“Well, not so sure I could do it now.”
“It’s probably like riding a bike,” he insists, and I laugh.
“Maybe.”
“Since it’s been a night of revelations, how about one more?” he asks tentatively.
I pull away and look at him curiously, folding my arms across my chest. “Okay?”
“Who is Fraser?” he asks.
Hearing his name said out loud is like a slap to the face and I take a step back, my hand dropping to my stomach.
“Wh–Where did you hear that name?” I stammer.
“That night, a few days after you told me you were a Vampire, when you had that nightmare? You were screaming his name, right before you started screaming mine.”
Hm, a night of revelations indeed.
“Oh,” I say flatly. I look away and drum my index finger on my lips. Cole watches me expectantly. I try to say his name, but it won’t come out of my mouth, so I go with, “He was my husband.”
Cole frowns. “I thought your husband’s name was Radulf?”
“My second husband,” I clarify, gritting my teeth against the pain.
He looks confused. “You married again? When?” he asks, sounding upset and not grasping that I don’t want to talk about this.
“In 1745,” I whisper.
“Oh,” he says, and his hurt deepens that I never told him.
I want to explain, but I can’t.
“Kitten?” Devon says from the doorway. “You’ve been through enough tonight. I’m sure this can wait,” he says pointedly.
“It’s okay, Dev. He has a right to know,” I say, but then I just stand there like a deer in headlights.
“Liv?” Cole prompts.
“Don’t push her, dude. It’s a difficult subject,” Devon murmurs, crossing to my side.
Well, the hornet’s nest has already been bashed about several times tonight. Might as well poke the stick in and wiggle it about a bit. Crossing to the side table, I pour myself a Scotch and grimace.
Inverness, Scotland 1745 – Emily
I met Fraser of Clan Campbell in a tavern in Inverness. I had been in Scotland for a few years now, slowly making my way north. I was similar to my natural form with blonde hair, in loose curls though, instead of straight and I was blue-eyed and taller. I was partaking of a bite to eat on my own in the corner by the door, when he bustled in letting the snow in with him.
I scowled at him as I brushed the snow off me. I wasn’t cold, just wet now. He chuckled at my reaction and held my eyes with his. Giving him a second glance, I arched my eyebrows at his impressive height. He must have been a towering six feet seven inches, a whole foot taller than my current height. His sparkling green eyes, the color of moss, twinkled at my appraisal.
He brushed his windswept black hair out of his face and boldly sat down at my table. “Sorry, lass, seems there’s nowhere else to sit,” he said with a laugh, gesturing to the nearly empty tavern. I smiled at his presumption and he grinned back: the most devastating grin that took hold of me and didn’t let go.
“Fraser Campbell,” he whispered.
“Emily Sutcliffe,” I whispered back.
“You are far too bonny a lass to be eating alone,” he said, exaggerating his Scottish burr; I could tell he was rather well spoken and educated.
“I prefer to eat alone,” I said pointedly and laughed as his face fell in disappointment. “I’ll make an exception just this once though, Fraser of Clan Campbell.”