“Captives arenae allowed to write, Kristen,” he snapped.
The word froze the air.
Captives.
“I waited,” she whispered. “I prayed ye would walk through that door. For years.”
“Prayer doesnae open locks or untie ropes,” he huffed. “Ye ken what does? A sword.”
His mouth hardened at a memory, then softened as he took in her face. “I willnae speak any more of this with the castle listening.”
“In case ye cannae tell, Neil, the castle has been listening for five years,” she said. “It kens more about me than mehusbanddoes.”
“Enough,” he grunted.
“Nay!” she protested, her voice surprisingly low. “Nae until ye say it. Say ye are sorry.”
“I am here,” he offered.
“That isnae the same,” she argued. “I learned to live without ye. I learned how to bear the looks. I learned how to make a day that didnae break. I willnae unlearn it all because ye chose to lie in this bed.”
“I didnae choose for ye,” he said. “I chose for the clan.”
“And for the clan, ye made me a ghost,” she retorted. “A wife who never was.”
His jaw worked. “Ye have a sharp tongue at dawn, do ye nae?”
“I will give ye one guess as to what caused that,” she hissed.
Silence gathered.
Neil let his head fall back against the pillow and looked up. Kristen watched the rise and fall of his chest, hating that her body had memorized the rhythm already.
“I kept me word,” Neil murmured, eventually. “I came back. That should be the most important thing at the moment, should it nae?”
Kristen exhaled. He was right, of course. He had honored the rules she had set. Yet it didn’t stop the frustration that tugged at her heart harshly like a puppeteer.
He turned his head toward her, his proximity punching through her like cold. They were almost seven inches apart, and she could still feel the heat of his skin.
“Do ye want me here or nae?” he asked, his voice dropping.
“I want a husband,” she replied. “The question now is whetheryewant a wife.”
The words landed but did not settle. She could not forgive the night he had left, nor the sentence that had cut her in his tower. He could not forgive the life she had made without him.
All of a sudden, the bed felt too small for the five years they had spent apart. She got up.
“Get in the bed, Kristen.” His voice slithered in the darkness, as rough as the floor and cold as the wind.
Kristen wanted to argue. She wanted to fight a little more, but then thought better of it. At last, she climbed into the bed,turned onto her side, and drew the blanket up around her shoulders like armor.
“Sleep,” she said.
Neil lay back, his eyes fixed on the ceiling. “Aye.”
The span of linen between them felt as wide as a road that had swallowed a man whole. His warmth seeped into her back all the same.
Kristen fixed her gaze on the windowsill and traced its pale edge with slow breaths.
