Free The Architect of Song (Haunted Hearts Legacy Book 1) by A. G. Howard Page B

Hawk and I to miss him on our ride in, he must have taken the foot trail to the cemetery as opposed to the road. I could not imagine what horrific scenarios raced through his mind. No doubt he thought me too distressed to make any sound decisions.
    I stood and put down the cider, casting a glance at Hawk but speaking to Enya. “I must search for him.”
    Enya’s hardened scowl came into view as she stepped into the circle of firelight. “Haven’t you caused trouble enough? He shan’t be physically able to chase you another step today.” No sooner had she said this, than her head snapped toward the front of the house.
    I rushed into the hall. Upon slamming the door shut, Uncle drew me into an embrace against the rough nap of his great coat. His scent of dusty citrus filled my nose and his lips moved atop my head, scolding me, while knowing I wouldn’t hear a word.
    What he didn’t know was that a ghost relayed them for me: how he would not survive losing me after losing Mama, how I was all he had now—the daughter of his heart.
    I heard the tenderness in Hawk’s recitation of each sentiment, and wondered if it was respect for my uncle’s devotion to me, or regret for his lack of memory of any such relationship in his past.
    “Both,” Hawk whispered, and with my cheek pressed to my uncle’s chest, I met my friend’s ghostly gaze to assure him he had a family now.
    He smiled in grateful acknowledgment.
    Our quiet moment shattered as my uncle stretched me out to arm’s length so I could see his lips. “Never leave like that again, tiny sparrow.” His eyes glistened with tears as he stared at my waistline where the strip of fabric formed a limp tail. “Did someone hurt you? Did someone touch you?”
    My cheeks flamed. “No, I’m fine. It happened when I climbed down the tree.”
    His face paled as if just the thought made him faint. “I’ve been in turmoil for hours. I could only think of that day … at the quarry … the mud, so red on your frock I thought you were bleeding. I cannot relive that. Ever.”
    Mud as red as blood. I glanced at Hawk’s boots. That’s where I had seen such a color before. My accident at the ochre mines when I was a child.
    Hawk gave me a meaningful frown, seeking more details, but I pressed him to wait. First I had to show Uncle Owen our guest … and I had no idea what to offer as explanation.

    “That was the perfect ruse, Juliet. Your uncle believed you stumbled upon her on the road, already unconscious. So why so distraught?”
    I stiffened at the edge of my bed. Hawk stood in front of my picture window, his palms splayed on the desk top to appraise the strange drawing of the rats that I had spread open. Evening’s blush filtered through him—making him unsettlingly beautiful once again.
    “Why am I upset?” I wasn’t even sure if I spoke aloud. “Not only have I proved myself a resourceful thief—I am also a masterful liar. And I’ve had wanton thoughts about a ghostly man who lives in the petals of a flower. Who am I since my mother has left me? I don’t know anymore.”
    Hawk strode over. The mattress sunk beneath him as he settled, and again I spurned the physical laws so intent on taunting us.
    “Everything you have done is for the greater good. Yes, you filched the flower … but in the process, you liberated my spirit. And yes, we stole from the gypsy. But this book could very well be about me—which in turn makes it mine. And as for your uncle, would he have believed the truth? Or would he have imagined you crushed with grief to the point of insanity, and become ill with worry himself? Now he’s off to retrieve the physician who will heal the woman. When she wakes, we can learn her relation to me. And lastly,”—his palm drifted through the back of my hand, dipped into my flesh, then released with a slight tug, just as his lips had done earlier—“by having wanton thoughts of me, you’re making me feel alive.”
    Our gazes joined and I smiled.