She needed to sleep.
“DO YOU THINK Mr. Thornton really was the traitor?” Rebecca asked later that night.
She was sleepy, almost dozing in front of the fire. Samuel had risen from his bed to have a belated cold supper with her, and then they’d retired here. She should be asleep; she was so exhausted after the adventures of the day, but somehow something seemed to be missing.
Across from her, Samuel held up a goblet of brandy and looked through the glass into the fire. “I think so.” His face was battered, new bruises atop old ones that had barely begun to heal, but it was dear to her nonetheless.
She blinked fuzzily. “But you’re not absolutely sure.”
He shook his head decisively and drained the glass. “Thornton is a born liar. It’s impossible to tell whether he really had nothing to do with the massacre or not. He may not know himself—liars have a way of coming to believe their own lies. I doubt we’ll ever be absolutely certain.”
“But”—Rebecca stifled a yawn—“you came halfway around the world to find the truth, to put the massacre to rest. Doesn’t it bother you that Thornton might not be the traitor?”
“No. Not anymore.”
“I don’t understand.”
A smile flickered across his face. “I’ve come to the conclusion that I can never erase Spinner’s Falls entirely from my mind. It’s not possible for me.”
“But that’s awful! How—”
He held up a hand to halt her worried protest. “But what I’ve learned is that I can live with the memory. That the memory is part of me.”
She stared at him worriedly. “That sounds terrible, Samuel. To live with that all your life.”
“It’s not so bad,” he said softly. “I’ve already lived six years fighting with my memories. I think if anything, it’ll be better now that I know the memories are part of who I am.”
She sighed. “I don’t understand, but if you’re at peace, I’m glad.”
“I am.”
They sat in companionable silence for a few minutes. Rebecca began to half doze. A log popped in the fire, and she remembered that there was something else to discuss with her brother before she fell asleep.
“She loves you, you know.”
He didn’t say anything, so Rebecca opened her eyes to see if he’d fallen asleep. He was gazing into the fire, his hands clasped loosely in his lap.
“I said, she loves you.”
“I heard.”
“Well?” She sighed gustily and a little grumpily. “Aren’t you going to do something about it? Our ship sails tomorrow.”
“I know.” He got up finally and stretched, wincing as something pulled in his side. “You’re about to fall asleep in that chair, and then I’ll have to carry you to bed like a little girl.” He held out his hand.
She placed her hand in his. “I’m not a little girl.”
“I know that,” he said softly. He drew her up to stand before him. “You’re my sister grown into a lovely and interesting lady.”
“Humph.” She wrinkled her nose at him.
He hesitated, then took her other hand and rubbed the backs of her fingers with his thumbs. “I’ll bring you back to England again soon, if you like, so that you can see Mr. Green or any other gentleman you might be interested in. I have no intention of crushing your hopes there.”
“I don’t really have hopes.”
He frowned. “If you’re worried about our lack of pedigree, I think—”
“No, it’s not that.” She looked down to watch his large hands holding hers. His hands were tanned even though they’d been in England for weeks now.