She moved slowly to the mantelpiece and took up the brass candelabra. It was heavy enough to break a wrist and, if she swung really hard, a head. She held it in both hands because her fingers wanted to tremble, and she would not have it.
“Who are ye?” she called. “Come out now and face me, ye coward.”
A shape moved from the shadows near the wardrobe and stepped into the low light. Kristen stared at it, swallowing hard.
He was very tall, and his long hair fell to his shoulders. His beard, shaggy from neglect, covered his chin, and a coat stiff with old and new blood draped over his shoulders. His skin was marred with burns and scars that caught the fire and darkened again.
Her hands tightened around the candelabra. She felt the weight but did not trust it.
The man looked at the candelabra and almost smiled. “That cannae stop me from findin’ out whose children ye were just parading outside,wife.”
3
The word struck her like a physical blow.
Wife.
His eyes grew clearer in the light, and a wave of recognition hit her almost out of nowhere. She felt winded, unable to move or do anything else for the next minute.
She couldn’t forget those green eyes. She couldn’t forget how they had glinted when he had told her he would not be long.Fiveyearsago.
Neil.
“Ye’re alive,” she breathed, feeling something sharp and hot twist under her ribs. “Ye’realive?”
“Much to yer dismay,” he drawled, stepping forward confidently. “Now, tell me. Who claimed ye?”
Rage immediately burned through the shock as Kristen set the candelabra on a nearby table. “Is this a joke?”
“What is?”
“Ye cannae be serious, can ye?”
His brow furrowed. “Serious about what?”
“Oh Christ. Yeareserious,” she sputtered. “We all thought ye were dead. Ye were gone for five years, and the first thing ye ask after returning is whoclaimed me?”
“Kristen—”
“How dare ye?” she huffed, pressing a palm to her forehead.
Neil did not soften. Instead, he crossed the floor and caught her arm. “Ye should have waited to be sure of me death before giving yerself to another, wife. Now, where is he?”
Kristen tried to yank her arm free, but he wouldn’t budge. “Where is who?”
“The faither of those children? I must kill him. And most likely shun ye.”
She tore free. “Ye will kill nay one in this castle, ye cruel bastard.”
“Watch me.”
“There is nay one to kill. The children arenae mine.”
“Kristen, I am asking ye to bring yer—wait, what did ye just say?”
“The children arenae mine,” Kristen repeated, her voice thick with rage.
Tense silence fell between them, and for the next minute, no one spoke.
