British Black Sheep - Lauren Smith Page 0,52

grandfather was as great believer in the power of books,” Alec said.

Brie laced her fingers through his as they gazed up at the vast expanse of titles. “So am I.”

“Books always seemed to glow, don’t they?” Alec mused. “The way the light catches on the spines. You can almost see the stories within them like a halo.

“They do,” Brie agreed. She’d marveled at that same thing before while in the middle of some old bookshop where she’d passed by a shelf near a window and the light illuminated a specific spine. It was like the book was calling to her in an almost magical way.

“If you feel up to it, we can take a walk in the snow,” Alec offered.

“I’d like that. I’m not feeling too bad.”

Once dressed for the weather, they left the house. Brie looked back at the front door. The tall walnut wood was heavily oiled, weathered, and studded with iron-mongered bits; it was also festively decorated with two matching Christmas wreaths. She knew from her research that the shape was no accident. The circular shape represented eternity, with no beginning or end, and the evergreen making up the wreaths symbolized eternal life. It brought a symbolic beauty to the sight.

Alec led her down a path of trees. The slender gray trunks of the birch bent slightly in the wintry breeze and felt like ghostly guardians.

“My grandfather called these ghost chasers. He said that birch trees would ward off evil.” Alec placed a gloved hand on the smooth, white bark that was knotted with black spots like a thousand eyes. Beyond the forest, a field of pure white snow covered the earth.

“I used to love it here,” Alec said. “I loved everything about this place.” He squeezed her hand slightly as he met her worried gaze. “But it’s hard to look upon now. It only reminds me of what I’ve lost.”

“The more you look at it, the more you should remember the good, not the bad.” Brie moved closer to him. “After my parents died, I hid the pictures, tucked them into drawers or cabinets. But the pain stayed anyway. Later on, I took the pictures back out and the good memories began to outweigh the pain of what was gone.”

Alec leaned his head down to hers, their foreheads touching. “How is it that you always know the right thing to say? How are you so wise?” He closed his eyes, holding onto her mitten-covered hands as their breath mingled in the air around them.

“I guess I’m just amazing.” She deadpanned the reply, winning a smile from him.

“You are such an American,” he chuckled and kissed her. “Come on, just a bit farther.”

They walked through the fresh snow down the tunnel of birch trees until they reached a small clearing. An angel carved of stone wept above a tombstone.

Snow-capped, her head and her wings draped over the headstone, protecting it. The name Walter Halston was carved into the stone along with the words, “I desire to live worthily as long as I have lived, and to leave after my life, to the great men who should come after me, the memory of me in good works.” — Alfred the Great.

Ivy climbed around the statue, but its leaves had fallen away, leaving a gnarled patchwork of roots and vines gripping the stone. Bursts of color stood out among the dead ivy. Winter berries, spindle plants, and red-berried holly thrived in the absence of the overpowering ivy leaves.

“He wanted to be buried here on the land, rather than in the churchyard.” Alec’s voice grew rough. “I haven’t been back here since the funeral.”

“It’s peaceful,” she said, reassuring him. It hurt her to know that he was reliving something that had wounded him so deeply.

“My grandfather was the only one who seemed to understand me. He was different than the rest of my family. He understood me in ways I can’t really explain. Don’t misunderstand me, I love my family. But my grandfather and I…we had a special bond. I don’t know if that even makes sense.”

It did. Brie bit her lip. She felt at home with Alec in a way she’d only ever felt around her parents. But even with them, she’d felt isolated. Even when she’d only known the rude and arrogant Alec on the plane, she’d still felt engaged, alive, and focused when she was near him. It hadn’t been like that with Preston, not really. She knew she would never would have had a conversation like