She was thinking of the wars he had fought in on the Continent. She had learned about so many wars when she’d studied the history of Europe.
“Perceptive of you. Good.” He paused for a moment, even cast his eyes down at the floor again. “I told you once that I killed people. You were rather young. You might not remember that, and it wasn’t something I wanted to repeat.”
“I remember. Why did you even tell me that?”
“You were a darling child, beautiful, inquisitive, and I was becoming much too attached to you. I threw it out there as a buffer, so you’d think about it and maybe come to fear me. But it didn’t work. No barrier formed between us. You were too trusting, and I was already too attached. I love you as if you were the daughter I never had.”
“I feel the same way, Poppie. You know that.”
“Yes, but that will change today.”
Her apprehension was back, a hundred times worse. Good Lord, what could he tell her that would make her stop loving him? She couldn’t voice the words to ask, and her mind jumped frantically ahead, but absolutely nothing occurred to her that would explain what he’d just said.
And he didn’t explain it either. He turned reflective instead. “I didn’t intend to raise you like this, you know. I had envisioned isolation, for your own protection, and so you would learn not to depend on others. But in the end, I couldn’t deny you a normal life. That may have been a mistake I’ll have to live with. But until you are settled, it is imperative that you trust no one.”
“Even you?”
“I believe I am the exception. I could never harm you, princess. That’s why you’re here.”
“What do you mean?”
He closed his eyes for a moment. She was reminded that he didn’t want to tell her these things, that something else was forcing this confession.
He gave her a direct look. “I told you I used to kill people. I was—”
“You just told me it was a lie,” she cut in sharply, “that you only said it to put distance between us and it didn’t work.”
“No, I didn’t say it was a lie, you chose a more palatable interpretation. The simple truth is, Alana, that I killed people for money. It was a lucrative career and one I was adept at because I had no care for my own life. I was an instrument of death for other people to wield, and I never failed a job I was hired for. My record was spotless. Not many hired assassins were as dependable as I was.”
Her mind was in absolute denial. He was describing someone else. Had he hurt his head? Could he not remember his real past?
“For whatever reason you believe you used to do this, it’s not true!”
“Why not?”
“Because you are a kind, caring man. You took in an orphan to raise. You have given others a chance for a decent life they wouldn’t have had without your help. You’re not a killer. Just because you know about weapons doesn’t make you a killer!”
He tsked. “Use the intelligence we have honed. It’s what I was. It’s not what I am now. I wish it wasn’t so, but it is. I wish someone had killed me long ago, but I was too good. I wish I couldn’t remember my real past, but I do.”
She made a mewling sound. “You really did this?”
“It’s all right if you hate me now,” he said in a pained tone. “I have expected it.”
“I—I’m trying to understand how you could do this. Help me!”
He sighed. “I wasn’t going to share this, but perhaps you should hear how it began. My real name is Leonard Kastner. My family were winemakers. We grew grapes in the fertile mountain valleys of Lubinia. Ours had been a large family, but many members were old and died of natural causes before I was grown. But then my father was caught in an avalanche and my mother succumbed to an illness that same winter. There was grief, despair, but my brother and I continued on, or tried to. He was barely five years old, so of no real help. And nature conspired against us again. We lost the grapes that year, and our home, since we could no longer pay the rent to the nobleman who owned the land. He would have taken assurances from my father, but he wouldn’t from me.”
“What you’re describing is pitiful, but . . .”
He waited for her to finish that thought, but she couldn’t. She didn’t want to condemn him out of hand, but how could she not? She slumped back in her chair, saying instead, “Go on, please.”
He nodded, but there was still silence. He was staring at the floor again, but sightlessly, the memories in his mind so obviously painful that tears formed in her own eyes.
She jumped to her feet. “Never mind. I will endeavor to try—”
“Sit down,” he snapped without looking at her.
She didn’t. Her only thought was to flee because she knew what was coming. He was going to tell her that he’d killed her family, had been paid to do it, and she feared what he was going to ask her to do. I wish someone had killed me long ago. Is that what he’d raised her for, why he’d trained her to use weapons? So she could avenge her parents’ honor and be the one to kill him?
