He was right behind her, rounding to stop in front of her.
“Without a true version of the events to tell, ye will surely be convicted,” he hissed.
“Have ye ever considered that perhaps Ishouldhang?” The words tumbled from her. Horrific and raw and so agonizing they cut her throat. “That if I am responsible for the deaths of all those men, that perhaps Ishouldbe brought to justice.”
“No!” Kieran all but shouted. “I willnae allow ye tae nurture such dark thoughts.”
“Precisely!” She glared at him. “That is the problem here. The more I remember, the closer I come to the cliff’s edge.” She waved a hand, indicating the drop beside them. “Bad things happened, Kieran. I feel it, but I don’trememberit, and that’s the important difference. Right now, I have the luxury of believing thatmaybeI didn’t do it. That maybe I am innocent. But once I know, I know. And there is no going back.” She shook her head.
“You couldhang—”
“Yes! But it is my choice to make.Mine.” She tapped her chest. “And I expect ye to respect my freedom to make that choice.”
She pivoted and walked along the path, heading toward the castle.
He paced beside her.
“Jamie would fight.” His words lashed out at her. “Like ye did on the ship. Like ye did saving my life. Jamie wouldnae run away and bury her head in fear—”
“But I’m Eilidh.” She clenched her teeth. “I’ve always,onlybeen Eilidh.”
She continued walking.
Kieran kept pace with her.
Unsaid words piled between them.
She could feel theangerdespairfrustrationrolling off him.
The forecourt to the castle appeared. A farmer’s gig was pulled up before it. A gentleman in a top hat and tight coat helped an older woman down from the wagon bench, saluting the farmer as he drove on.
A familiar gentleman.
A familiar woman.
“Who on earth?” Kieran muttered.
Eilidh wasn’t sure whether to laugh or cry.
Of course.
Of course, this would happen at this precise moment—
When the memory of Kieran’s lips still singed hers, when the heat of his hands yet burned her skin.
When panic loomed and she could scarcely think a coherent sentence.
“Simon.” Eilidh pressed her fingers to her forehead. “Simon has come.”
30
Kieran hated him.
He detested Simon Fitzpatrick with the violent heat of a thousand suns.
“We simply could not go on without ensuring that our Miss Fyffe was well,” the man was saying, shooting a devoted look at Eilidh.
They were seated in the arrangement of chairs and two sofas on the north side of the great hall. Eilidh and Mrs. McKay sat on one sofa. Simon and his mother on the other.
