Michael sighed, the sound full of regret. “I failed her. The chance was there, and I lost it.”
The horses splashed through a shallow burn, water gleaming silver around their hooves. Drops of it wetted the hem of Isabeau’s dress, its chill sending a shiver through her.
“When we met,” she said suddenly, voice tight, “I hated ye. I thought… the only way I could see it was that ye had denied me me one chance tae flee this cursed place.”
Michael said nothing at first, but Isabeau could see the way his throat was working when he swallowed, the slope of his shoulders when he slouched, as if the weight of memory was heavy over him. It was the same for her; every time the memory resurfaced, she felt the crushing weight of it, the knowledge that she could have escaped that day.
When Michael turned his head to face her, his expression was unreadable.
“An’ now?” he asked, watching her.
Isabeau hesitated for a moment, but then decided it was best to tell him the truth. “Now I find I dinnae ken what tae think o’ ye at all.”
He turned away, his gaze fixed on the path ahead once more. “I understand why ye despised me. If our places had been exchanged, I’d have felt the same.”
Silence fell again, heavy as the fog that curled around their feet. Then Michael drew his horse closer until their knees nearly brushed.
“Listen tae me, Isabeau,” he said, and the sound of her name from his lips gave her pause, making her breath catch. It felt strangely intimate, but the words that followed diminished its effect. “If ye cover fer me … if ye keep me secret, I’ll protect ye from yer faither’s wrath. Ye have me word.”
His tone was solemn, but it struck her wrong. It was too even, too formal; it was a promise of duty, not affection, and Isabeau couldn’t help but give a soft, humorless laugh.
For a while, there were no more words exchanged between them; that silence, which was familiar to them both by then, stretched once more. This time, though, it was far from comfortable. It was as though a wall had been raised between them, and Isabeau didn’t know how to break it—or if she even should.
She wanted to know if there was someone waiting for him back home. Sheneededto know if there was a lover, a betrothed, anyone who could prevent him from searching for something more in her than an ally, someone he could trust. And yet, every time she tried to get the words out, they tore into her throat like talons, refusing to be said.
Soon, the two of them reached a clearing—small and wooded, the firs towering over their heads and tangling in a green canopy—where a small waterfall sang. Michael steered his horse towards it and Isabeau followed, the two of them jumping off their saddles to walk over to the water.
I’m bein’ foolish! I should just ask him!
The more she waited, the more she worried. If she simply asked, she would at least have her answer.
“I’ve been wonderin’… is anyone waitin’ fer ye back home?”
“Aye,” said Michael, and Isabeau’s heart sank, her chest feeling as though it was pierced by the sharpest sword. “Me braithers, me family… it’s a big one. Many cousins.”
For a moment, Isabeau stared at him in silence, trying to decide if he was joking. But in the end, she realized he wasn’t—he truly hadn’t understood, and now he was staring off into the waterfall, watching the foam drape itself over the bank with a blank stare.
“I meant… if perhaps ye have a… a betrothed,” Isabeau managed to stammer out, her words barely audible over the bubbling creek.
But Michael heard them regardless and for a moment, he gave her a bemused look before he shook his head. “Nay one. Love was never a part o’ me plan.”
Never a part o’ his plan… well, what daes that mean about me? About us?
It took all of Isabeau’s courage to ask the next question. “An’… has that changed?”
Michael looked at her and the world seemed to still. The dappled light that reached the clearing through the branches and the leaves danced on his face, bathing him in gold and shadow. He didn’t answer. Instead, he reached across the narrow space between them and caught her hand, his palm rough and warm around hers, his thumb tracing the back of her wrist.
The next heartbeat blurred. He leaned in, and the distance vanished as his mouth found hers. The kiss was fierce, unexpected, desperate. Isabeau’s breath hitched, her whole body trembling as the world melted into the heat of him, and soon, she was lost in that kiss, every other thought banished from her mind. All that remained was the sweetness of his mouth, the way his hand closed around the small of her waist to hold her close.
When they finally parted, the air felt sharper, colder. Doubt began to creep into Isabeau’s mind as she considered the possibilities of her future. Michael had promised to keep her safe, but it wouldn’t be long before he would have to leave. Sooner or later, he would escape with Alyson or—God forbid—he would fail in his mission. Either way, he couldn’t protect her for long, not while she remained in her father’s keep.
Ever so slowly, she pulled back from him, her hand slipping from his grasp. Taking a few steps away from Michael, Isabeau began to pace in a small circle, restless, a nameless grief rising up inside her.
From the corner of her eye, she could tell Michael was watching her. When he spoke, his question was expected.
“What is it?” he asked. “Did I… if I overstepped?—”
“Nay,” Isabeau was quick to say, coming to a sudden halt. “Nay, it isnae that.”
