"That's what this is about?"Boyd finally said. "Yer mother?"
"She's been gonefor years. I shouldnae still..." Theodore dragged a hand through his hair. "But sometimes I wonder if she was right. About me."
"Right about what?"
"That I ruin everythin'I touch." The words came out rougher than he intended. "That I'm too much like her."
Boyd's chairscraped against the stone floor as he leaned forward. "Now ye listen to me, and ye listen well. Ye are nothin' like that woman."
"How can ye be so sure?"Theodore's hands clenched on the edge of the desk. "She raised me, Boyd. What if?—"
"What if nothin'."Boyd's voice cut through Theodore's spiraling thoughts like a blade. "I've known ye since we were lads. I've watched ye lead this clan with honor for years. Yer mother was cruel because she enjoyed it. Ye? Ye're only ever harsh when ye have to be, and it eats at ye afterward."
Theodore wanted to believe him.God, he wanted to believe him. But late at night, when sleep wouldn't come, his mother's voice still echoed in his head.Ye'll never be good enough. Ye'll ruin her, just like ye ruin everythin' pure and good.
"What brought this on?"Boyd asked, though his knowing look suggested he already had an answer.
"Madison."
"Ah."Boyd settled back in his chair. "And here I thought ye were just terrible at sums."
Despite himself,Theodore's mouth twitched. "I'm serious."
"So amI. Ye've been worthless at everythin' except broodin' since the lass got here." Boyd's grin faded. "But that's nae a bad thing, Theo. It means ye care."
"That's what worries me."Theodore stood and crossed to the window. The gardens below were just beginning to wake with the sunrise. "What if I care too much? What if I—" He stopped, unable to voice the fear that had been gnawing at him for days.
"What if ye hurt her?"Boyd finished quietly.
Theodore's silencewas answer enough.
"Let me ask ye somethin',"Boyd said. "When Madison ran from the hall the other night, what did ye do?"
"I orderedthe bells changed so they wouldnae hurt her head. Had Greta prepare food in case she was hungry. Made sure the fires were lit and the doors open so she wouldnae feel trapped."
"And when Aaron spoke against her?"
"I threatened to exile him."
"Exactly."Boyd rose and joined Theodore at the window. "Yer mother would have locked Madison in her room. Would have enjoyed seein' her suffer. Would have used her fear against her." He clapped a hand on Theodore's shoulder. "Ye did the opposite. Ye tried to make her feel safe."
Theodore closed his eyes."But what if it's nae enough? What if I fail her?"
"Then ye'll pickyerself up and try again." Boyd's grip tightened. "That's what makes ye different from yer mother, Theo. She never tried. She never cared. But ye? Ye're already tearin' yerself apart worryin' about whether ye're good enough for the lass."
A bitter laugh escaped Theodore."That's supposed to make me feel better?"
"It should."Boyd moved back toward the door, pausing at the threshold. "Because it means ye're nothin' like her. And ye never will be."
After Boyd left,Theodore remained at the window, watching as the first true rays of sunlight broke over the garden walls. His cousin's words had eased something in his chest, but not everything.
He thought of Madison—theway she'd trembled when he'd first carried her into the castle, the terror in her eyes when she'd fled the hall. She'd been broken by men who'd used their strength to hurt her. Men not so different from his mother, who'd wielded her power like a weapon.
Theodore's jaw clenched.He would rather die than become that.
But then heremembered other moments. The way Madison's lips had felt against his, soft and yielding. The startled pleasure in her eyes when he'd told her the bells would be changed. The tentative trust beginning to bloom in her expression when she looked at him.
She was healing.Slowly, yes. But healing nonetheless.
