Twenty minutes later she walked into the kitchen, still queasy and shaky. Cadan leaned against the counter with a steaming mug in his hand. Her eyes were drawn to his hair, slightly tousled from sleep, and the simple shirt that stretched over his broad shoulders. She could see no bulky bandages beneath the shirt.
Wow, he must really have healed overnight. He’d been a jerk when she’d tried to help him, but then, she couldn’t blame him for being moody when he was covered in stab wounds. He didn’t accept help easily, but perhaps that was because he so rarely needed it.
“Coffee?” His voice was still slightly rough from sleep and she hated what it did to her insides, especially after the dream she’d had.
“Um, yeah.”
His brow furrowed. “Are you all right? You look...unhappy.”
“Give me a moment.” Shakily, she took a sip of the coffee he offered her. Normally she would appreciate the big, beautiful kitchen with windows open to the fresh sea air. This morning, it taunted her. It was so normal in the face of all that was so strange in her life.
She stared out at the overcast sky that hung over an iron-gray sea and focused on her breathing. After a while, the soothing sight of waves crashing against huge boulders at the base of the curving cliffs pushed the pain of the dream away. The horror and guilt as well, though it was something that would never fully disappear.
“I was a bad person, Cadan,” she said when the worst of the pain was gone. With every new fact she learned, it felt like she was losing control of who she was.
He reached out to her, then pulled back. “Ah, lassie, why would you say that?”
“I dreamed that I killed a boy. A teenager. It was so quick, but as I cut his throat with my sword I just kept thinking, I’ll take what you love. I was so angry. So hurt.” The pain had bubbled like acid beneath her skin. “But it was horrible. I was horrible. Tell me you know what I’m talking about.”
She needed to know if she’d really killed that boy. Could she live with herself if she had? But she looked up at his face to see genuine shock. Her shoulders fell. This was one thing he didn’t know.
“Lassie, you weren’t a bad person. You may have made mistakes, but you weren’t evil.”
“There’s no excuse.” And there wasn’t, but she couldn’t help but appreciate his attempts to comfort her.
“Maybe no’. But it doesn’t sound like he suffered.”
A bitter laugh strangled in her throat. “It doesn’t matter how quick the death. It’s still my fault.”
“No’ yours.” He gripped her arms gently, but his face was fierce. His eyes burned into hers. “You aren’t the same as your past soul. You have some of her characteristics and memories. But you aren’t her. This isn’t your fault.”
“It sure feels like it. Every new thing that I learn about her life is more horrible than the last. I feel like I’m losing control of my life.” Her eyes burned. Damn it, she would not cry.
He rubbed her arms, concern darkening his eyes. “You’re no’. You killed a demon last night. You specifically disobeyed my orders—you’re too damn important to take such risks in the future, so doona do it again—but you are taking control.”
“I suppose. I didn’t feel entirely like me when I did it, though. I felt the same unfamiliar skill take over my body. It’s like my body remembers something my mind doesn’t.”
“I’m no’ surprised, and you’ll figure out what it means. But I’m serious. Doona take risks like that again. What you were reborn to do is too important to risk for some demons out on the road.”
“You would have been killed.”
“I’d have been fine. But thanks for the help.” She met his eyes, dark and deep beneath his furrowed brow. This aspect of her past might have thrown him for a loop, but he still knew more than she did. And was keeping it from her.
“Sure. Will you show me where the library is now? I’d like to start researching.” And maybe she could weasel some more information out of him if she could find any clues in the library.
***
Cadan nodded, relieved that the devastated look had faded from her face. He walked to the windows to shut out the sharp scent of sea air and the oncoming storm and then led her out of the kitchen and down the hall toward the library. Though he’d had a home here for most of his long life, he’d razed and rebuilt the main house every hundred years or so, attempting to erase memories as the years tolled on. By the thirteenth house, he’d finally figured out that he was trying to rebuild the home he’d lost so many years ago to the Romans.
He’d stopped building after that, choosing instead to modernize the thirteenth house, built in the early nineteenth century. The ridiculousness of it all had him spending most of his time at his flat in Edinburgh these last two hundred years.
He pushed open the door to the library and she preceded him inside. She stopped in the middle of the expansive room and looked around at the towering shelves of books that had kept him company for centuries. Her shoulders relaxed.
“You like it here,” he said.