He glanced back at Breana and sighed. Yes, he understood her pain, and he felt it deep in his heart. He tried to imagine how it would have been if, after Kyle had been killed, Mary had still been alive. Would Eoin have been able to be brave enough to leave her behind, if he'd had to, for the greater good of the rebellion? He honestly didn't think so. The fact that Breana was forced into making this impossible decision regarding Nessa flooded him with a mix of sympathy and admiration for the sleeping woman.
Part of him was exhausted after their journey so far, and that part longed to climb into the bed and fall asleep. His heart stirred in agreement, thinking of the warmth and comfort that would come from resting next to Breana, feeling her warmth close to him as he surrendered to sleep, finding a true moment of peace in all of the chaos of his life.
But a restlessness clawed at his heart even through his tiredness. He kept hearing Breana's sobs in his mind, and he knew that, even if he did feel as warm, as safe, as his mind was imagining, he wouldn't be able to sleep anyway. And besides all of that, he would not impose himself upon her rest; he wanted her to have as much space as she needed without him assuming that he could take up her space. She'd had enough men in her life taking over her personal choices, and he would not be one of them.
So, he resolved, he would not sleep tonight. He sat on the little wooden stool that he dragged over from the corner of the room and placed it in front of the door. He knew they were likely not in too much danger here, but there was always a chance, and it was not one he was willing to take. Instead, he'd stay awake and watch over Breana, guarding her and protecting her fromwhatever dangers he could while she slept and fought the war going on inside her heart.
It was the least he could do.
Soft sunlight filtered through the smudged windows, and Breana's eyes flickered open. It took her a moment to realize where she was, and once she had, she lay still and quiet in the bed for a moment to gather her thoughts.
It had been a fitful sleep, full of dreams and memories, both good and bad. Her heart still ached with a confusing mix of emotions regarding the news she'd learned the night before about her father. Her thoughts fluttered to Nessa for a moment, but she forcefully dragged them away. For now, she could not dwell on her youngest sister. She could not allow herself to break down again as she had the night before. Not now—not when she had a job to do.
Stretching, Breana slowly sat up in the bed, surprised to find a blanket around her. It slipped off as she sat, and she realized with a rush of affectionate gratitude that Eoin must have placed it over her to keep her warm the night before. A small, tired smile played on her face, and her gaze landed on him a moment later.
He was sitting in an awkward position on a wooden stool in front of the door, his head bent, and he dozed with his head against his chest. She doubted he was fully asleep; it was clear that he had been awake all night, probably determined to guard her. That made her sore heart pulse with a healing warmth, and she hesitated before speaking, not wanting to disturb the little bit of rest that he was getting.
Eventually, though, Breana grudgingly accepted that they could not stay in this bubble of peace. They had a job to do. Strangely, she did not feel embarrassed by her tears the night before and how Eoin had comforted her; all she felt was an almost overwhelming draw to the man who had obviously dedicated himself to keeping her safe.
"Ye'll hurt yer neck if ye sit like that for too long," she said quietly.
Eoin started, jerking awake so suddenly that he almost fell off the stool. His head snapped up, his eyes alert in an instant, but he relaxed when he realized who had spoken. She saw the tell-tale dark rings under those blue eyes that told her she'd been right; he'd probably slept for no more than a very short time.
He rubbed the back of his neck. "Did I fall asleep? Sorry. I didnae mean tae; I was intendin' tae?—"
"It's all right," Breana interrupted softly. "Ye needed yer rest as well." She slid out of the bed and brushed down her clothes, wishing she had time to bathe and something to change into, but knowing that they simply had to keep going. "Are ye ready tae go?"
Eoin frowned. "I–I thought ye might want tae spend a little longer here. Maybe rest a bit more. We could even talk about?—"
"We must set off immediately," Breana interrupted, looking away from him quickly. She did not want him to see her expression now. "We promised Cailean that we would find his sister, and we willnae let him down. We ken that we're close, based on the directions I worked out with Ferda; there must be someone around here who kens where we have tae go."
"Breana…"
Brusquely, Breana turned back to him, now a mask of stoic determination fixed firmly over her face. "We'll buy some food that travels well from the proprietor, and we'll be off. We can break our fast later, after we've covered some ground. But Idinnae want tae stay around here much longer. We ken now that the False King's men are roamin' these lands, and we cannae risk any of them spottin' us—or, worse, somehow gettin' ahead of our quest."
There was a brief pause, and Breana tensed as she wondered if Eoin was going to argue with her. If he insisted that they talk about what had happened last night, or made her dwell on her father, or, God forbid, Nessa. She wasn't sure if she'd be able to handle that. She needed to be able to keep her mind right now and focus, and she didn't know if she could handle his gentleness and sympathy right now.
Thankfully, Eoin just sighed and nodded. "I'll go down and get some provisions, then," he said, getting to his feet, wincing slightly at what must have been sore muscles. "And make sure the horses have been cared for. Take yer time and prepare yerself, I'll see ye in a few moments."
Breana nodded, and waited until he had left the room and closed the door behind him.
When he was gone, she let out a long sigh. She looked into the cracked mirror in the corner of the room and ran her hand through her loose hair. It was knotted and all over the place, and her dress was ragged at the hem. She had to smile slightly despite herself, wondering how Nessa would react if she could see the mess of Breana now. The thought made her heart twist in pain, but the smile did not fade.
Breana reached into her pocket and drew out one of the plain ribbons she kept there, gathering her hair and pulling it back into a rough knot to keep it out of her face. She glanced back at the bed where she had spent her first night of comfort in days, and back at the small wooden stool, allowing the implications to flood her for just a moment.
Then she took a deep breath and made for the door. Her journey wasn't done yet. Not even close.
Eoin was pleased to find that his and Breana's horses had been more than well taken care of, and the animals were clearly well-rested and ready for whatever the next part of the journey might bring. He patted his own horse's nose, whispering thanks to the creature for its dedication to the journey so far, then turned to head back to the tavern.
It had been completely empty when he had walked through that morning, but he wasn't surprised to see that a few locals had started wandering in to find a hot breakfast. They all ignored him as he walked in, each focused on his own bowl of porridge or, for the rare one with a little more money, a fresh egg. Eoin's stomach grumbled a little at the smell, but he walked past, distracted instantly when he heard two indistinct female voices near the bar.
He approached, and both women looked up. Breana was wearing her hair tied back in a utilitarian way that surprisingly suited her, giving her a serious and practical look that matched with her determined expression. Her long, elegant neck was on full display, and Eoin's eyes were drawn to the soft curve and the gentle dusting of freckles on her skin for a moment longer than they should. His fingers tingled with the urge to brush the skin there to see how it would feel, and for just a few seconds he lost himself in that image.
"Can I help ye?" the other woman asked, jolting Eoin out of the brief fantasy and back to the moment at hand. She was older, in her early fifties or so, and by her position behind the bar and the handkerchief tied in her hair, Eoin guessed that she must be the wife that the owner of the tavern had spoken about the night before.
"It's all right," Breana said softly. "He's me husband, the one we were talkin' of. He kens what we're doin', and he'll keep the secret."
Husband.Eoin felt a prickle all over his skin at the casual way she'd said the word, and he tried to compose his expression before the tavern woman noticed his reaction.
