“Y-you are not my Aaron Tarnley…” she whispered with deathly terror, “y-you are an impostor with his face. No one is who they say they are. No one…”
Gideon crouched, setting the lamp on the mud. He felt a flood of relief and immediately felt guilty. It was a relief that her doubting of his identity was part of a wider paranoia. She did not suspect him; she suspected everyone.
“That is the poppy juice talking, darling,” he soothed gently, “you can trust me.”
“I c-can’t trust anyone. Mama and Papa died and left me alone. M-my Aunt and Uncle poisoned me. Everyone hides behind a mask.”
Gideon reached out to her, and she shrank away.
“I have no mask,” he said coolly, hating himself for the lie but seeking only to reassure her.
Catherine’s laugh was manic.
“You wear a mask, of course you do! And you keep yourself behind high walls that I cannot climb. When I try, y-you push me down again. I am so tired of being alone!”
The words slashed at Gideon, knowing deep down that he had contributed to making her feel this way. He felt a spark of resentment at himself.
Damnation, but I was content before I met her. I did not have to feel anything for anyone. I was strong and whole and bloody content!
At long last, he sighed in defeat. “I tried to tell you that night at Spencer’s… I tried to warn you.”
She hugged her knees to her chest, rocking back and forth. The fog of his ire dissipated like mist burned off by daylight. Gently, he scooped over to her side and wrapped his arms around her delicate frame. She resisted initially, then melted into his embrace.
“I m-must learn to be content alone. I cannot trust anyone,” she whispered.
“You can trust Sally. That little sprite is loyal to you above all,” he reassured with a soft chuckle.
He could not bring himself to lie to her again. The hypocrisy of telling her that she could trust him was too much to bear.
She can trust me…ifI have the courage to tell her who I really am. That I returned to Caerleon Manor to find my brother dead. That they mistook me for him, and I let them… so I might live the life my father erased from my fate when he burned the papers of my existence.
Her body was trembling. It felt unutterably fragile, as though he held a tiny sparrow. His arms felt too thick, the muscles too crude in their strength to be holding something so precious and brittle.
“You are ill. You must rest,” he coaxed, stroking her hair languidly.
“I… I don’t want your poison,” she shoved weakly at his chest. “I will not take it.I will be free.”
“And I will give you nothing,” he smiled gently. “Only myself. That is all.”
“I don’t want you,” she mumbled. “All I want is to be free of this doubt.”
Gideon played softly with her locks, remaining silent.
Would she want Aaron if he stepped forward out of the trees? She remembers him as the companion of her childhood. I remember him as a cold-eyed competitor who loathed me as much as I loathed him.
Catherine’s strength seemed to be leaving her. Her head lolled against his chest and did not rise. Her body wilted like a rose in autumn. After a few more heartbeats, Gideon lifted her and carried her back to the lodge.
Sally hurried to open the door. He laid her down again, covering her with blankets. This time, he sat beside her as she slept a feverish, fitful slumber. Removing the vial of poppy juice from his pocket, he studied its milky contents.
How easy it would be to mix it into her water and flush the terrible sickness from her body.
But that would only delay the inevitable. She wanted to be free.
And if, once she is free of the poppy, she wishes to be free of me?
Gideon stared at Catherine and told himself that the outcome would be the best for everyone concerned. He might lose his investment, but his life would be simpler, and his secrets kept.
Yet, the thought of her absence left a silence in his mind that no logic could fill. She had slipped into his days like a habit he hadn’t meant to form—one he wasn’t certain he could break so simply any longer.
