly shook out the moving pad and rolled it back up. “Are you game?”

“Apparently. But you might have to explain the rules of this particular game to me.”

They started back toward the lorry, and he was amazed and more than a little staggered by how easily they’d transitioned past such a monumental moment. Things still felt … good. Normal. Not awkward. “You sit. I cook. We eat. We talk.”

“And?”

“And … you can help with the dishes—if you insist.” He slid his hand in hers as they walked, and her eyes immediately took on a bit of that feminine sparkle again.
Good,
he thought, with a private smile.
So very good.

“Okay,” she said. Then she smiled. “That sounds good. Really good.”

He smiled back … and enjoyed feeling a bit of that sparkle himself.

T
essa had no idea what kind of place she’d imagined he lived in … but she knew she’d never imagined this.

He watched her as she took in his home and its surroundings. “It’s—”

“A stable,” she finished for him.

He flashed her a grin. “Aye. It
was
a stablehouse and hunting lodge back around the nineteenth century. Now it’s a home. My home.”

She walked up to the door. The house itself was all stacked stone, with a red gabled roof. It was surrounded by a low stone wall. What had been the stable doors, inset into the front stone wall, were sealed along the bottom half, with the upper halves having been turned into windows. The building was L shaped, with the short length disappearing around the far corner.

“But no horses?”

“I have a few sheep, but no.” He smiled. “Never did change my mind about that.” He stepped past her and opened the door. “You’ll have to pardon my less than stellar housekeeping. I wasn’t anticipating company.”

“Please, that’s the last thing you ever need to worry about with me. I haven’t exactly spent my life in four star—oh … my.” She stopped just a few feet inside the door, then turned slowly. She took in the story-and-a-half high gabled window and the wood beam ceiling. “This is beautiful. Truly.”

“Thank you.”

She walked across the hand-laid tile of the small foyer area, and onto the hardwood floor of the main room. “I think that is the biggest fireplace I’ve ever seen.”

“Ye’ve got to be able to cook what ye kill.”

She swung around to look at him.

“Hunting lodge,” he quickly added. “No’ me. But I didn’t want to take it out. It’s functional and it heats most of this place at night and all through the cold months.”

To her left there was another tiled area that contained a narrow, galley-style kitchen, framed by a counter, which had what looked like hand carved stools lined up under it. The main room had functional, wood-framed furnishings, all on the large, masculine side. More from the hunting lodge, she presumed. “So, was this place already converted when you bought it?”

“No. I’ve spent most of the past eight years converting it. One stable at a time,” he added with a laugh. “This was the lodge area, but the design was different originally and there was no electricity. All bathing facilities were outside. And the hunters’ mounts lived right down the hall. But, when I took it on, it hadn’t been used as anything for almost forty-five years, and that attempt had been to resurrect it for its originally intended use. It went up for auction when the last of the McAuley line who’d owned it left for the mainland, and so I took it.”