"I heard he might marry his daughter tae the prince, or tae the king himself," one guard mused. "The mother died long ago."
The other scoffed. "They say she's a bonny thing, but there's nae way either would take a traitor's daughter as a wife. Perhaps she'll be lucky enough tae warm one of their beds. Or mine."
Both men chuckled at that, touching their mugs together before drinking deeply.
Breana felt ill. She thought of this poor girl, whoever she was, now at the mercy of a cruel king, no mother or father to protect her.
"Besides," the other continued. "The elder sisters have both been taken. The family name is shamed. Best she can hope isthat his majesty marries her off tae a minor laird or a merchant somewhere."
A cold shiver flowed through Breana as the realisation slowly started to dawn on her. It couldn't be… They couldn't mean…
The first man raised his cup. "A toast, me friend!" he proclaimed. "Tae Laird James O'Sullivan!"
Many eyes in the tavern turned in their direction, but the two drunk men didn't seem to care.
"A pathetic rat of a man," the other agreed, lifting his mug too. "May he rot in peace!"
Shock jolted through Breana as the truth crashed down around her ears. He was dead. Her father wasdead.Without thinking, she opened her mouth, a cry of surprise about to escape.
Acting quickly, Eoin moved forward and pressed his lips to hers, his arms around her, pulling her close. The kiss smothered her exclamation, and the feeling of his mouth against hers was enough to pull her back to herself again, enough at least to regain control. He didn't let go immediately, and Breana closed her eyes, leaning a bit deeper into the kiss, allowing Eoin's warmth and closeness to steady her and bring her back to herself.
A little laughter from nearby caused them to break apart. Someone whistled, and one of the drunk guards shouted, "Will ye nae share yer bride, lad?"
"Leave them be!" the proprietor scolded, flicking a dirty rag in their direction.
Eoin got to his feet and took Breana's hand in his, pulling her after him. The two of them hurried straight for the stairs, not pausing to respond to the teasing and laughter that followed, people obviously amused by the apparent impatience of young love.
They reached the top of the stairs and rushed along until they found the door they'd been directed to previously. Eoin unlocked the door and pulled Breana inside. She sat on the bed, dazed, as he hurriedly locked the door and turned to face her. His back rested against the wood of the door, his eyes wide with anxiety.
"Forgive me," he said immediately. "I didnae mean tae—that is tae say, I ken that wasnae appropriate, but I didnae ken what else tae do, and I…"
Breana shook her head, barely registering his words. "Did… did ye hear what they said?"
Eoin paused, then sighed, his expression growing somber. "I heard them," he affirmed. "I'll admit, I had worried this might happen. Growin' up in Clan Darach, with Malcolm at the king's right hand, I witnessed more than once how the king treated those he thought had failed him."
She shivered, folding her hands on her lap, staring at the white skin of her knuckles. Her father was dead. The king, to whom he had been loyal to the detriment of their very country, had killed him.
"Breana? Are ye all right?" Eoin asked.
All right? Was she? It was hard to tell what she was feeling, only that there was so much of it suddenly crashing down over her, like a wave in a storm, that she did not know which way was up. As a child, she'd dreamed of earning her father's love, of being good enough for him to see her as more than an obligation. As a woman, she'd learned that he was a terrible person, a bad father and a worse laird. She knew that he was a monster. She'd witnessed with her own eyes how he had almost executed Cailean, and how he'd even been willing to murder Maeve, his own daughter.
He was a villain through and through. No. Hehadbeen a villain through and through. Now he was nothing. Dead. Gone. Forever.
She'd known that he'd probably have to be killed one day. She'd even started to make her peace with that. But when she'd imagined it, it had always been Cailean or even Maeve making the final blow, an execution performed for justice, or else he would rot away in a dungeon somewhere to make penance for his crimes. The False King had robbed Breana of even that, and O'Sullivan had died alone and afraid, meaning that neither Maeve nor Breana would ever get the closure they both so desperately deserved.
"He–he deserved tae die…" she whispered. It was true, sheknewit was true, but still, an inexplicable ache felt heavy upon her chest. This way felt wrong. This was not how it was supposed to happen.
Eoin hesitated, then moved a little closer, approaching her like she was a wounded bird. "It's all right tae grieve, ye ken. Even for someone ye hated."
She tugged at a strand of her own hair, her own hands suddenly restless. "Did ye grieve? When Cailean killed yer father?"
He seemed to think about that for a moment, then let out a deep sigh and nodded. "Aye," he admitted. "Though I kent it needed tae happen that way. If it happened over again, I wouldnae change a thing. I despised Kyle Darach and everythin' he stood for, everythin' he'd ever done. But he was still me father, and since me mother and sister died, the only person I had left in me family. It–it was a complex feelin', kennin' I would never see him again."
Breana nodded. Complex was one word that certainly seemed to describe it.
"And it must be harder for ye," Eoin continued. "After all, me father's death was justice. Yers… yers seems tae have just been another of the False King's whims. It isnae right that ye didnae get tae make yer peace with it."
Breana clasped her hands together again, her eyes burning, though a wave of gratitude flooded her. Eoin seemed to understand her fully right now, perhaps in a way she would never have expected anyone to understand. She needed this, and she was so glad that he was the one who was here with her.
