"It isn't a scar from a stabbing," Gideon replied, his voice dropping to a low, hollow tone.
"Then?" Adeline's curiosity piqued further, her hand pausing over the jagged mark on his skin.
"I got it from a burning iron rod," he asserted.
"What?" Adeline's breath hitched, and she stopped blinking. She couldn't begin to imagine the agony of such a wound.
Her mind raced with dark possibilities, had it been a battle? Had he been taken captive?
"When did this happen?" she asked in a trembling whisper, her fingers tentatively brushing the thick, uneven scar.
"I was eight," Gideon replied bluntly. He looked down at her, seeing the moisture gathering in her eyes. "You'll cry if I tell you more, so let's just stop here."
"No. I want to know. I won't cry," Adeline told him. "I promise."
