Archer stared at her, but Emilie did not flinch away as people so often did when he glared at them. No, she just turned up her chin, holding her head high like a queen without a crown. Meeting his stubbornness with some of her own.
And by God, if it didn’t reach inside of him and make him want to open up to her. For the first time in Archer’s life, he wanted to pour it all out of him.
I could. I could tell her everythin’. It doesnae have to mean anythin’. Doesnae mean that we will be friends, or even close. I could go right back to tryin’ to ignore her after.
Archer did not spend any time analyzing how much he was lying to himself before turning to face Emilie head-on, glaring at her, and allowing himself to speak.
“Me faither hit me maither,” Archer explained.
His voice came out a little gruffer than he had intended, and he let out a small cough to try to clear the tension from his vocal cords. When he was ready, he continued.
“When he thought that I was big enough, he hit me too,” he said, his tone now almost entirely flat.
He turned his gaze to Emilie, expecting to see a look of shock or pity on her face. Instead, she was still staring at him with the same hard look she had been mere moments before.
“And that makes ye keep yer distance from yer own bairns?” she asked, crossing her arms across her chest again. “Are ye afraid that they’re goin’ to hit ye, too? I have to say, I’m nae sure Louis would do much damage to someone of yer size. I’d keep me eyes on Aurora, though. I’m sure she could give ye a good wallop.”
Archer stared at Emilie, shock rippling through him.
“That’s what ye have to say?” he growled, more than a little aghast. “Ye want to be jokin’ at a time like this?”
Emilie nodded. “Seems as good a time as any.”
Rolling his eyes, Archer turned away from her. He crossed their room in a few short steps, making his way to the large, overstuffed reading chair in the far corner.
He collapsed into it, running his hands through his hair. Archer had never spoken the words aloud before, had never talked about the events of his past with anyone. Not even Marcus.
He felt a bit of relief having spoken it all out loud. But he had not expected the facts of his past to be treated with such levity.
The sound of Emilie’s boots clicking against the wooden floor made Archer raise his eyes. His wife, clearly having decided that he was no longer going to go running out the door to avoid the conversation, was walking in his direction.
Emilie’s blue eyes had softened a bit. And, when she stopped mere feet from him, the corner of her mouth ticked up in an apologetic smile.
“I daenae mean to make light of the situation,” she explained. “I just daenae ken what that has to do with the bairns. It is a terrible thing, what happened to ye. But it doesnae mean that ye daenae get to be an actual faither to yer own bairns.”
“I am a faither to them,” Archer bristled. “I am a faither to them in all the ways that count.”
“By doin’ what?” she argued back, clearly not keen on dropping the conversation any time soon. “By nearly barkin’ at them any time they so much as smile or behave like the young age they actually are? By never talkin’ to ‘em about anythin’ other than things that will make them a good Laird or a good Lady? Never about anythin’ that will make them goodpeople.”
“I talk to ‘em plenty,” he growled, but his words were hollow even to his own ears.
“About what?” Emilie badgered.
“About the things that they need to ken,” Archer hissed, pushing himself back to standing.
With Emilie crossing the room, his act of standing brought them incredibly close together. They were mere inches away now, and he could feel the body heat rolling off of her.
The scent of her pervaded his nostrils. It was equal parts maddening and alluring.
Archer did not know if he wanted to push past her and storm out of the room or pull her in and kiss her.
“There is so much more that matters than just their studies,” Emilie argued.
“It’s better this way,” Archer said, the truth of it all finally seeping out of him. “It is safer for them. Because me faither’s blood runs in me veins like rot. And I willnae hurt them. I willnae be like them.”
Emilie’s mouth popped open in surprise, her eyes immediately beginning to shine as she stared up at him.
“Ye think that ye would hurt them?” she asked, her tone markedly softer than it had been a second before.