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“He should not have done,” she agreed. “I do not even think he realized I was a woman. However, they are clearly men without honor.”

He snorted. “Clearly, I am one and the same.”

Minerva eyed him. What was plaguing this man so badly? She rose from the bed, wincing as her stomach pulled. It would hurt even more tomorrow, she reckoned. She came up behind Lachlan, curving her hands around his shoulders and pressing her head to his back. “You are nothing like those men.” She urged him to turn around so that she could look into his eyes. Cupping his face, she pressed a gentle kiss to his lips then took his hand and dragged him over to the bed.

He let her coax him down on the mattress, and she curled herself around him, as though she might somehow be able to absorb whatever pain was in him. She waited a few moments, rubbing her hands up and down his arms and listening to his heavy breaths.

“You are nothing like those men, Lachlan,” she repeated. “When will you ever believe that?”

“When I no longer want to fight someone to the death,” he said quietly.

“You would not have killed those men. I do not believe it.”

“I could have done, though.”

“Lots of people can do many things, it does not mean they do them. We all have the capacity to hurt. This does not mean we carry it through.”

He twisted his head to look at her. “You’re wise beyond your years, lassie. But I still scared you.”

She shook her head. “No, those men scared me.”

“I still wish you had not seen that.”

“I do not think differently of you because you fought those men.” She tilted her head at him. “Is that what you believe, that I think differently of you?”

“How could you not? You saw a side to me that I had thought was buried forever. Or at least I hoped it was.”

“You used to fight?” she asked. She skimmed a finger over one of the scars on his face. “Is this why you have the scars?”

He grimaced. “It is why I am so good with my fists. And yes, the scars are from fighting.”

“We all have a past. We have spoken about mine plenty. But coming here has taught me not to be defined by it any longer. You must do the same for yourself.”

He blew out a heavy breath and took her hand, cupping it in both of his, his large palms dwarfing her slender hand. “I am trying my best, lass.” He gave a tilted smile. “Heck, if you can overcome your past, I should certainly not be complaining about mine.”

“Why did you fight? Was it for money?”

He chuckled dryly. “No, nothing so reasonable as that. I fought because I was an angry bairn.”

“I see.” Sometimes, she felt she would never understand what he might have been through as a young boy. How could she when she was afforded all the privileges of rank and money? But she wanted to understand. She wanted more time. Time that she did not have.

“My father…” He lifted her hand and pressed a quick kiss to it. “My father did not like seeing us in poverty. At least I hope that is why he did what he did.”

“What did he do?”

“He killed himself.” The words came out tonelessly and quick.

Minerva gasped, unable to stop herself from reacting so. “Lachlan—”

“He left us. Like a coward.”

Minerva folded her hand over the top of his, squeezing hard, wishing she could take away some of the pain. She could never imagine what it must be like to have a parent take their own life. She lost her father many years ago, and while it had been unexpected, it was of natural causes. It was painful, but she could not even dream of how she might have felt had he done such a thing.

“So, that made you angry?”

“Aye and determined to prove him wrong.”

“And you did. I imagine he would be very proud of you.”