#DailyLines #MOBY #WRITTENInMYOwnHEARTSBlood #Book8 #OutMARCH25th #thetruthdoesntalwayssetyoufree


Buck came out of the bushes, and sat down again by the fire. He sat with his knees pulled up, arms locked round them.

“What did ye mean by that?” he asked abruptly. “Did I ken my father, and that.”

Roger took in a deep breath of dried heather, woodsmoke, and blood.

“I mean ye werena born to the house ye grew up in. Did ye ken that?”
Buck looked wary, and slightly bewildered.
“Aye,” he said slowly. “Or—not kent it straight out, I mean. My parents didna have any bairns beside me, so I thought there was maybe—well, I thought I was likely a bastard born to my father’s sister. She died, they said, about the time I was born, and she wasna marrit, so…” He shrugged, one-shouldered. “So, no.” He turned his head and looked at Roger, expressionless. “How d’ye come to know, yourself?”

“Brianna’s mother.” He felt a sharp, sudden longing for Claire, and was surprised at it. “She was a traveler. But she was at Leoch, about that time. And she told us what happened.” He had the hollow-bellied feel of one about to jump off a precipice into water of unknown depth, but there was no way to stop now.

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