Everyone save Adwen. His grief was unlike anything I’d ever seen. He couldn’t function; he stayed within his bedchamber only leaving each afternoon to walk along the cliffside. Each day I tried to join him, and each day he turned me away.
Adwen allowed himself to care for so few people that when someone worked their way into his heart, they consumed so much of it that they owned him in a way. I didn’t think there was anyone that Adwen had ever loved as much as Orick. They were brothers, friends, confidants, and the truest form of soul mates. They had each saved the other’s life more than once and now, Adwen had lost the one person to show him unwavering loyalty, even during his most shallow of years.
“We canna allow him to stay in there forever.”
I leaned my head against Isobel’s shoulder as she wrapped her arm around me. We both sat on the ground outside Adwen’s bedchamber. I’d kept vigil close to him since the day after the fatal accident, but the only person he allowed inside was Callum.
Isobel joined me each afternoon, always saying little but supporting me through her quiet strength and her gentle squeezes of my hand.
She continued to gain strength and now, no more than a fortnight since the morning Adwen had slipped the potion into her breakfast, she was a version of Isobel I’d never seen before—whole and healthy and able to breathe without struggle.
“He blames me. I know he does. I blame me. You should all blame me. If I hadn’t gone down there, none of this would’ve happened. He doesn’t want to see me—I’ve tried.”
“Jane, ye are the only one he wishes to see. ’Tis only that he doesna wish ye to see his pain, to think him weak. ’Tis the way with men, most especially men like Adwen. I doona believe that he blames ye. Orick was a grown man, responsible for his own actions. Adwen knows that. Ye dinna call for his help, nor did ye know he was awake until he joined ye. I doona know if Adwen can see past this on his own. His greatest source of strength has left him now. He needs yer love to show him that even in the depths of our deepest grief, life goes on.”
She didn’t give me the chance to speak. Instead, she stood and extended a hand to help me up, reaching for the handle to Adwen’s bedchamber door once I was on my feet.
“Ye canna delay any longer. We will have to force yer presence with him. ’Tis time for all of us to make our journey home. Gregor and I must return to the inn, and Cooper needs his mother. ’Tis his first taste of true loss and ’twill take time for his wee heart to heal. Best he do that among all of his family and in the home that he knows.”
I nodded. I just didn’t know what to say to him. Nothing would make it better. Orick told me that himself. Time was the only thing that would mend such a loss. I wanted to give him that time.
“He asked me to stay, you know?”
Isobel smiled, seemingly not surprised. “Did he? Ye are well suited for one another. If ye wish to stay, Gregor and I can see Cooper back.”
“No. That’s not what I meant. I need to return him to his mother, talk to Grace, see everyone, and tell them what happened.”
The sound of footsteps approached, and we turned to see Callum making his way toward the bedchamber with a tray of food.
“Will ye see him today? Gregor says ye have made ready to leave. Bring him his food and demand that he speak to ye.”
I took the tray from Callum and looked at the two of them. “Did you two plan this?”
They said nothing. Callum opened the door as I felt Isobel’s hand push me inside.
The door closed behind me as soon as I entered. I could see nothing in the darkness.
*
“Jane.” Adwen’s voice was weary and frustrated. “Leave, lass. I doona care for company.”
“I’m sorry, but you’re going to get it for a little bit whether you like it or not. You can’t shut the world out forever.”
“Aye, I plan to.”
“Even me?” I moved deeper inside the room, feeling my way to a small table where I lowered the tray before moving to the window to let in some light. I pulled back the curtains and turned to find him. I expected to find Adwen in bed. Instead, he stood not two feet from me.
His eyes were red and moist, his shoulders tight and hunched. I neared him hesitantly, reaching my hands up to his face as I approached. He trembled when my palm touched the side of his face, and he let out a ragged breath as his head bent to my shoulder.
I wrapped my arms around him and held him to me as he answered.
“Aye, Jane. Even ye.”
“Adwen.” My own voice broke as I spoke. Soon it was he that held me as I cried against his chest. The guilt, stress, worry, and grief of the past week finally came to a head as he wrapped his arms around me; I’d missed him even more than I’d let myself feel. “I’m sorry. I know it’s my fault. I can’t breathe when I think about it—the guilt I feel over what happened.