“If nae witchcraft, then what? I’ve seen men bewitched, aye, and the fae are whispered of in every glen. Should I believe ye’re neither, yet something worse?”
Claire’s frown became sullen. “We are not witches,” she insisted. “Not fae or anything but...real people.Wedidn’t do this. It was donetous.”
He faced Alaric, nearly sick to his stomach for what felt like a betrayal from his oldest friend and greatest ally.
“And ye,” he ground out, “the man I trusted above any other—ye kept this secret from me? Ye’d share my table, fight at my side, and never once speak it?”
“Aye, I kept it from ye—for this verra reason. Look at ye now, nae willing to conceive it could be truth, wanting to reach for yer sword, to see danger where there’s none.”
Ciaran considered him at length, displeasure shadowing every inch of his face. He honestly couldn’t decide if Alaric was merely a pawn in some wicked game of Ivy and Claire, or if worse, he was an enemy now known.
“I ken it’s time to take yer army and...” he inclined his head at Ivy, “them away.”
Alaric nodded, his expression grim. “Aye.”
With that, Ciaran pivoted on his heel and quit the chamber, fury warring with disappointment.
***
Claire’s arms tightened around Lily as Ciaran’s words struck. His voice was ice, his glare colder still, causing Claire to reevaluate her perception of him once again.
The baby whimpered, possibly incited by Claire’s rigidity. Claire startled, her chest tight, and strode to where Ivy stood. “Here—take her.” She eased Lily into her mother’s arms and gave chase to Ciaran, Ivy’s concerned call chasing her from the room.
“Claire, no!”
Claire hurried after him all the same, chasing the drumbeat of sound that was his boots on the stairs. “Ciaran!”
She had thought Alaric the dangerous one—towering, broad, his features so often carved into something brutal. Ciaran’s danger had always seemed quieter, brooding. But what she had just witnessed inside Ivy’s chamber stripped away any illusion. He had cut off his oldest friend without hesitation, cast judgment over her and Ivy as though they were instant and treacherous enemies, and his eyes—God, his eyes had glowed with a fire that made her shiver. He was every bit as frightening as Alaric had once seemed to her, and perhaps more so, for there was no mercy in the coldness with which he wielded his rage.
She quickened her pace, nearly tripping down the stairs as he was already across the hall and headed outside.
“Wait—please!”
He didn’t slow, didn’t turn. Claire forced herself into a run, and caught up with him halfway across the yard, reaching for his arm. Her fingers had barely brushed the heavy fabric of his sleeve when he turned, so suddenly that she nearly collided with him.
The look he gave her, the burning intensity of his gaze, stopped her breath
“Please don’t do this,” she blurted, words tumbling out before she lost her nerve. “Don’t send them away. Ivy’s barely recovered from the birth, and Lily—she’s so small, too fragile to be sent out there just yet.” She pointed vaguely beyond the open gate. “Please, laird. Whatever you think of me and Ivy, or even Alaric right now—though I promise you we are not lying about what happened to us—please don’t take it out on that baby.” When he seemed unmoved, appeared about to snarl at her and walk away, Claire added, “Neither Ivy nor I are...a danger to anyone here.” She shrugged. “We’re not dangerous, we’re just... lost.”
His eyes narrowed even further, suspicion hard as stone. “Ye mean to sway me with pity?”
“I’d like to think,” she said, forcing herself to meet his glare, “that you’re not heartless. And sending a newborn out, away from Caeravorn, is heartless. You know it is. And what of your friendship with Alaric—”
He did snarl now. “Again, ye impose yer will, yer bluidy insignificant views on me and mine. At the verra least, if what ye say is true, it demonstrates even more how ill-suited ye are to judge me or even the smallest matter of my time.”
The muscle in his jaw twitched. For a moment, she feared she’d pushed him too far.
And yet she pressed on, though softer this time. “When I came to Caeravorn, you looked at me as if you’d seen a ghost. That’s what I was told. And I saw it myself, the day you returnedfrom campaigning with your army. We have met before,” she dared. “Whether it was actually you and me, or... I don’t know, some version of us, we’ve met before.” She swallowed and revealed what she’d been keeping so close for so many years. “I know you were—are—familiar to me. Nine years ago, I was in a terrible car accident. I know you don’t know what that is, but picture it as a...a wreck of carriages, but with two tons of metal.” She spoke quickly, fearful he might cut her off, or yet turn and walk away. “It was dark and isolated, and I was pinned in the wreckage, bleeding, and so terrified that I would die before anyone discovered me. And a man came to me—like, literally, appeared out of thin air. He never spoke a word, but he...he held me. He calmed me and stayed until help arrived. And Ciaran...” she said, taking great liberty with his name today, her throat tight. “That man looked exactly like you.”
His brows drew together, his fury cooling to something icier. “Ye’re wrong. I dinna ken ye, lass. Nae nine years ago, nae ever ere ye came to Caeravorn. Whoever ye saw, it wasnae me.”
The denial landed heavy and yet it rang untrue—belied by the look in his eyes, narrowed and sharp, with what Claire was sure was a flare of recognition that was banked quickly beneath the frost of suspicion.
She wanted to argue, to insist that memory didn’t lie, but the storm in his gaze silenced her.
She’d taken a chance, had put it all out there, had tried to if not change his mind, at least have him concede and let Ivy and the baby remain until the infant was not so new and fragile.
She sighed, realizing she’d not succeeded at all.
