“But Faither would have seen me.”
Her grip tightened on him, and he looked away.
“So ye are the sort of man who saves a kitten from drowning and sits out in the cold to protect it from a higher power?”
“I acted on the whims of a boy. Any curious child would have done the same.”
“Ah, then ye must have grown up to be as good a man as any other.” His mother’s intelligence was alarming. “Talia would appreciate the story about yer kitten friend.”
Talia would first inquire about said kitten if she did not decide that she wanted nothing to do with him as a boy or a man.
“How do ye feel about Talia?”
It felt freeing when his mother released him and moved closer to the bank. But now, he needed her support to stand. She was not asking anything. She was letting him know that she knew. And if she knew, then there was nothing to deny, only to accept.
“I shouldnae feel anything.”
“But ye do.”
But I do,a voice echoed in his head.
“I’m wrong.”
He felt like the cowering boy beneath the alder tree when she took both his hands in her own. His hands were now significantly bigger, scarred, and calloused.
Her hands stroked the bandages, and he found himself wincing, physical pain overtaken by regret when he saw the slight disappointment in her eyes.
“I daenae ken what to do.”
He had to let Talia go. It was the only way he could make it up to her. He should have listened to her before letting it come this far. She needed to be far away from them—fromhim—in her own home, where her future wasn’t dictated to her. In the unlikely event that she did decide she wanted to marry, he would step out of the way.
As if sensing his thoughts, his mother tugged on his hand.
“Ye have to stop being so selfless.”
No, selfless was when one put others’ needs above their own, and Talia’s needs were naturally above his. Letting her go was not a disservice to himself, but restoring her life to the way it was.
“Ye have to be true to yer feelings or…” His mother stepped back. “… let her find her happiness. But before ye feel ye’re nae worthy of her, remember that ye are the sort of man who sacrifices himself to protect the weak.” She stroked his arm. “Ye’re a good man.”
Her words fell on deaf ears, as he was already mired in self-loathing. It didn’t matter whether he had chosen to save the kitten. His father had come upon them before he could set foot in the keep and ordered a footman to get rid of it.
What good was an attempt that only ended in failure?
17
Rain fell that night as though it would not have another opportunity. Darragh had been right; it was not just a shower, but a blustering storm marked by heavy thunder, roaring wind, and hurried footfalls of servants scampering outside his door.
He had forgotten to write a note to Mrs. Goodwill. If he were lucky, the woman would have learned from history. But it was unlikely. The farmer liked to make his boy sleep in the barn with the cow. Darragh thought it cruel, but the farmer thought it practical, even though the boy was no older than sixteen and a scrawny thing even after years of farm work.
It was indeed cruel to have him act as a watchman and deter the theft of freshly pulled milk in the evenings, and care for and milk the cows in the morning. In storms like this, he usually fell ill, leaving him bedridden for as long as the farmer would let him—three days, to be exact. And for the next few days, there wouldn’t be any fresh milk.
This was all too ironic, considering Darragh’s mental state. The turmoil outside his windows matched the storm in his head. He had been considering his mother’s words, debating selfishness and selflessness.
He wanted Talia. His heart yearned for her. He needed to have her. But then the storm hit, and chaos ensued. It was as if some divine power was warning him off her.
Just then, a gust of wind blasted through the barred windows, breaking apart the hinges. The curtains flapped, scattering the trinkets on his cupboard, and the fire in the grate winked out. Embers fluttered about the room like fireflies before going out.
The cold that filled the room was instant and loud.
