Blood From a Stone (40 page)
Read Blood From a Stone Online
Authors: Cynthia Lucas
“
Sure
l
y
m
y
s
w
ee
t
…I
m
ean…
w
e
ll
,
you
kno
w
,
w
e say
t
h
i
ngs
i
n
t
he
heat
of
t
he
m
o
m
en
t
.”
H
e
brushed
t
he
h
a
i
r
back
f
rom
her
eyes,
w
a
t
ch
i
ng
t
hem
w
e
l
l
up
w
it
h
t
ears as
t
he rea
l
i
za
ti
on of
h
i
s
w
ords
h
i
t
her
hard
i
n
t
he cen
t
er of
her
ches
t
.
She
pushed
h
i
s
hand
a
w
ay
as
a
l
ook
of
un
f
org
i
v
i
ng hurt
crossed her
f
ea
t
ures..
“D
an
i
a.
Sure
l
y
you
cannot
t
h
i
nk
t
hat
I
cou
l
d g
i
ve
up
a
l
l
of
t
h
i
s
f
or
you…
f
or
a v
ill
ager
’
s
daughter
even
i
f
I
w
an
t
ed
t
o?
M
y
f
a
m
il
y
w
ou
l
d never
a
ll
ow
it
.”
“
Sa
m
son.
D
o you
l
ove
m
e?
H
ave you ever
l
oved
m
e?”
“D
an
i
a….” His voice trailed off.
Her eyes grew misty as her gaze bore into his own. “
A
ns
w
er
t
he ques
ti
on.”
H
e
l
ooked at
her
i
n s
il
ence.
“
I
m
ust
l
eave,”
she
sa
i
d.
“
I’
d
w
ager
t
o
say
t
hat
w
e
w
il
l
not
m
eet
aga
i
n.”
T
ears
f
e
l
l
do
w
n her
cheeks.
“D
an
i
a.
I
can
never
l
ove
j
ust
one
w
o
m
an.
E
ven
if
you
w
ere
of
m
y
s
t
a
ti
on
t
hat
w
ou
l
d
be
so.
A
nd
I
s
i
m
p
l
y
cannot
m
arry
you
or
t
ake
your
oa
t
hs, even
i
f
I
w
an
t
ed
t
o…
y
ou
m
ust unders
t
and.
”
“S
a
m
son, I
do unders
t
and.
Y
ou are s
t
rong and han
d
so
m
e
and
so
f
a
i
r
of
f
orm as
t
o
r
i
val
t
he
G
ods
t
he
m
se
l
ves.
A
nd
ye
t
,
you
have
a
heart
of
s
t
one
and
your
b
l
ood
r
uns
as co
l
d
as
t
he
s
t
ream
i
n
w
i
n
t
er.
Y
ou
know
w
hat
t
h
i
s
m
eans…
w
hat
you
have
done!
I
have
l
os
t
.
m
y r
i
gh
t
s
t
o
t
ake
m
y
m
a
m
a
’
s
p
l
ace
as
t
he
l
eader
of
our
peop
l
e. I
t
o
l
d you
t
h
i
s
can not
be.
Y
ou d
i
d not
li
s
t
en and
i
n
f
act
you spoke
w
ords
of
do
i
ng
w
ha
t
ever
w
as
asked of
you.”
“
Y
ou
w
il
l
get
over
it
,
m
y
s
w
ee
t
.
I
am
but
one
of
m
an
t
hat
you
w
il
l
know
un
ti
l
you
fi
nd
a
m
an
you
w
il
l
s
ettl
e
w
it
h.
B
ut
perhaps
w
hat
you ask
i
s
t
oo
m
uch
f
or
m
os
t
?”
H
e
t
r
i
ed
t
o
push
a
w
ay
t
he
m
il
d
gu
il
t
he
f
e
lt
,
but
h
e knew
t
oo
t
hat
she
w
as
j
ust
ano
t
her s
w
eet
v
i
rg
i
n
w
ho
’
d
l
ost
her
i
nnocence
and
now needed
so
m
eone
t
o
p
i
n
i
t
upon.
I
t
w
asn
’
t go
i
ng
t
o
be
h
i
m
.
B
e
tt
er
t
o
have
her
go
now
and
be
done
w
it
h
it
.
She
l
e
f
t
w
it
hout
ano
t
her
w
ord,
concea
li
ng
t
he
s
t
rand of
l
ong,
li
ght
bro
w
n
ha
i
r
t
hat
she
’
d
t
aken
f
rom h
i
m
as
she pu
ll
ed a
w
ay.
T
hat
n
i
gh
t
,
as
her
daugh
t
er
D
an
i
a
w
a
t
ched,
t
he dark ha
i
red
pr
i
es
t
ess
of
t
he
pagan
w
ays
chan
t
ed
by
t
he
f
i
re
li
ght
as a
pot
of
herbs
con
t
a
i
n
i
ng
a
s
i
ng
l
e
hu
m
an
ha
i
r
sparked
over and over
w
it
h each re
f
ra
i
n of
t
he
i
ncan
t
a
ti
on: