Thief of Hearts (Elders and Welders Chronicles Book 3) Read online

  Rowan lifted one of his hands from his side, as if he wanted to touch the children, but he let it fall back down. He looked just as she recalled, but he was gaunt from two days spent ill and unconscious, looking as fragile as any human. His face grew even paler as he stared at the children, and though he was trying to smile at them, his eyes were over-bright and so very, very sad.

  “Hello,” he said back quietly and gripped the edge of the piano, as if to steady himself.

  “I’m Hester,” she continued. “Do you remember me?”

  He looked up and met Hex’s eyes, and a single tear rolled down his cheek. He looked devastated and so damn guilt-ridden a great lump of emotion rose in her throat. “Yes, I remember you,” he said softly.

  He knew, then. She could see it all in his eyes. He remembered Egypt, and he remembered his life before. It seemed that was all he’d ever wanted: for his memories to return.

  But she wondered whether having them back would prove to be more of a curse than a blessing. From what little she’d gleaned from the duke and Lady Christiana, Rowan’s life had been filled with four hundred years of bad memories. Now this horrible decade-long gap between them just added to his burden.

  She’d been so angry with him for so long—irrationally so, considering she was the one who had sent him off to that tomb—but she’d also had a decade to grieve. She’d had time to come to terms with his loss and learn to live without him.

  But he’d had none of that. For him, he’d just walked out of the desert. He’d missed nine years of his children’s lives, and he’d never have them back. His pain and grief were palpable, even though she could see him struggle to hang on to his composure in front of the children. She wished she could take away his heartache. He didn’t deserve this.

  Neither of them deserved this.

  Yet it was simultaneously the best thing to ever happen to her. She’d thought he was dead. She’d thought this reunion was impossible. She’d take those ten years, and gladly, for this moment. This miracle.

  He looked back down at Hettie and managed a smile that trembled at the edges. “I’m Rowan,” he said. He cleared his throat roughly.

  “I’m your…I’m Lord Llewellyn. This is my house,” he said rather stupidly, though anyone would have forgiven his inarticulateness under the circumstances.

  Hettie nodded at Rowan’s explanation, humoring him. The little devil knew precisely who he was. “You’ve been away.”

  “Yes,” he said simply, and another tear rolled down his face.

  The knot in her throat grew tighter. He’d almost told Hettie who he was to her. He’d wanted to.

  Hex had been focused so much on getting him back that she’d not let herself think of what the future with him would entail for her and the children. She was not ready to give up on the idea that the Rowan she’d known in the desert—kind, gentle-hearted, and brave—was the same man as Rowan Harker, Lord Llewellyn, but she couldn’t help the worry and doubt that had plagued her for the past two sleepless nights.

  She’d been so afraid that he’d not be the same man she’d fallen in love with in Egypt. But it seemed her fears were unfounded. He was the same man. She could already see it in the way he stared down at his children with such tender affection.

  And she would be damned if she wasted another second of their lives needlessly doubting him, guarding her heart. She’d done too much of that ten years ago, and she’d regretted it ever since.

  She came up behind her children and gathered them against her sides. She gave him a wavering smile and choked down that knot of emotion.

  “Do you remember Lord Llewellyn, Hector?” she asked.

  The boy nodded bashfully and pressed himself against her leg. “He went into the past.”

  How the hell he knew that was a problem for another day. Another, far away, day.

  “Yes, he did,” she said simply, ruffling his auburn curls. “But now he’s back.” She met Rowan’s eyes for a moment, and what she read in them confirmed that she was doing the right thing. “Do you remember the story I used to tell you when you were younger? The one about the little boy and girl lost in the desert?”

  “My favorite story,” Hettie said gravely. She might have been reading Persuasion, but she was never too old for fairy tales.

  “Do you remember who finds them in the end?”

  “Their papa,” Hettie answered, staring straight at Rowan with an expectant expression, as if she already knew. Which she probably did, knowing her.

  “You always asked me where your papa was, and I told you he was lost,” she said. “Well, he isn’t lost any more. We’ve found him. Rowan is your papa. What do you think about that?”

  Rowan smiled at her with a teary gratefulness and then knelt down in front of the children, who were now staring at him raptly.

  “Why were you lost?” Hettie demanded, her small brow wrinkled with confusion.

  Rowan’s expression filled with longing. “I…was far, far away from here, and it took me a long time to find you. But I promise I shall never be parted from either of you again.” He paused. “If you’ll have me, of course.”

  Hettie seemed to take this under consideration, while Hector still half hid behind Hex. At last, Hettie nodded solemnly and approached Rowan. She gave him a quick hug and a sloppy kiss on his cheek that startled him so much he froze. She tugged at Hector’s sleeve, whispering something in his ear.

