Liam raked his fingers through his hair and blinked away the tears that threatened to overcome him again. Tears of guilt and of shame. Of anger and of fear.
But not of pain, nor sorrow.
Frowning, he glanced around the room as though it, or some spectre within it, had spoken that revelation. Or as if, perhaps, it might hold the answer.
He rubbed his breast—there, over his heart—and found the tight, harrowing pain which normally lingered had gone. The weight he carried as if Atlas had lessened. In all these years not once had he felt so...
Refreshed?
Despicable, terrified, angry, yes, but somehow...
Lighter?
If he’d known it was as simple as taking his fists to the library, he might have done it years ago.
No. It was... It was the tears.
Those he’d spilled last night, those which had racked his body, and which he had shed unwillingly like pieces of his own flesh and soul. Tears he had spilled inherarms.
God save me.
Was there anything more shameful than attacking her and sobbing in her arms?
Pleading for her to stay, perhaps.
Yes, I did that, too.
Then why did he feel so much lighter? Was it having finally given in to his grief and sorrow as he lay with her in the midst of his destruction? Why could he not fully regret, even now, giving in to those tears he had kept firmly clutched within his breast for years? Tears for Hal and tears for...
How could he not regret having felt her beneath him, taking it all from him? He had hurt her—terrified her, most likely—and yet, it didn’t hurthimso much anymore. And she had stayed.
Why had she stayed?
Liam threw back the covers, slipped on his dressing gown and opened the curtains before setting about pacing the room.
Not only stayed with him here, in his chamber—which, even though he, her lord and master, had asked it, was entirely improper and inconceivable—but before that. In the library.
When she had seen his state, why had she not run? Fetched the others? Or simply left him?
Foolish, reckless, careless woman.
What might have happened if she had not brought him back?
I might’ve killed you, so why in the name of all the saints did you not run?
And why did he feel...
Grateful. For you staying. For you bringing me back from the edge of the never-ending darkness I strayed so closely to.
He could still hear her voice calling his name.
William...
No one called him that; only his mother ever had.
He could still feel the brush of her fingers against his cheek, see the look in her eyes when he had returned to himself...
Entreaty and pleading, but no fear.Foolish, careless woman.
