He added more firewood, got the fire going again, and then approached my desk.

I pushed the empty bottle toward him, silently asking him to bring another.

He didn’t lift it off the desk. “We’re out, sir. First thing tomorrow, I’ll fetch more.”

My eyes narrowed on his face. “Don’t lie to me.”

He stilled at my accusation.

My eyes shifted back to the fire. “I have enough people lying to me as it is.”

Gilbert lingered, as if he expected different orders. “Sir, I think it’s in your best interest to take a break. You’ve been hitting that bottle pretty hard the last few days…”

My eyes shifted to him. “You’re disobeying my order.”

He didn’t flinch at the heat in my expression. “Yes. To save your life.”

It was an outlandish claim. Nothing could kill me—especially not a bottle of booze. But I let it go, too drunk to argue.

Gilbert glanced at one of the armchairs that faced my desk. “Mind if I take a seat for a moment?”

He’d never asked anything like that before. My eyes studied his face, unsure if I actually heard that or imagined it in my stupor. When I realized he was serious, I gave a nod.

He lowered himself to the chair and rested his hands on his thighs, joining me as an equal for the first time. “I want you to know I’m here…even if it’s just to listen.” He regarded me with a concerned expression, a subtle eagerness, an innate affection that was almost familial.

I straightened at my desk and rested my arms on the surface. My forearm slid the empty bottle and glass to the side, a subtle rim of amber around the ridges at the bottom of the scotch bottle. “My brother betrayed me. My woman betrayed me. Are you next?”

He held my gaze without blinking. “Never.”

“You say that now…” I shifted my gaze to the fire and watched it brighten the room once more. “But anything can change…once your interests change.”

“My only interest is to serve you, sir. That will never change.”

I kept my eyes on the fire and ignored him. “Goodnight, Gilbert.” It was harder to sleep now than before, even with the booze in my system.

He dropped his chin for a moment but didn’t rise from the chair. After a moment, he regarded me once more. “Broken bones heal. Scar tissue repairs itself. Physical pain can be masked with pills. But a broken heart…doesn’t heal, doesn’t repair itself, and can’t be masked with pills. Sometimes, time is all that works. But even then, not always.”

I turned my gaze back to him.

“I’m sorry that you have to go through this, sir. Truly.”

Three

With Knives and Fire

Melanie

Our horse was tied to a branch.