  Hector reluctantly stepped away from Hex and placed the book he’d stolen from his sister in Rowan’s hand. Rowan stared down at the book, tears shining in his eyes, and laughed when he saw the title.

  “This is a very fine gift,” he said solemnly. “May I hug you, Hector?”

  Hector nodded grudgingly, and Rowan, unable to contain himself any longer, crushed Hector in his arms, along with Hettie. Hector endured the embrace for longer than Hex expected he would, but after a while, he squirmed away, rolled his eyes, and ran from the room. Hettie stayed in Rowan’s arms. After a long while, she too pulled away and patted Rowan’s wet cheek.

  “Don’t be sad he ran off. Hector’s a bit peculiar, but you’ll get used to him. He’s very clever. I am too, but not like Hector. Are you really my papa?” she demanded a bit skeptically.

  He nodded.

  She surveyed him critically for a long moment before giving her own nod of approval. “You’re handsome and rich, so I suppose you’ll do, even if you are English. I was hoping for a pirate.”

  Rowan huffed out a laugh. “I’m Welsh, for your information, and you are just like your mother.”

  She looked at him as if he were not very bright. “Who else would I be like?” she asked. She gave his cheek a final pat. “I’ll go find Hector. He’ll come around after he adjusts to the idea.”

  “And will you? Adjust to the idea?”

  She gave him another droll look. “I’m nine years old, not a baby. I know you were the one who saved Helen. I know you helped save us from the monsters too. And just look at mother. I’ve never seen her smile like that,” Hettie said, pointing at Hex’s face.

  Hex laughed. Hettie was right. Her cheeks hurt from smiling so much. She’d not even realized in that moment that she had been.

  “I’ll adjust very quickly, thank you very much,” Hettie said primly, smoothing down her skirts. She shook her head in exasperation as tears continued to roll down Rowan’s face. “You sure do cry a lot,” she muttered. “A pirate wouldn’t cry, just so you know.”

  She pecked Rowan’s cheek a final time and skipped out of the room.

  Rowan followed Hettie with greedy eyes until she was out of sight, then climbed to his feet, clutching the book in his hand. He turned back to Hex with desperate longing still written in every line of his face. Tears fell unchecked from red-rimmed, luminous amber eyes.

  He waved the book. “How very fitting,” he said.

  “How very depressing,” she countered. Two lovers separated for years by duty and manners? Please. Try being separated by a damned time machi
ne.

  She wanted to run into his arms, but she held herself in check, her heart thudding so hard she could feel it all the way in her temples. “So you remember, then?” Now she was the one stating the obvious.

  He set the book down on the piano and took a hesitant step toward her. “I remember. Everything.”

  She nodded and wiped at her cheeks. For some reason they were wet. Damn it. She refused to believe she was actually crying, after she’d told herself a thousand times she wouldn’t. Someone needed to be the stoic one, and it sure as hell wasn’t going to be Rowan.

  “Two days ago, I held you in my arms for the last time,” he whispered.

  Well, she was definitely crying now. Only he could bring out the watering pot in her.

  “It was ten years ago, Rowan,” she said, thumbing her tears away angrily and refusing to meet his eyes.

  He took another step closer. “Then you came here, and I didn’t even know who you were,” he continued, anguished. “How did you bear it?”

  She winced. She thought of the pain she’d felt a few weeks ago when she’d seen his face again and he’d not known her. It had felt as if her heart had been ripped out and trampled upon all over again.

  “That was…unpleasant. I thought…I thought perhaps you were just pretending not to know me. That you had somehow survived the desert and regained your memories. That you wanted nothing to do with me.”

  “Never,” he breathed, clasping her gloved hands in his own, then inching his fingers up until he touched the bare skin of her wrists.

  “I know that now. I knew then, too. I looked into your eyes and knew you didn’t recognize me at all. It was…confusing.” She smiled wryly. “But I was used to being confused by you.”

  “Thank you for telling the children. I was afraid you might not want to right away…”

  She shook her head vehemently and stepped closer to him so that their bodies almost touched. “We’ve already wasted enough time,” she said.

  It was as if he’d been waiting for those words. He sighed in relief and took that final step forward, wrapping his arms around her and pulling her tight against him.

  “I’ve missed ten years with you,” he murmured.

  “I’ve spent ten years missing you,” she said as lightly as she could despite her tears.

  His expression grew grave, and he stiffened a little as an unpleasant thought seemed to occur to him. “There has been no one…?” he began.

  That he could think of that at such a time was…so very human of him. So very much like a man…and she’d take that any day over a ghost. Or a memory.

  She scowled and thumped him on the arm in exasperation anyway. “The love of my life died and left me alone to raise twins. And a sick sister. Not to mention the fact that I’ve been chased around the world by an immortal war criminal for nearly all of that time. And the fact that I’ve never gotten over losing you. When, exactly, would I have had the time or…or the desire to find someone else?”

