Page 83 of Four Promises to Love

Drawing a breath, she peered at the stream—and saw only the gently moving current.

Did I dream of Rose? Or was that a vision?

She couldn’t be sure, and her brow furrowed as she considered the message Rose had given her.

I know you. We are the same.

Trembling, Finn wrapped her arms around herself. They were nothing alike. By all accounts, Rose had been a wronged innocent. Whereas Finn…

I am the wrongdoer.

She stared into the murky forest, wishing she had another choice. Any choice other than to continue fleecing a good man. Her eyes stung as she recalled his unflinching honesty, the way he’d bared his past and his feelings to her. He had given her his trust, and blooming hell, his love—and she was going to lie and steal from him, then vanish? After everything he’d survived, she was going to bloody him and leave more scars?

She found her pendant, absently rubbing the pitted heart.

She wasn’t the type of woman who brought men to their knees. It was Owen’s generous nature that made him vulnerable. No wonder he’d sought refuge in vices; how else could a man that caring and decent survive? He felt keenly and truly…and it killed her to use his strength like a weapon against him.

To take and take and take—and give nothing in return.

She felt his presence an instant before his arms circled her waist.

“Penny for your thoughts?” he murmured.

As selfish as it was, she leaned into him, drawing comfort.

“They are not worth that much.”

“Nonetheless, I would like to hear them. After bending your ear, it is the least I can do.”

Hearing his uncertainty, she turned and placed her palm against his stubbly jaw.

“I don’t mind listening,” she said honestly.

“Neither do I. Try me,” he offered.

Suddenly, she had the urge to give him something of herself—something real.

“I was thinking about a friend,” she blurted.

“Oh.” He cocked a brow. “Not a male friend, I hope.”

“No, silly. She is like a sister to me. In the earlier years, more like a mother.”

“Does she have a name?”

She hesitated. “Iris.”

“How did you come to know Iris?”

She flashed back to Iris’s hard, youthful face. I’ll distract the bastard. You hide, Finn. Hide where I showed you, and don’t come out. And she had—she’d let Iris take the pain for her because she was scared. Because Iris was stronger and smarter and always knew what to do. Now Iris was depending on her, and she couldn’t—wouldn’t—let her friend down.

“We met at the orphanage. Iris is three years older than me and far wiser. She took me under her wing—gave me her bread so I wouldn’t go hungry and protected me.”

When Owen picked up her hand, kissing the old burns, her heart clenched.

“She sounds remarkable,” he said. “I would like to meet her.”

“Perhaps someday.” The lie caused a bittersweet pang. “You would get along. At first, she’d think you are too good to be true. But once she got over her suspicions, she would like you.”