Time to think. Time to breathe.
Sleep evaded him. The house was silent but for the groaning, cracking timbers. Gideon paced his chamber like a caged animal, unable to shake the image of Catherine walking away from him after dinner. The coolness of her hand slipping from his lingered as though she had torn part of his soul with her retreat.
The message delivered by her maid was clearly an excuse. Patently so. She wants time to consider if she will remain at Caerleon. Remain my wife.
His body ached for her. His mind refused to settle. It spun through the events of the last few days, the conversations, the revelations, the lies.
Would she be here by my side if I had told her everything? If I had told her my true name?
The fact of his own potentially fatal error drove him mad. He wanted to unburden himself, finally be free of the weight of his biggest secret. His hands slammed down on the windowsill, fingers gripping the ancient wood until it creaked. He tried to anchor himself.
Attachment is weakness. I will not be weak. Attachment is…
With a snarl, he threw himself across the room and out of the door. He stalked along the hallways until he reached the door of Catherine’s chambers. There, his thunderous passion abated. He raised his hand to turn the doorknob. Lowered it. Then he knocked.
“Catherine,” he called softly.
There was a pause. Then her voice through the wood, trembling yet firm.
“I cannot see you tonight. Please, leave me be.”
“I cannot,” he murmured, resting his forehead against the door, “not without knowing what you intend.”
Her silence stretched, heavy and suffocating.
“Tell me the truth. About who you are. About what you have been.”
Her voice was suddenly closer, just the other side of the door. He reached for the doorknob, his hand driven by instinct rather than reason.
There was the click of a key in the lock of the door.
Desperation clawed at him.
“Open the door,” he urged, voice rough. “Let me in. Whatever shadows haunt us, we can face them together.”
“Tell me the truth,” she mumbled.
A centuries-old door of solid oak separated him from Catherine. Hard as stone but only a few inches thick. Such a trivial encumbrance to hold at bay such a monumental passion.
He raised his hand to deliver a blow to the door, but thought of what Catherine had learned about his violent past. The blownever landed. Instead, he placed his hand gently against the wood, applying pressure as though trying to feel through it.
Words built up within him. Confessions of his past, of his emotions. He opened his mouth, wanting to tell all, how much he needed her, how much he feared losing her.
But nothing would come.
The dam, which he had built from childhood to make himself resilient, was too strong. The training that told him his words made him weak was an unbreakable chain.
“If… if I let you in, my judgment will falter. And I cannot allow that. Not yet.”
His hand tightened against the doorknob. He imagined wrenching it open, shattering the lock, and sweeping her into his arms. Every doubt would be silenced with his touch. The ache in his chest grew unbearable. His voice turned harsh.
“Damn it, Catherine, if you bar me out, I’ll break this door down!!”
Inside, her breath caught audibly. Then, very gently.
“If you love me, you will not.”
The words pierced him.
