Chapter 513
[ 528 words ]
Chapter 513:
“I’m fine, Agnes,” she said, her voice quiet but firm. “It’s just a scratch.” She looked down at the cut, at the blood still welling from the wound. “This is nothing,” she whispered, more to herself than to the housekeeper. “It’s nothing compared to the wounds he carries.”
Agnes froze, staring at the young woman before her. She saw the steel beneath the soft exterior, the unyielding strength that the General must have seen. A wave of profound respect washed over her.
Under Agnes’s insistent, almost frantic pleading, Caroline finally relented. She allowed the housekeeper to clean the wound and apply a waterproof Band-Aid. The small, flesh-colored strip looked absurdly mundane against the backdrop of the epic tragedy that had just been recounted.
Once it was done, Caroline took a deep, steadying breath. She wiped the last of the tears from her face with the back of her uninjured hand. She picked up the blood-stained cutting board and rinsed it under the tap, watching the red swirl and disappear down the drain.
She took a clean board, and with steady, precise movements, she finished chopping the parsley. The small, rhythmic sound of the knife against the wood was the only sound in the kitchen. She had compartmentalized the pain, locked it away.
In the quiet of her own heart, she made a vow. From this day forward, she would be his shield. She would be his sanctuary. She would love him with a ferocity that would heal the broken pieces of that little boy. No one would ever hurt him again. Not while she was alive.
She scraped the parsley into the pot, gave it a final stir, and turned off the heat. The stew was done.
“You are as white as a sheet,” Agnes said, her voice filled with a motherly concern. She took the apron from Caroline’s hands. “Go. Now. Go to the study. The General will be waiting. You need to sit. You need to rest.”
A𝗱dі𝖼𝘵𝘪v𝖾 nо𝘷𝘦𝘭𝘀 𝗈n 𝗀a𝗹ոо𝘷𝗲lѕ.𝘤𝘰𝘮
This time, Caroline didn’t argue. She nodded, a wave of exhaustion suddenly washing over her. She was drained, physically and emotionally.
She walked out of the warmth of the kitchen, her bandaged finger a small, throbbing reminder of the vow she had just made. She left the ghosts of the past behind and went to find the living, carrying a heart full of a fierce and terrible love.
The warmth of the kitchen vanished the moment she stepped into the main corridor. The air here was cooler, still, smelling faintly of lemon polish and old money. The thick Persian runner muffled her footsteps, swallowing all sound.
She walked, her head down, her gaze fixed on the small, beige Band-Aid on her finger. The throbbing was a dull, constant rhythm, a counterpoint to the chaotic symphony of emotions in her chest. Empathy. Rage. A profound, aching tenderness for a man she was only just beginning to understand.
Her mind was a million miles away, lost in the echoing hallways of the past. She wasn’t paying attention to the present. At the first major intersection of corridors, she took a left, guided by a vague, faulty memory from her first day at the estate. It was the wrong turn.
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