He found no words that did not sound like a command. He had given too many of those already.
“Kristen…”
But she had already turned around. The sheet swished around her calves, and her bare feet made no sound on the stone. She did not look back.Not once.
The door swung on its old hinges, the lock clicked, and the sound shot through him like the sear of a burn.
Silence fell. The candles cast a warm glow on the wall.
Neil stayed where he was, his hands frozen mid-air. The room still held her warmth and a hint of soap. It held the breath he had not drawn, and the kiss he had not taken.
He rubbed a hand over his mouth and tasted salt. His fingers had left faint creases in the linen where he had held her. If he closed his eyes he could see them still, tiny ridges pressed into the cloth for the heartbeat it had been his to touch.
He let his hands fall to his sides, then braced them on the edge of the table and watched his knuckles whiten. The bones under his skin stood sharp. The scar in his shoulder tugged and pulled. He breathed in and out until the pain ebbed.
He looked at the bed. The sheets lay neat from earlier, when he had straightened them for her and told himself that caring for her was enough of an apology. The sight now hit him like a punch to the gut.
He walked to the bed anyway and sat where she had earlier, where his fingers had cleaned the blood on her body. The mattress gave under his weight and sprang back as he rested his elbows on his thighs and bowed his head.
The pulse at his throat kept up a fast count. He tried to will it down. He tried to chase away the memory of her mouth. The smile on her face when she spoke to the clan members. The expectation in her eyes when she handed him the larger half of a cake back at the village square.
He tried to push the memory of her vivid presence out of his mind.
It stayed.
Not only that, it settled into him like an ache that would walk with him in daylight.
He lifted his head and looked at the door once more. The chamber felt larger without her. It felt colder.
He had thought the tower was the only place that could hold his thoughts. Now, the somber quiet of this room threw every thought at him. He clenched his teeth and breathed, and breathed again, and listened to the empty corridor.
Eventually, he flopped back onto the soft mattress and stared at the ceiling. His breathing matched the footsteps of a guard patrolling down the stairs, and he kept his focus on that.
Somehow, he did not remember when he fell asleep. All he knew was that a tap at the door had stirred him awake a few hours later.
His eyes flew open, and his heart thudded hard against his ribs. For a moment, he thought he had imagined it.Then the soft tap sounded again. And again. And again. After which the scraping of wood followed.
He sat up as the tap became a knock, and the knock became open hinges and small feet.
Right.He did not lock the door from the inside.
Finn burst in first, and Anna ran in after him, her hair a wild halo. Maggie squeezed between their legs and shot straight for the bed, her nails clicking on the floor.
They all skidded to a halt at the sight of him.
Finn’s mouth fell open, and Anna blinked once. Maggie gave a confused growl, somewhere between a question and a complaint.
Neil rubbed a hand over his face.
“Christ.” His voice came out rough.
Of course.The bairns.How in God’s name could he have forgotten?
“Me Lady?” Finn asked, as if Kristen might be hiding under the pillows.
“She isnae here,” Neil said.
He tried to make it gentle, but it still sounded like a verdict.