  He just grinned down at her. “The love of your life?” he said, rather proudly.

  “You were pretty damned memorable,” she mumbled, her face hot with embarrassment after her outburst.

  His hands left her back and gently tangled in her hair. He leaned down and kissed her on the forehead, then on both cheeks, erasing her tears with his lips. “You are too,” he whispered.

  “What?” she asked, a bit distracted by the kisses.

  “The love of my life.”

  Her heart sang in joy and relief, but she tried—valiantly, in her opinion—to temper it with caution. “You cannot know that. You’ve really only known me for a month, if you think about it,” she reminded him.

  “So have you,” he retorted. “Is it so unbelievable that I would come to the same conclusion as you?”

  Well. That was hard to argue with. Even so… “I’ve had nearly a decade to think about it,” she said, trying to pull away from him.

  He caught her by the shoulders and stared down at her earnestly. “I knew it in the desert, and I know it now. Besides, I am four hundred and twenty-two years old. I think I bloody well know my own mind by now.”

  “When you put it like that…” she said.

  That was a number that would need some getting used to. But the reality of what Rowan and his fellow Elders actually were was a lot more reassuring than fearing he was some sort of reincarnated Egyptian god. Not that she’d ever really thought that, precisely…

  Well, maybe she had, considering where she’d first met him, despite his affinity for tea. Anything had seemed possible, really, after she’d seen vampires with her own eyes.

  “You hesitate,” he said, looking a bit crestfallen. “But you said yourself that we’ve wasted enough time.”

  She laughed weakly. “I did, didn’t I? It’s just…” She broke off and shook her head.

  She felt his hand on her chin, urging her to look at him. He gazed down at her with a mix of desperation and fear. “What is it?” he demanded.

  His concern caused her to lose the last of her control. She felt the tears fall in earnest down her cheeks. “It’s just too good to be true,” she said. “I can’t believe it’s real. You’re real.”

  He looked distraught by her words and once more wrapped his arms around her, hugging her tightly.

  “I’m real, Hex. So real, and I’m furious at every silly twist of fate that has kept us apart. But never again. I won’t let you go now. I’ll never let you go again,” he said fiercely.

  She buried her face in his fine silk waistcoat and sobbed. Damn him for turning her into a maudlin girl.

  “Hex, say you believe in me. I must hear you say it,” he murmured into her hair.

  “I believe in you. I love you, but you will leave me…”

  “Never,” he breathed. “Never again. All of time and space couldn’t keep us apart. How could you think I’d ever leave you now?”

  She gazed up at him, and he looked very weary and very lovely in that moment. And so very, very real. She’d never doubt it again. He returned her gaze with a ghost of a smile trembling around the edges of his mouth…and love in his eyes. No one but Rowan had ever looked at her like that.

  A blossom of hope she’d still not let herself fully embrace began to slowly bloom inside of her. She’d told herself that it would be enough to have him back, for their children to have a father. She’d not truly let herself hope for more. She’d not let herself assume that things could go back to where they’d been ten years ago, not after meeting him as the sophisticated Lord Llewellyn.

  But this man—this was the man she loved, penniless amnesiac and elegant earl combined. And he loved her back, even with all of his countless memories restored to him.

  And speaking of which…

  “I don’t want us to have just memories,” she said against his lips. “It’s not enough anymore. I want a future with you. And a present. I want it all. I never thought I’d get that with you, even back in Egypt. I can’t help it if I think it’s too good to be true. Because it is. I feel as if I’m in a dream.”

  In a dream, and bewildered with happiness.

  “Then I hope we never wake up,” he said, and he kissed her, soft and infinitely sweet. “You never let me say it before, in the desert,” he murmured against her lips when the kiss ended, leaning his forehead against her own.

  She smiled. Such a sentimental man. “Then say it now.”

  “I love you, Hex,” he whispered.

  “I know,” she whispered back. “I know.” And when she kissed him again, it was as if all the years that had separated them fell away.

  The End

  About the Author

  Margaret Foxe is a professional musician from Tennessee. She has lived in several countries and travelled from Costa Rica to Cairo. Her crowning transcontinental glory was ascending Jebel Toubkal in the High Atlas Mountains with her best friend, a mule, a Berber guide named Omar, a bota bag, and lots and lots of Orange Fanta. She recently completed her ma
ster's degree in piano performance in between writing steampunk mash-ups. She also writes historical romance under the penname Maggie Fenton.

  She hopes to one day circumnavigate the world by dirigible.

  You can follow her literary(ish) escapades on Amazon, Goodreads, Facebook, Google+ or Wordpress, or Tweet her @FoxeSteampunk.