To marry a prince! No doubt the honor would go to Nessa, Breana knew, yet her twelve-year-old heart still beat a little quickier at the thought. "And the others of us?"
"I will find ye husbands worthy of our name. Even Maeve, despite her nature. She has time yet tae change."
Breana paused, deciding that, in this rare situation where her father was feeling conversational, she would dare to ask a question. "But–but Father, what if Nessa or whichever of us is chosen doesnae love the prince?"
"Love? Who said anythin' about love? We're speakin' of marriage, child. An alliance that will make the O'Sullivan name rise above all others."
She frowned. "But–but ye love mother. I ken ye do." That was why Nessa, the most like their mother, was favored.Everyone knew it. Even the servants spoke about it openly, at least when they thought that the Laird himself could not hear.
O'Sullivan seemed to hesitate at that. He looked down at the letter again. "Everythin' I do is for the betterment of our clan, Breana. Every plan I make. Every action I take. Our name will live on long past me, long past any of us. I have affection for yer mother, aye, but if the King asked for her hand tomorrow, I would forsake her in an instant. For the good of me children and grandchildren and the power of the O'Sullivan name movin' forward."
Breana didn't understand how he could say such things. None of it made sense to her. Her heart was still filled with stories of love and magic, told at her nursemaid's knee, and everything her father was saying to her seemed opposite to that. How could he say he acted for them when in the same breath he acted as though he did not love them? How could he claim that the O'Sullivan name was his goal when he served the king so blindly that he'd give up everything he cared for? He acted as though he were noble, and yet he committed such cruel acts, both on a grand scale and in petty day-to-day activities like the one which had caused Maeve's punishment.
"I dinnae understand ye, Father," she admitted in a whisper.
He patted her cheek almost affectionately, though it was clear by his eyes that he was disappointed. "I doubt ye ever will. Yer youngest sister seems tae have been the only one tae inherit wit. Never mind; ye'll make a fine wife some day at least, if ye continue the way ye're meant tae."
His words hurt, but Breana nodded. Perhaps he was right. Maeve was brave, and Nessa, though only seven, was already very clever. Breana was a disappointment to her father, and she wasn't sure she'd ever amount to more than that.
"Remember yer lessons, Breana," he told her. "I do want what's best for ye. Ye simply must trust in that and do as ye are told."
In a strange, twisted way, it sounded like he almost believed that.
Breana recognized that she had been dismissed, and she turned to go once more.
"Lass?"
"Aye, Father?"
"Ye may take Maeve some bread and cheese." He returned to his desk, his eyes down on his letter once more. "And a reminder from me that her father is merciful even when she shames him. Let us just hope she never does so again."
Joy flooded Breana's heart. "Aye, Father. Thank ye, Father!" she exclaimed, then ran off before he could change his mind.
It hadn’t been much as affectionate fatherly gestures went. To some, it would have been nothing at all. But to young Breana, at that moment, it had been everything.
7
Eoin wasn't sure how much time he spent there, just holding Breana in his arms and letting her cry, occasionally whispering words of comfort or stroking her hair. She clung to him desperately, and he never once tried to pull away, resolved to spend the whole night like this if he had to. He remembered the pain she was feeling. He knew how torn she must be.
At last, though, at some point in the darkest part of the night, Breana's sobs ceased, and her breathing slowed to a more steady, rhythmic pattern. Her body slumped against his, and he soon realized that she had cried herself to sleep. Eoin stayed where he was for a few minutes, reluctant to let her go and even more wary of disturbing her. But soon, his back began to ache from the position he was holding, and he had to concede that the way she was sleeping would make her wake up with her own aches and pains.
It felt better than Eoin wanted to admit, to be holding Breana in his arms. When she'd first arrived at Darach Castle as his father's unwilling bride, he'd thought of her as nothing more than Maeve's sister, another lost girl to protect. But she'd visited him a few times in the dungeons, stealing away to witness the man she'd heard had helped her sister escape, and they'd builta quiet understanding. He'd been drawn to her from their first conversation, to her warmth and her gentleness, and she had stirred his heart in a way decidedly different from the sisterly manner in which he felt for Maeve.
Eoin shifted very slowly, moving at a snail's pace as he tried to gently untangle her without disturbing her much-needed slumber. He remembered once, a few weeks after the forced wedding and what would turn out to be a few days before the rebels descended upon Darach Castle to reclaim it, his father coming down to brag about his new obedient wife.
Kyle had taunted Eoin about how his disobedience had not paid off; an O'Sullivan daughter was still here, and now Kyle, not Malcolm, was fully in control. He'd bragged about how he would one day beget a 'better' child upon the O'Sullivan girl, though he was enjoying cavorting with his various lovers and breaking down the girl emotionally as she felt her worthlessness as a wife. Only when she was completely broken, Kyle had promised, would he fully claim her, to avoid the mistakes that Malcolm had made with her spirited sister.
Eoin boiled with rage at the memory. He'd hated his father at that moment, hated every inch of the man who had already caused so much pain and suffering. He still felt that hatred now, but as he extricated himself from Breana and managed to lay her down more comfortably on the bed, it was accompanied by a flood of pride, too. Because Breanahadn'tbroken. She had never given Kyle the satisfaction of full subjugation, and as such, despite being forced to say vows, she had always been free.
He moved the pillow more comfortably under Breana's head, tucking a stray strand of her hair away from her face. She mumbled and rolled over in her sleep, but otherwise did not stir. Eoin smiled slightly, reaching for the blanket and pulling it up over her shoulders, making sure that she was protected and warm.
Eoin watched her sleep for a moment more, then stood, walking over to the small dresser on the other side of the room. There was an old, slightly cracked mirror there, damaged but kept very clean. He saw his own blue eyes staring back at him, so different from the cruel gaze of his father, and he was eternally thankful that he at least did not look like the man.
Yes, he'd hated Kyle Darach. He'd hated all of them and everything they stood for, but his father had earned a special place of loathing in Eoin's heart. It had hurt more because he'd once loved his father, when he was young and naive and believed his lies. Only after Mary died, and he saw Kyle's true indifference to the loss of his own daughter, had his eyes truly been opened. Eoin had been young, but the event had spurred him into really understanding what was going on in the world around him: the callousness of Malcolm Darach, the cruel calculation of men like his father, and the overall tyranny of the False King.
But it hadn't all been simple. He'd been obedient, still, in a way. He'd taken on the job as captain of the guard for the chieftain of the Darach clan. He'd tried to use his position for good, discovering and eventually allying with Ann and the other White Sparrows, culminating in breaking Maeve free and starting the chain of events that had led to him joining the rebellion. But the fact was that his father had still been his family, and part of Eoin had hung onto the idea of him until the very end.
When Cailean had killed Kyle Darach, he'd done Eoin a favor—done the world a favor—but Eoin could admit to himself here and now that it had still hurt. He had no mother, no sister left, and though he had hated Kyle, a small part of him had always hoped for a kind of closure that could now never be. Realistically, he would have never gotten it; Kyle had been cruel and manipulative, and Eoin knew it. But knowing that he wasdead and gone from the world forever had been a struggle which, if he was honest, he still hadn't fully come to terms with.
